None of us were particularly hungry yet, so we decided to go have our nails done, and THEN get some grub. Of course, we all had to go one at a time, and it took an eternity. Shawn, Shannon and I killed some time at the fish store while we waited. I love the fish store. Shawn and I planned our future aquarium.

Finally, we got painted toes, and then headed to the Mexican restaurant Gretchen recommended. I sat in the back so Shawn could see the sights better, and quickly regretted my decision, when my extreme, gnawing hunger turned into extreme, churning nausea. While Shannon was trying to find a parking space, we were driving up and down and around and around and jerk and stop and I finally moaned, "Let me out of this car NOW!"

I felt much better once I'd met my friend the giant burrito.

We made an attempt to go to the Highland Mall, the location of the club we were supposed to try to get into later that night. Mall underneath, club on top. But NO PARKING. When I started muttering, "Forty minutes for a parking space... this better be the BEST mall EVER. I better have an instant orgasm upon setting foot inside this motherfucker..." we decided to give it up and go to Griffith Observatory, so Shawn could get a photo of the Hollywood sign.

Shawn has a really weird love affair with certain landmarks. Not all landmarks, but a good example would be the Christ statue off of Key Largo... she was so obsessed and excited to get her some Christ, not even seasickness could keep her down. Well, in L.A., she set her brain to the Hollywood sign.

Unfortunately, it was so smoggy and misty, you couldn't really see the sign from the top of the park. All was not lost, though. I flashed a helicopter that flew overhead, so, you know, it wasn't a complete waste. Now, we had to begin the mission of driving the streets until we could find a view of THE SIGN! that went beneath the cloud of smog. It actually didn't take long, Shawn hung out the sunroof and got her photo, and all was right in the world again.

We went to Shannon's to get ready, with strict instructions that we were to be AT BRAD'S (Shannon's boyfriend) at 9 o' clock SHARP. You know, club hard to get into and all. Need to get there early.

One problem.

There was no water at Shannon's. Not not hot water. NO WATER AT ALL.

Like we didn't already feel enough like migrants, Shawn and I packed up half our crap and headed over to Gretchen's. We hauled ass to be ready on time. Gretchen's apartment was a big mass of steam and jewelry and glitter and high heels. Shawn and I both got to wear new outfits, so we were happy. We left at 9:10. Not bad, considering the setbacks.

Shannon called Brad on our way over and told him to call a cab. When we got to his apartment, Shannon went upstairs to get him and his friends, I went into the lobby to warm up, and Shawn and Gretchen stayed on the sidewalk.

We waited. And waited.

People who live in Brad's apartment came and went. The got mail, got into elevators, whatever.

I was wearing a pewter-colored shiny tube top, tight black pants with red pinstripes, big eye make-up, a sparkly cross necklace, and boots.

My brain: "Great. Now everyone in Brad's building thinks I'm a hooker. This is the SECOND time a small population of L.A. has assumed me to be a working girl. Perhaps I should rethink my look."

My brain: "Nah."

I also entertained myself by unzipping my pants and pressing my ass against the glass front door, for the amusement of Shawn and Gretchen outside.

Until we noticed the security camera.

I have got to find new ways to amuse myself before I end up on the internet, and not in this nice diary way.

When they FINALLY were ready, Brad and his buddies got into one taxi, while we girls packed into the other. Our taxi had registered a $5 late fee. Their cab had none, and they took off.

We got out and called a new taxi. Good thing, too, because the whole damn ride cost $4.20. The original taxi driver was not too happy with us, and told us several reasons why. Charming man, that driver.

In the second taxi (new driver), a random pedestrian almost walked into the side of the car. Random Pedestrian then slammed his hand down on the trunk, and screeched, "DUMBASS!"

Gretchen, "We've met some real peaches on this trip, huh?"
Me: "We don't think you're a dumbass, Mr. Taxi Driver!"

Finally, we arrived at the club and met up with Brad and everyone.

To be continued...