The People's Exhibit A (davidology) wrote,
The People's Exhibit A
davidology

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That might make a great title for a sexual entry. This isn't one of them.

It's been a rough couple of days, starting and ending with my shower head. Tuesday night I had to pack to begin my trip behind the Orange Curtain. For those of you not blessed with being in Southern California, the Orange Curtain is our pet name for Orange County (OC for short... or rather, "The O.C." since that damned addictive TV show of the same name).

It began Tuesday night. Packed, ready, and exhausted. I turned on the shower and walked off. BOOM! BOOM! BUM BUM BUM BUM BA BA BA BA BA BA BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! They'd turned off the water in our building earlier in the day. Unfortunately, the air that blasted from my shower head like a porn star who hadn't gotten off in two years would be the last thing to come out of it.

My body, cleaned with only the aid of several wet wipes, managed to get up at the butt crack of dawn—actually before the butt crack (even the Sun doesn't get up that early). I drove the 90 minutes to Anaheim for a 2-day conference. Conferences are boring, but there's always the opportunity for hot sex with the ridiculously hawt bell boy/valet/desk clerk/concierge. But that never happens, and as with most fantasies (like the pizza delivery guy one), reality is never as cute.

I crashed hard Wednesday night. I'm not sure if it was the Fun With Rum or mere exhaustion, but I woke around 5 am from the weirdest dream. One of the guys from Boy Sets Fire was wearing oversized red sunglasses with "Morrissey" written in white letters across them, and he was hot (I told you, it was a dream). I think he thought I was cute, but I wasn't sure. I got all shy and nervous, and he started holding my hand. That's when I woke up. Trippy, right? Interpret that one.

Thursday continued the suckage. Morning came almost as early as Wednesday, but this time when I was downstairs, someone handed me a card that granted the bearer (that would be me, for those of you not paying attention) to free drinks at the hotel's Starbucks. I hate coffee, but three Venti-sized Chai Soy Lattes with Vanilla later, and I was racing the elevators up and down stairs. Oh, how I wish I'd had this card the day before. The key to happiness, I'm now convinced, is free Starbucks.

After seminars, schmoozing, and trips to Starbucks, I made it back to L.A. in record time, but now Chai-latte-less, I was tired. I was supposed to volunteer for GLAAD and go to a party for LA Weekly, but I was just too tired. I couldn't wait to get home and shower, and that's when I remembered my poor shower head. I managed to take it apart, but I couldn't see what was wrong with it. I had little shower head organs all over my floor. I'm not sure if it was beyond repair, but it was certainly beyond reassembly.

And I just wanted to be clean.

Armed with my 20%-off Bed, Bath and Beyond coupon, I spent 20 tired minutes staring at different shower heads. My shower was built with Ooompa Loompas in mind, so if I wish to wash my hair without leaning over and knocking my head into it constantly, the shower head needs to be detachable. I finally settled upon the Waterpik 12-setting adjustable shower head. I spent about 5 minutes installing it, about 5 minutes typing this entry, and 25 minutes trying out all 12 settings (numbers 4 is my favorite).

I'm now clean.
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