Sunday, November 21, 2004

and then there were two

Greetings, and welcome to my formerly-secret blog. Since The Fleeg for some reason decided to link me from his page, The Write-On can now be read by my wonderful former girlfriends who were not privy to the new address, including the one who put up a hate blog about me, the one who told people that I punched her, and the one who still needs to pay me $200 to reimburse me for plane tickets to Dallas. You know who you are, ladies. Shape up.

Well, I'm back from California. Even though at the moment I'm feeling extremely irrate, it was a grand trip. I think extended durations of air travel mess with my brain chemistry, thus tipping my delicate Banner/Hulk balance into the red. You have to put up with so much when you fly. Every few minutes there's something to incovenience, offend, annnoy, or bump your shoulder with its sweatpants-clad rear end. So by the time you hit the ground, you're just one smartass comment away from defenestrating someone.

I don't want this subject to be the point of this post, but here's one small thing. One straw on the back of a wavering camel. I sit down on the plane (the one going from Long Beach to DFW) and within a few seconds, the female half of the married couple sitting to my right decides to break out the perfume bottle and spritz herself down right there in seat 23F. For crying out loud, you're an old married lady sitting coach. There is no conceivable reason why you need to make row 23 smell like Coco Channel just threw up all over our upright and locked tray tables.

As I said, the trip was grand. Some questions were answered, a few more were asked. You know you're in California when you hear Snoop Dogg doing radio commericals for car dealerships.

"Come on down to Universal City Nissan. They put you all up in a new car. A'yday. Tell 'em yo homey S-N-Double-O-P Dizzle sent ya and you'll get the shizzle deal."

Thanks Snoop. You know, since I totally believe that you drive a Nissan. Incidentally, this was the same radio station that had a show titled, "So Yo Ass is Stuck in Traffic".

The conference was awesome; Henry Blackaby brought it as only Henry Blackaby can. That dude is like Moses. He's kinda scary when he talks, like how I imagine Moses might have been. Like you would ask him a question and then make up an excuse to leave quickly just to get him to stop staring at you with those scary Moses eyes. Blackaby's awesome. I heard he once stabbed a hobo on a dare and he used to date my mom.

Lunch with The Boss was good. Looks like I'll be practicing law in Long Beach. Maybe probate and estate litigation. Your honor, I move that we wake up the jury. No, it's not the most exciting area of law (that's reserved for skydiving law), but since I'll be surfing every morning like Sandy Cohen, I'm not worried. I don't really care what area of law I end up in. It's all just tent-making.

Well, there's a lot more to talk about (and a little more to not talk about), but I'm friggin' tired and that 8 a.m. Monday morning meeting with Nick "L'il Blackaby" Cooper comes around painfully early.

And no, I didn't see Arnold this time. But I really thought I saw John McCain. But then I remembered that he's far too busy with selling-out to visit So-Cal in the middle of a session.