No sooner than our arrival at baggage claim did my first obstacle present itself: cleaning up the ruptured shampoo bottle mess that bathed my outermost suitcase compartment in sticky, white goo. Awesome, I thought. Welcome to Los Angeles.
As I tried to wipe out my suitcase, running back and forth between my luggage and a quickly depleting stockpile of paper towels in the bathroom, I noticed I a team of baseball players with Saint Martin's University stamped on their bat bags and up the legs of their sagging grey sweatpants looking at me like I was crazy. As they lazily hung around the baggage claim conveyor belt, I frantically scrubbed out my personal belongings.
Once we finally left the airport, things went smoother for madre and I. And by smoother, I mean that we went the entire weekend without (permanently) losing anything thing over $100, contracting food poisoning induced diarrhea, or dying in an automobile accident. Albeit only barely did I live to bear testimony to the last of these. My mom drives like a blind woman with a hoppy the kangaroo attached to her foot, jumping eagerly from the gas to the break pedal. Boing! Down we roar down Santa Monica Drive! Boing! We streeeeach to a halt moments before crashing into the rounded, black polished ass of a Jaguar at a stoplight.
Anyways, I bought a bike from a french guy with a blonde pony tail and a resort-like condo in Marina del Rey, got my mom to spring for mango margaritas and moved into a wicked apartment in Westwood.
Chalk it up to a big success.
At my internship today, I learned that I the Cambodian government is currently on my shitlist for canceling a sweet beauty pageant that would have featured female landmine survivors. Many of these women got their legs blown off because of we-will-totally-supply-your-corrupt-ass-government-with-weapons-if-it-serves-our-interest-Western Imperialism. More on that, and my internship, later.
I also learned it is physically impossible to stuff six saltine crackers into your mouth in under one minute. Try it.
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