You know I haven't written in a long time when I get the following e-mail:
B: Where's the blog? Love, Daddy.
Okay, okay. Here's the thing. It costs me $.49 a minute to use this stupid hotel computer, and as I can't exactly charge it to the sender of the aforementioned e-mail, I'm hustling my ass out of here. I'm flying home (well, to Oakland) at 1ish and promise you exciting tales of running around a hotel at 4am, banging on the wrong door.
I was terrified, I'll admit, coming to LA by myself, attending a conference with 500 people by myself, eating a sandwich in my hotel room by myself...but lo and behold, I met the glorious and wonderful Erin, Peter, Julia and Brad.
I was convinced I'd be trapped with an array of middle aged women who go to bed at 9, dining on unoriginal salads and discussing Dr. Phil. But I've had a fabulous time. So fabulous, in fact, I just shared a tearful goodbye with my new best friends. As I left Erin's room last night, after staying up and gossiping and eating popcorn while watching Con Air, I headed for the door.
"Hey, Beth!" Erin screamed, as I walked down the hall. "I'm so glad I met you. You're the best disposable friend I ever had."
"Erin. We were almost gang-raped in the middle of Downtown Los Angeles. We are officially real friends."