Spend another full day at the apartment Thursday. This week has been exhausting, but spacing it out has definitely made it less overwhelming. Going back and forth to North Hollywood is really annoying. I want to sleep here, but our couch bed isn’t arriving until Tuesday. I’d be happy sleeping on the floor, but I know Mike won’t. “What do you mean, I won’t sleep on the floor?! Have you seen the places I’ve passed out?” Yes, but you were drunk. “I can sleep anywhere.” OK, could we sleep here tomorrow night? “Yes.” Awesome.
So this is my last night in North Hollywood. I chat online with Tara for a bit, talking about random things, when she drops a bomb on me. She played George in ping pong yesterday. Whattttttt?! I immediately start to get the giggles. I can’t believe it. “My life will never be the same. I’m still shaking. I called my Dad, like, right away, haha.” OMG, who won??! “He refused to keep score, because I was a tiny bit better. It was amazing, I was sweating and everything.” How did it happen? “He picked up the paddle and I was like, ‘can I play? I’m good.’ It just came out of my mouth.” Were you like so nervous? “I was shaking. I f’ed up the first three serves. Then I cooled down, got my groove. I wasn’t as good as I normally am, but I was good. It was wild. Rich asked if I talked shit.” Did you? You did. “Do you know me? I had to, because he had a great kill shot but he only nailed it 50% of the time, so I made fun of him.” Wow. I can’t believe you played George Clooney in ping pong. “Lindsay. I can’t either. I freaked out.” I scream up to Troy and he comes downstairs, probably thinking there’s a fire the way I’m yelling his name. He’s so jealous. I tell Tara I’ll let her tell Mike this weekend when he comes over for her birthday party. If that’s not the best start to a birthday weekend I don’t know what is.
I have work Friday, and it’s first Friday…again. I can’t believe another month has past. Mike is at his PA gig all day and I head into work early. It’s surprisingly not that busy when Mike gets dropped off around 9pm (We haven’t made a copy of the keys, so he’s here to pick them up). He’s been working long hours all week and is physically exhausted, but he doesn’t have work tomorrow so he sits at the bar for a drink. One vodka tonic turns into three and I look at him. His sleepy eyes have turned into drunk eyes. You’re drunk? “Yes.” I told him earlier he could take the car home, too, but since he’s been drinking he decides to walk. We can walk to our apartment from Lilly’s. Sweet. And since it’s First Friday, food trucks line the street until late. Mike’s been wanting to try the Grilled Cheese truck, so he sets off on foot for a tasty treat before crashing at our new home. Grilled Cheese has a line around the block, so he goes for the Philly Cheesesteak truck instead (he would).
I walk home around 12:30, starving, of course, so I, too, stop at a food truck. I also had food trucks for lunch. It’s becoming a problem. There’s a hot dog truck, and I wouldn’t usually go for it but this truck is so cool looking. I step up to the window and the guy says he’s not going to serve me. Excuse me? “Not until you take off that sweatshirt.” I smile. I’m wearing my Giants hoodie and they play in the Superbowl this Sunday. Everyone around me is asking to see my shirt because of how much this guy is offended. “OK, OK, what can I get you?” I order the California Dog: topped with avocado, fried onions, arugula, and a basil aioli. It should be 6 bucks. “That’ll be $100.” Cute.
Mike lets me in and I fall asleep on the floor next to him. I already like living here.