![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sep. 22nd, 2001
Weekend Update
Sep. 22nd, 2001 11:05 pmAnyone who saw my Friday show saw Baywatch beauty Angelica Bridges, cover girl for the upcoming Playboy. She and I agreed to hit the town after the show.
There's a reason why L.A. nightlife sucks. Nobody wants to get drunk and start driving around. And nobody ought to, A.J.! Also, no club knows how to hire a decent disc jockey. And they have smoke detectors in the bathrooms. Last time I checked, porcelain was flame-retardant.
Dave Grohl tagged along, after he took some of Afroman's ganja stash from last week.
First, he insisted on trying to break into the funnel cake stand at the Farmer's Market. I didn't get that. We wound up driving to the Krispy Kreme on Crenshaw. Dave certainly knows how to put away the raspberry filled.
A half hour later, though, he was farting like a cowboy in "Blazing Saddles." Mickey Rourke, that smelled!
I booted him out on Wilshire. Don't worry. He was hitching a ride with some girls on the back of a flat bed truck. Space and fresh air were just what Doctor proctor ordered.
I was really looking for MJ Hart, since I heard she was out clubbing with her buddies. So Angelica and I did some hopping, as they say. As the night wore on... well, she showed me her yin and I showed her my yang. It all got to be a blur after one too many Grey Goose martinis.
When I woke up, I wound up watching a Melissa Joan movie on HBO.
Gotta dash... there's some sort of house party at Rodman's. Details, later!
There's a reason why L.A. nightlife sucks. Nobody wants to get drunk and start driving around. And nobody ought to, A.J.! Also, no club knows how to hire a decent disc jockey. And they have smoke detectors in the bathrooms. Last time I checked, porcelain was flame-retardant.
Dave Grohl tagged along, after he took some of Afroman's ganja stash from last week.
First, he insisted on trying to break into the funnel cake stand at the Farmer's Market. I didn't get that. We wound up driving to the Krispy Kreme on Crenshaw. Dave certainly knows how to put away the raspberry filled.
A half hour later, though, he was farting like a cowboy in "Blazing Saddles." Mickey Rourke, that smelled!
I booted him out on Wilshire. Don't worry. He was hitching a ride with some girls on the back of a flat bed truck. Space and fresh air were just what Doctor proctor ordered.
I was really looking for MJ Hart, since I heard she was out clubbing with her buddies. So Angelica and I did some hopping, as they say. As the night wore on... well, she showed me her yin and I showed her my yang. It all got to be a blur after one too many Grey Goose martinis.
When I woke up, I wound up watching a Melissa Joan movie on HBO.
Gotta dash... there's some sort of house party at Rodman's. Details, later!