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Miracle On Wilshire Boulevard: II

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 09.15.09
LAme

DAY 1 - MONDAY CONT.

As I drive Maggie’s mom-mobile to Slimy’s office, a single thought runs through my mind: No matter what they say and what they offer, SAY NO TO IT. At least for now. For now, I am unable to trust my own judgment about anything. I lost my fuckin’ car. And clearly, I have lost something else (other than my mind)--the right to make good, capable decisions.

So here I am, driving to Century City, all the while scanning the gray matter of my brain for the last recollection of where my car might be. In between that and trying not to psyche myself out, there wasn’t much time to pump myself up for a pitch meeting. I am too humbled by my irresponsibility to get excited about anything.

Miracle On Wilshire Boulevard

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 08.04.09
LAme

About a year ago, I lost my car. How does such a thing happen, you ask? Blame it on the TRUE gateway drug, alcohol. And it’s no secret I occasionally like to drink.

It is a beautiful Sunday sometime during the fall of 2008. I meet my friend, we’ll call him Pokerface, at a bar on Montana. From there, things get fuzzy. I only remember him driving us 10 blocks to Sonny’s, the Boston bar on Wilshire. It’s also no secret that I like the Red Sox. I believe it was a playoff game. One they lost. I didn’t take it well. At least, I’m guessing I didn’t.