ATTENTION READER:

THIS IS HOW I’D LIKE YOU TO PICTURE ME AS YOU READ ALL OF MY BLOGS FROM NOW ON.

THANK YOU KINDLY.

PROCEED.

I didn’t feel all that well when I got up. I haven’t ever had a hangover, but I think this was the closest I’ve been to one. This must be how Lindsay Lohan feels every day.

[Admit it, that is the best-placed GIF on my entire website.]

I thought and wondered how she had spent her nights down the hall. Probably with lots of champagne and cigarettes smoldering in ashtrays throughout the room and naked strangers sprawled over the eccentric furniture, the window would be hanging open, the ice bucket would be upturned, and one of the faucets would slowly be running. What fun she must have had here!

I fumbled for the telephone and had them bring me up some coffee. Shrugging back into my robe, I felt a bit better after I drank the entire pot. I love coffee. I prefer espresso. The thought of food repulsed me, so I was glad for the coffee. Then I turned to the bellboy, who was sadly not wearing a cap, and said:

Did you know that there is more caffeine in a cup of drip coffee as there is in a shot of espresso? Not a lot of people do. It takes a lot of caffeine to effect me, though, so I decided to go for the pot.

As I started coming back to life, I scrolled through my tweets and exclaimed excitedly — today was the premiere of the new One Direction music video where Zayn dresses up as a beautiful drag queen. Could anything be better? No. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more luxurious than I did at that moment in my robe drinking my overpriced coffee and dancing to “Best Song Ever” which was not the best song ever, but that’s not important.

I’m even more obsessed than ever with Zayn’s hair and am seriously considering it. I think I could pull it off. Much like Lindsay Lohan in the iconic scene in her horrible film, Liz & Dick, “I’M SO BORED” of my hair.

[If by this point, I have failed to inspire you to watch this camp classic, I have failed.]

Anyway, my hair is always the same. I need some variety. Maybe I’ll get it one of these days when I get out of Los Angeles.

Sadly, it was soon approaching noon and was time for me to get out of the wonderful Chateau Marmont. I loaded my bags up with everything that wasn’t bolted to the floor and with a depressed air, headed down to check out. I told them about my botched room service, and they took it off my bill. Kindly of them. Wonderful hotel. You must go. Save your pennies, peasants, someday you’ll be able to book a room. They make you feel like this:

I missed the Chateau the very second I left the property and was back on Sunset Boulevard with all the common people. To further my shame, I had to wait for the bus at a stop that was in full view of the hotel. I hope none of the staff saw me waiting there. I’d never live down the shame. “I’M DOING RESEARCH FOR A DOCUMENTARY!” was what I intended to say to people if inquiries came…none did.

The bus finally came and I was soon on Highland walking towards Hollywood Boulevard and was glad to look up and see the Hollywood sign. I’m obsessed with it. I’ll never stop. I just love it. It wasn’t too long before I was at the train station and zipping underground Los Angeles wondering what would happen if there was an earthquake while you’re on the train. I suppose it would shake a bit, maybe derail, maybe get crushed. Who knows? I still haven’t experienced an earthquake. I was hoping there would be a minor one, just to say that I got through it all, you know?

No earthquake ensued and I scurried up to Union Station where it was quite warm but I was immediately in love with the old Spanish style architecture.

There aren’t many train stations left from yesteryear. Union Station in Chicago is awful. Pretty on the outside, but all the original details on the inside are hidden beneath drop ceilings and horrible waiting areas where the Amish take over. I guess there’s a Great Hall, but I haven’t seen much of it. Grand Central in New York is stunning, but I haven’t been there in years. Anyway, Union Station in Los Angeles is stunning and I’m passionately in love with it. There are these massive, worn-down leather-lined wooden benches in the main hall and it feels like Bette Davis could have walked in at any moment. She didn’t. She’s dead, you know? They should bring her back as a hologram. Have you seen that Dior perfume commercial where Marlene Dietrich and Grace Kelly and Marilyn Monroe are at a fashion show? It’s amazing. I’m obsessed with it.

I grabbed an egg salad sandwich and something called a Valencia Orange Refresher at Starbucks, since I was starving and shaking. I guess you have to eat once in a while. Whenever I go get coffee and they ask for my name, I always give the name Nicky. It’s the name I feel is more appropriate to me anyway. I’ve tried to go by it, but nobody ever warms up to it. Baristas don’t need to know that, though. It drives me bonkers though that they never get it right. Nicky is not a hard name! They always call me Mickey. I’m not Mickey. I feel like Ricky on I Love Lucy!

It was time to catch the train, so I was delighted to hop on and find myself on the quiet car. I had heard of the quiet car and I had long dreamed of the quiet car. It’s a magical place where you aren’t allowed to talk and your phone is not allowed to ring and you aren’t allowed to make any sounds whatsoever; you have to be quiet on the quiet car! Sign me up! Never make me leave! I’m a way better conversationalist via keyboard, you know?

Guess what happened, reader. Some bitch started taking on his cell phone. Oh, the glares he received from my angry eyes! He finally shut up and I continued reading the latest issue of Martha Stewart Living. I was having a great time and then all of a sudden we were in Anaheim. The Metrolink — the local train — takes you to the middle of nowhere. You have to get a taxi or a bus to get anywhere, so I slowly figured out how to ride the bus. I’m disgusted that I’m able to do this. I want to go back to the world where Ben didn’t know how.

But, peasant that I was forced to become after leaving the Chateau, I hoofed my bags around — they’re ridiculously heavy, I’m seriously considering sending things back home early…but what if I need an outfit? Too risky! — and hopped on a bus and then waited on a corner like a common hooker before the next bus came and then I had to walk a quarter of a mile to the stoplight so I could cross the street to get to the hotel which was right in front of the bus stop but had no way to cross off. Gosh, what a sentence. I’ve worn myself out.

I finally get checked-in and went up to my room only to find the door wide open and the sheets all over the floor. The room was not ready, obviously. I wasn’t going downstairs, so I used the phone to call down and have them put me into a different room. If this had been the Chateau, they would have upgraded me. HARRUMPH! I was put in a weird room that was the only one on level three that was outside. It had a private staircase. It was strange. The room was just a room. It worked, but it didn’t have the same class as the Chateau. The lamp wasn’t plugged in. This bothered me since I’m so accustomed to glamour. I’ll never be able to go back to the way I was. I’m dreading going home and living in my house since I’ll now have to redo everything. NOTHING IS RIGHT!

I was starved, so I called down for the shuttle, which was only supposed to take about fifteen minutes, but instead took forty-five to prepare. My insides were consuming themselves at this point. The driver finally had a chance to take me to Downtown Disney and I had a great time making small talk with him. He was one of those driven people that I don’t understand. He talked all about his goals and aspirations and I’m like, “Someday, I’d like to grow a full beard.”

Don’t you dare laugh! I would look incredible with a nice scruff. What I do have looks awfully handsome. I can’t deny it. I just wish it would fill in on my cheeks a bit more. God, people would collapse!

Anyway, once I arrived in Downtown Disney, I just wasn’t in the mood anymore, but I was going to be there until about nine, so I wandered around. I’m blaming the moon. Say, have you heard that Michael Jackson demo “Scared of the Moon?” I’m crazy about it. If I were to make a mixed tape of my favorite songs of his, that would definitely be on it. I’m so going to do that!

So, I was grumpy and realized just how much money I had spent and got a bit worried about it. I’m never a big worrier about money. About other things that aren’t important, yes, but money, no. The restaurants weren’t inspiring me whatsoever and I was having trouble finding things to eat. I can’t eat fast food. I’d rather not eat at all, so I finally found myself at an Italian place where I got some ravioli and a caprese salad and some lemonade and chocolate cake and espresso. What?? I was hungry!

I felt like Lindsay Lohan again, which has happened a remarkable number of times the past few days, because we’re both forced into decadent lifestyles that we cannot afford. It’s not our fault that we’re expected to spend money on food. Good food. Well-prepared food. It’s just our nature, what our careers insist of us. The food was decent, not exceptional. It rarely is at Disney. The best food I ever ate at a Disney park (other than at Alfredo’s, which is sadly closed) is Citirco’s at the Grand Floridian Resort. Amazing food. Truly stunning.

The same guy picked me up. He’s also a pilot. I want to be a pilot. I want to go to flight school. I’m totally doing it soon. One of my bucket list things. I don’t like the phrase bucket list. I love the idea of it, but I want a chicer name. Any suggestions? TO DO BEFORE I DIE LIST, UH OH DO IT SOON LIST!, I have nothing creative right now. Help!