I don't feel much different than I did 20 minutes ago, so that caffeine addiction wish might have come true after all. Either that, or they spiked my grande iced latte with some sort of anti-caffeine -- like vodka, or the SAG Awards.
There was another thing from the weekend I wanted to share, not involving bears getting pipes shoved up their asses, but still featuring a reasonable level of creepiness. Saturday morning I went down to the Manhattan Beach mall with Rossanna, Tiago, and Tita to see what kind of free stuff we could get at the opening of the new Apple Store there. (Answer: a lame t-shirt.) After that Rossanna wanted to get some perfume at Macy's, so the rest of us followed her up to the Chanel counter. Creepiness begins: now. The woman behind the counter was, to put it mildly, not quite right. I mean, most girls behind counters in L.A. don't weigh enough. That's just the way it is here. But clearly the lack of mass was having a very negative effect on this one. She was blonde and I guess sort of "pretty" in a very conventional sense, but also just very unhealthy looking. And she really seemed to be having difficulty making any kind of sound come out of her mouth. Tiago first said, "She really needs a Jamba Juice," then later added "I think we went to the undead counter by accident." Then once we were outside, I made the final assessment: "I think she already threw up her breakfast but didn't have her line of coke yet." (Because we all know a grande iced latte isn't enough of a boost.)