• 7:30am, I-10 E
    Ryan Seacrest, Beyonce, 50Cent, Snoop, defy death creepily unaffected, spill coffee, Ryan Seacrest, cell phone, slam breaks, Shakira, 50Cent, Justin Timberlake, Ryan Seacrest, Britney, Beyonce, sneeze 586 times, 50Cent, Beyonce, 50Cent, Beyonce, Britney. And so it goes as I swerve my way through downtown traffic – screeching into the parking garage at work with the other sardines. Wait untill this morning’s crazy motherfucker is at a safe distance. Today a barefoot businessman slash bushman with really nice rollywheel luggage is yelling into a cellphone. He looks curiously like the Quentin Tarentino I saw driving maniacly down Beverly in his big yellow Pussy Wagon screaming at his cellphone. No joke. I Stomp inside.

    Get to my desk and grep kill grep kill grep kill kill kill. Escalator, elevator, escalator, elevator, escalator, elevator, escalator, elevator, grep kill grep kill grep kill kill kill. And thats me for the next 6 – 10 hrs.

    6:30pm, I-10 W
    Opressive heat; I have to pee. Traffic. I join EVERYONE IN SANTA MONICA at the supermarket for food. The lady in front of me pays with a check. A fucking check! I have to pee so bad. I finally get home and I’m locked out. Oh. My. God. Blanca, our housekeeper, has hermetically sealed the place up tighter than a fallout shelter. Shit Shit Shit. I can’t help wondering if the end of the world is near and I feel like I’m in that Day After Tomorrow movie. I consider peeing under the tree out back like my cat does; instead I sit in the car and cry, blasting 50Cent untill Chris saves me from myself.

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