Plus, when I woke up this morning I was still tipsy.

So last night Amy and I went to see the S. Dogs in Marina Del Rey. Her friends Erica and Josue (pronounced Ho-Sway; I feel somewhat certain that I massacred the spelling, but deservedly so because who in the hell has the name HOSWAY???!!!). We had a lot of fun. First of all � Erica and the boy with the goofy name � good people. Love them. The band sounded good. Smithereens-Mike spent a lot of time at our table of course, because he loves me. I didn�t talk to OM (Original Mike) much, but then his conjoined bitch (uh�I mean girlfriend) was of course there, being her usual wonderful self.

Amy and I talked a lot, which was very cool. I just love her to pieces. It�s so groovy that we are now friends, as well as relatives. The only drawback is that I still feel like I have to be an �adult� around her and I am lousy at being one. Plus, I feel that my advice relative to her love life pretty much blows. I have no ground on which to stand when I give such advice, because my love life is�well�how shall I put this? *ahem* Suffice it to say that I just have no right to be handing out such advice.

On the way home, actually about three blocks from the bar, I got pulled over. Now, let me just say that I was not drunk. I was tipsy, though, and I could be over the legal limit after like two drinks, even though two drinks to the likes of me ain�t nuttin�. One of the many good things about booze, though, is that courage factor. Due to the courage factor, I wasn�t the slightest bit nervous as I rolled down my window to speak with the man in black. Know why he pulled me over? Because I have no license plates. Well, DUH. It�s a relativley new car, ya dope (obviously, I did not use this verbiage with Mr. Police Man. I was all �yessir� and �nosir�). All was kosher after he checked me out, of course. No ticket, no walking a straight line and saying the alphabet backwards (good thing, too, because frankly I think I�d have a hard time doing that sober). And I didn�t even have to whip out the cleavage.

Personally, I think he pulled us over just to get a closer gander at my niece.

I took Amy home and should have just slept there, but one drawback I have discovered in my many years of being a boozehound is that alcohol impairs your decision-making skills. Take note, kids. So I drove home. Now, Amy lives like 8000 miles from the freeway. You look on a map and her town is just an inch away from mine. Why oh why does it take me over an hour to get to her pad? And then when you finally get off the freeway and think you're home free, you quickly discover that her apartment is still another 8000 miles away. And on the way home I just could not for the life of me find a freeway onramp for the Southbound 405. I even got on going North and thought, �well, I�ll just get off at the next exit and find a Southbound onramp somewhere there. Right? RIGHT? Nope. Evidently, Cal Trans wants nobody to go South on the 405. I found PCH and took it all the freakin� way home, so it took me even longer than usual. Hence the getting to sleep at 4:00am, the sleepiness and the accompanying bags of today. Bags isn't even a good word for what's under my eyes. Full blown luggage is more accurate.

Back in the day, when I was young enough to go out on weeknights and still wake up bright-eyed in the morning (sans bags), I used to crave Taco Bell all day long. Taco Bell and Lays potato chips. Perfect hangover cures. Pretty much anything greasy will do in a pinch, but Taco Bell and Lays are the tops, baby. Remember this the next time you indulge.

No, I didn�t watch American Idol, but yes I know that girl won. In the like � a minute that I watched the show during the season I thought she had a lovely voice and seemed to be a nice person. Therefore, I am happy for her. Obviously, though, I am the only one in America who has not watched that show. I thought it was lame and if I�m in the mood for karaoke I�ll go down the street to the Liquid Lounge where I can throw some darts and get drunk while I listen. Not that I can�t get drunk at home and watch American Idol, but I feel that drinking alone in my apartment while watching good looking twenty year olds belt out Celine Dion songs may just push me in to a realm of pathetic about which I have only heard rumors.

I do have a question, though. Since when has it been deemed necessary for a person to hit at least 71 notes per bar in order to be considered a good singer? Nobody just sings anymore. Everyone has to play these vocal gymnastics that hey � news flash � don�t necessarily mean that you�re a good singer. The gymnastics just mean that you can hit a lot of notes in a very short period of time. You�re all giving me a headache.

I think it was Mariah Carey. Mariah ruined pop music.

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