Yes, PLEASE, for GODSSAKES, stop your ‘splainin’ Lucy, because I’mma getting tired of picking up the pieces.
I’m talking to myself, of course. And herein lies the article in which I proclaim that while my hilarious tales of Lucille Ball-esque adventures are fun and all (for the story-telling and the reading), they’re not nearly so fun in real life.
Here’s the story …
I recently joined a new friend (someone I met at the Facebook and Twitter conference in San Francisco earlier in June), fellow blogger Melany (of MelanysGuydlines.com) and a few of her friends to celebrate her birthday in Hollywood. I don’t do Hollywood much anymore these days, since I now live at the beach. It’s a huge trek, and the parking is astronomical on a Saturday night. But alas, I needed some girl time, and was actually looking forward to hanging with Melany, so… trekky I became.
My day leading up to this was not one for the list of hallmark moments (to put it kindly). One of my sons, whom I normally love, behaved in such a way that I unleashed a scream on him that I generally reserve for — oh — let’s say plane crashes.
I decided after that to arrive early to the party (and arranged with Melany and company to do so as well for a pre-party toast)… I like Melany and all, but after the day I had, I was suddenly looking forward to a martini.
There were a number of things that destined this evening to fail for me: a) I parked too far away. I’m out of practice, and have taken on M.C. Nugget’s habit of parking a “little” further in order to save a buck. In this case it was five bucks, so I parked somewhere and started walking before I realized it was about a quarter mile. I hoofed it in heels; b) the altercation with my son put a damper on everything; and c) I’d mistaken a warm balmy day at the beach for what I thought would be a warm balmy night in Hollywood, and arrived in a halter top and no jacket. It was f-ing cold.
When my martini arrived so did the champagne Melany’s mother “phoned in” for our little group. Fun times ensued…
You’ll be proud to know that even in my darkest hour, I did not imbibe irresponsibly. I had my one martini and a few sips of Champagne. When the party decided to make a move, I was ready to call it a night. I got in their car with them, thinking their next destination, The Rainbow on Sunset, would bring me closer to my car… WRONG. The Rainbow is way past where I parked. But this is Sunset Blvd on a Saturday night people. You do not “turn a car around.” So they pulled over and I flagged a cab back to my car.
And then, I was bamboozled by a cabby.
He took me down the block, for all of five bucks (so much for my five dollar parking save), and I handed him a twenty. I was distracted, looking into the hotel lobby (think, “ooohh… pretty lights over there!”) when the cabby scoffed in a huff, pulled out five singles, and said “This is all I have” (which is BULLSHIT now that I think about it). I somehow confused what I’d just handed him and said okay, “keep one single.” And so I walked away from the cab sixteen dollars poorer.
This is where I should have cried and said “Ricky! He caught me off guard! He…. he…. he STOLE from me, RIIIICKYYYY!!!”
But instead I texted M.C. once I was back to my car and realized the fiasco that just occurred. Then I drove home in an angry “Don’t frack with me” rage. Not a great end to an already Sucky McSucklestein day.
Sorry. I know. I could have shared my tale in a light-hearted, “Oops! What a dumb blonde I was” fashion…The Lucille Ball comparisons could have remained intact, as you pictured my cartoon-esque figure dizzily bouncing around Sunset Boulevard. But alas, I’m still out sixteen dollars. It’s times like this I want to kick myself in the arse and say “FOCUS lady! FOCUS!”
Then M.C., my night in shining armor called me and said “Where do you want to meet me. I’ll buy you a drink.” My hero.
I’m now a reformed Lucy. I will never be bamboozled by a cabby again. You can COUNT on it.
Love you people!!!! Mmmmppphhhuuuhhhh!!!!
aka Lisa Jey Davis
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