Habibi-jeebies

My late Friday night spilled over to Saturday morning and I ended up sleeping the day away. I relaxed by the pool and talked to my lady, Chelsea, for two hours on the phone and heard all about San Diego. I was planning on only staying out for a short time but two hours later I realized that I had gotten a nice bronze due to my lack of sunscreen. By late afternoon was beginning to feel that my day had become a complete waste and saw no hope for rallying for the evening either. Just as I as accepting my hangover fate, Steve, mister hairstylist from the Miken shoot a few weeks back, gave me a call and invited me out for dinner. It was exactly what I needed. We went to this great caribbean place in Santa Monica and talked about the business, people who aren't as ambitious as us, and his ex wife.
After Steve and I parted ways, I cruised over to Westwood and met up with Casey and Ally. Rachael was drunk off her ass, wearing some short rhinestoned dress and JP didn't look too pleased. Including JP's friends from Pepperdine and the UCLA engineering majors from two doors down, we made quite a group, thirteen of us to be exact. We ventured out into the warm hall toward the elevator. We were bent on fitting all thirteen of us into the small elevator car to spare ourselves the six story walk down the stairwell. As person number nine squeezed in, the stationary elevator made an unexpected jump that was a good four inches. The mixed drink that was being held above our heads to avoid being spilled came cascading down the back of Rachael's dress. With a shriek she shoved past us out of the elevator and threw herself into JP's arms. We took the stairs. We went to the hooka bar Habibi which is just across the street from the other hooka bar, Gypsy. The place was lit with red lights and was an indoor/outdoor set up with writing on the walls. It took me back to cabo..oh cabo.




haha that chick was soo gone