All I wanna do is have some fun before I die said the man sat in the Uber next to me… and the sun was coming up over Santa Monica Boulevard.
We are in the Uber from hell despite the easy jazz coming out of the driver’s playlist.
Well, they do say that the Devil plays the best tunes.
And forms pleasing shapes with Michael a well turned out Fifty-something dude from Seattle.
Who unfortunately can’t get us back from our night out from downtown LA Live to the pier.
Like a prayer for Donna
Donna, our sainted Irish travel pal from Tour America would be forgiven for going round the bend.
Michael is as he tries to connect his phone to hers with his showing her as a blue dot chasing after him.
Only in America!
After a couple of cancellations, at her cost, and we hope she gets her refund in the 23-hour refund policy.
And an hour in his roomy, air-conditioned Kia people carrier we give up the gig and book a second driver.
Uber to you
Michael 2.0 is a different animal and sex… her car is only a four-seater and we’re a five.
And she has brought her home with her which Donna has to sit among in the front-seat.
While she has the heating up full which knocks Julianne out in the back.
While our new pal who has latched on to who for the purposes here we’ll call Bill, or Billy or Buddy.
But whose real name is Stuart (from Manchester, England) and who is on the phone to Spain to his signora from Peru.
Now my Spanish is nada but I can figure out that there was an expletive next to Uber and Michael/Miguel in the conversation.
A toast at the Lazy Dog
Like all of life’s journeys, at least until now, we arrive at our destination.
The JW Marriott Los Angeles L.A. Live, 15 and a half miles away, 45 minutes later.
Donna has a thirst on her like she has been stuck in the Mojave Desert over yonder above Las Vegas.
It is only sporting to take her to join our Irish and Bostonian pals (same thing really) at the Lazy Dog on our hotel doorstep.
For local craft beers… and regale our company with our Santa Monica adventure.
Rollercoasters, bumpers and whack a moles
How Julianne conquered her fears of rollercoasters.
Whupped my ass on the whack a mole, I got my own back on the American bumpers.
Before drinking it off in Bubba Gump itShrimp, near the sign for the end of Route 66..
And how we’d dragged Donna out of the jumping music joint Big Dean’s for all this.
Just as the sun was coming up over Santa Monica Boulevard.
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