Designer Vacuums.

I'm too tired to think. I feel drunk--intoxicated by exhaustion. My feet are covered in blisters from a pair of cursed flats that will never see the light of day again. I have a pain in my neck. In other words, I am getting a nice hearty dose of Real World. Meh.

 I do, however, get to read a script this weekend, and from the first couple of pages, I can tell that I'm going to enjoy it. Then I get to obsess over the fact that in the 15 minutes that I was off running an errand, the actor who plays Spock, aka the person that MADE the star trek movie amazing for me, came into the office, met with an exec, and left. Didn't even glimpse at him. At trying times like these, I chant the mantra to myself "if it were easy, then everyone would be doing it." Hear hear. 

Overall, it was a successful week that kicked my ass. I can't wait to drive back to Orange County, and relaxxxx without having to deal with:

- metered or parallel street parking. 

-little dogs EVERYWHERE

-one way streets

-valet parking. EVERYWHERE.

-Paparazzi (who literally camp out on Robertson, just waiting for so-and-so to shop at Kitson or eat at the Ivy.) 

-designer vacuums. There actually exists, on Robertson, a boutique just for...yep, you guessed it... vacuums. A list of all the trendy cities (New York, Tokyo, Moscow, etc.) is artfully etched on the glass, as if it were a Chanel boutique. Really? If I were a jet-setter going to Moscow, the last thing I would want to purchase is a vacuum. And, the people who could afford those, don't do their own vacuuming anyway. 

-smog. that's obvious. 

I'm gonna go pass out...at 8:00 on a Friday evening. Cheers. 

Moi