Bad Ride

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...
 

 
Forgive me, dear friends, for my absence (is something I've been saying here a lot lately).  Here's the thing:

When I was 19, my parents were getting divorced and I was living abroad in a country where I was legally allowed to drink.   This did not go well for anyone, certainly not me.  For Thanksgiving that year, my abroad group gathered, I contributed peanut butter and banana sandwiches to the potluck, and then drank my weight in wine and Desperados (for those not classy enough to have experienced Desperados personally, they are beer with tequila in them and also what someone told me, "all the bums who live in the metro station drink").  After that I tried to make out with a boy in my group who most certainly did not like making out with girls, not even at parties, got lost, and the whole event climaxed with me getting punched in the face by a taxi driver.  Seriously- Black eye punched in the face.  I made it home, and all ended well enough.  But the thing about that story is that I've been waiting for coming up on 10 years for it to join the ranks of other goofy stories of drunken debauchery, and it's never quite made the transition.  It was just too upsetting at the time to make the leap to silly anecdote.  And that pretty much sums up what's been going on at my office this last week.  Like, if that cab driver applied for my immediate boss' position, with the odds stacked that he would once again punch me in the face, I would welcome the change.  I hold out hope that soon enough I can resume tossing off the yuck of this office, but until then I'm asking for any leads on where I can get a Desperado and a good ice pack stateside.