Light Traffic on St. Patrick's Day?

In rush hour, normally it takes the Super Fickle Pickle like two hours to go from snooty ass Brentwood to dirty ass Hollywood. When the Super Fickle Pickle hopped in her dirty car to prepare for the long journey and she was amazed. It took her fifteen minutes to get through Beverly Hills and Bel Aire and twenty minutes to drive all the way to Hollywood.

So, I had to wonder, why was there light traffic that day? What was so special about today? And then I thought about it? It’s St. Patrick’s Day.

So did people actually skip work on St Patrick’s Day or did they leave early? And are there that many Irish people in LA or are there just a bunch of people who like to drink, no matter the occasion? And, those who left work early, what were the excuses they gave to their bosses? Did they say they had the flu? A cold? Malaria?

It’s interesting because I understand light traffic on Veterans Day or Memorial Day but light traffic on St. Patrick’s Day is certainly odd.

No More Talking to Myself...I Now Have Ernie

Apparently everyone has a problem with me talking to myself. Apparently, my friends think that sort of behavior is peculiar. Since clearly I am one who succumbs to peer pressure, I decided to break my addiction and stop talking to myself. And how has it been? Difficult! Impossible actually.

I tried talking to random strangers but that can be dangerous, especially since I live in Hollywood. And, I tried talking to my family but all they want to talk about is how I need to commit myself to the Hollywood Mental Institution. That’s not fun to talk about. I tried talking to the wall but it didn’t really respond back very often.

So, I decided to go to the store and get a plant. Plants are living things so technically I am talking to something that breathes. Plus, no matter what I talk about, the plant can never move. We had great conversations about everything such as current events, food, and fashion. He even helped resolve a few disputes I was having with my feuding imaginary friends. We talked about everything.

So, I decided that since my plant and I were becoming such good friends, he needed a super duper special name. So after careful consideration, I decided to name it Ernie, after of course my favorite Sesame Street character. Hours after naming it Ernie, my plant wilted up and died. So now I’m stuck talking to the wall, wishing that I had named the high maintenance plant Elmo.

Life is hard.

Tomatoes and Weddings Don't Mix

My friend is getting married and I promised to sit in the front row and cause a ruckus during the ceremony. During the entire wedding I was thinking I could do a bunch of stuff like sexually harass her future husband, bring a bottle of vodka into the church and have a few shots. I could steal the flowers from the flower girl, hide the ring from the ring bearer. I could even throw darts at her brides maids. She laughed. I guess the thought of me tormenting her wedding party was funny to her.

Then I said I could bring a few extremely ripe tomatoes and throw them at her instead of rice. For some reason, the thought of me doing that seriously upset her. She even asked for her invitation back.

So I can apparently torment her entire wedding party but I can’t torment her? That seems a bit unfair doesn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to have a white dress with tomato juice all over it? It would make for a great story to tell the kids. I don’t understand why she was being so unreasonable.

Oh well, I’ll probably show up and bring the tomatoes anyways.