The wassup…


Frank doing a burn out…

Well, I’ve been aching, lately. Since my last foray into L.A. (about a month ago), my neck has been killing me. Well, not just my neck, ‘zactly… my left side, more like, from neck to waist, all the way down my arm. It’s gotten somewhat better (so I don’t have to keep mooching Vicodin from Steve every other night just to get some sleep) but … now it’s doing the weird short circuit buzzing down my arm. Next Friday I get to undergo an EMG (electromyography) test… I hear you become a sort of human pincushion… sounds like SO much fun.

For secretary’s day (oops… faux pas… it’s now called ‘administrative assistant’s day’ or somesuch thing), the lawyers took us underlings out to Bistango’s for lunch. I’d never been there and was impressed with their selection. The place is nice… a little mini art gallery on the walls, and the food was excellent. My boss ordered a glass of red zin’ so I did too… what the heck… no one else did, though. Us kanuck’s need to stick together, eh? Amazing what one glass of wine can do these days, though… to think I’d drink half a liter and then go on drinking shooters and chasers all night is unfathomable at this point in my life.

As I was driving home, a Def Leppard song came on the radio just as I was pulling into my parking spot. I’m in a rockin’ mood tonight (despite the pesky shoulder) and so decided to get upstairs and dig out all of the Def Leppard CDs I have, and upload them into iTunes… I’ve been listening to them since… and some Def Tones and Everlast and Joy Division… and… The poor little speakers on my iMac just weren’t meant to be played maxed out, but OH well…

Gabriel’s at a friend’s and Steve’s gone to Murrietta to interview someone for the magazine, so I’m home by myself, something that doesn’t happen often. It’s kinda nice. I wouldn’t be able to blast music like this if either one of them was here… and I wonder why I’m going deaf…

I’ve decided that for my midlife crisis I would sign up for motorcycle lessons and a get myself a road bike. And a tattoo, too, but that’s fodder for another post (I’ve got my appointment booked with Steve Godoy at Outer Limits, Orange, for mid-June).

Look out world, here I come. Since I was nineteen, I’ve wanted a motorcycle. I’d’ve given my left arm for a Ninja or an Interceptor, but a) I had no money, and b) when I tried to sweet talk one out of my dad, he said forget it, I’d kill myself. I’ve been a frequent passenger on the back end of one though. My friend would go riding with her boyfriend Frank (who later became my boyfriend for a time) and they’d invite me to ride along with Rob, one of Frank’s buddy’s. Nothing quite like it. Some people just know how to ride-Rob was one of them. The three of us would feel as one… he and I and the bike. It was an awesome feeling. One time we were on HWY 40 (or was it the 132?) and he gased it… we were going 180 kilometers per hour… what a trip. Frank gave him hell for that when he caught up with us, telling him he was driving irresponsibly. Ah well… those were some fun times.

So… I’m going to shop for lessons and scope out a bike. The good thing about the lessons is that if I have to drop it ’til I learn, at least I won’t be dropping my own bike. 🙂

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