October 22nd, 2002


Eating Bees.

My girlfriend called around 7 to let me know that she’d been in a car accident.

The cab she was sitting in was making a left just blocks away from my place, and the driver didn’t see the lady in an Audi zooming down Santa Monica. The cab driver was old and Asian. The lady was old and Asian. I guess impact was inevitable.

My girlfriend unfortunately was on the passenger’s side and absorbed some German-engineered velocity. Luckily, she and the rest of people involved weren’t seriously injured. But looking at the mangled cars, the firefighters at the scene booked her an ambulance ride to the nearest emergency room just in case.

I drove to the ER at UCLA Medical Center as if I was meeting up with her at a mall. Bad news has lost all its novelty lately.

Like a month ago when my mom called me 30 minutes after they’d left my baby sister’s hospital. Her car’s engine had exploded at the freeway entrance. Didn’t startle me a bit, although I was a bit perplexed how that could happen to a fairly new Toyota. Called a tow truck, had the car towed to the nearest dealership, and drove my parents home. The next day they found out it was caused by an idiot Toyota mechanic who had forgotten to replace the lid properly after an oil change. This further deepened my belief that 99% of the mechanics in this world are sleazy or incompetent and sexually abuse melons.

At the emergency room, the doctor didn’t find anything wrong with my girlfriend, other than dating a guy who suddenly has a habit of cursing the people around him. But they did give her some Motrin – for minor league soreness – and Vicodin – for a nice warm fuzzy feeling.

Normally after an accident you don’t start to feel the hurt until the following days. So she decided to go out. We stopped by Palm Tree for News Reporter Girl’s going away party.

As mentioned earlier, News Reporter Girl’s going to be the latest Washington correspondent for ABC News, which makes her the only person who’s willingly moving to the DC area this month. Being the rookie, I hope she doesn’t get stuck with the shit that the other correspondents are too scared to do, like reporting in front of isolated gas stations, empty Home Depot parking lots, or white vans with rifles poking out of the windows.

The girlfriend spent most of the evening talking to other people who’ve been in car accidents the past few weeks, like Lenny and Chuck’s woman T-Girl, who’s visiting for the weekend. I guess you could say bad things happen in threes, unless you count the seven “Police Academy” movies.

You know I used to hate dusting. But then I bought these…

Now I just have a moderate level of contempt towards dusting. Darn dead human skin.

Spent the evening at one of those places where people wait in long lines to buy $11 vodkas.

Ever get stuck sitting in the middle of a women’s shoe sale? A frenzied vortex of well-pedicured evil my friend.

While watching the usual lineup of HBO shows, it occurred to me how some people don’t care how much honey they have. They’d rather eat the bees.