Headline: Raging Chocoholic Runs Rampid Downtown

My rescheuled meeting was for today at 8AM, which meant I would have to catch the bus at 709. So, naturally I wake up at about 645, due to the buzzing alarm, and told myself I have plenty of time. And I found out I did. I wake up again, by chance, not by alarm, at 706. I don't think I ever sprang out of bed/got dressed so fast in my entire life! I was bookin it! I raced out the door and hurried to the bus stop, with the notion of complete failure and utter dismay. But no! I made it! Ha ha! Take that Fate!

So I get on the bus completely frazzled and fix myself up. Perhaps it's a good thing I hardly know anyone here because I was a complete disaster! My hair was total bed hed, my shoes were half on, and some of my shirt was unbuttoned. It wasn't pretty. So anyways, I get there and it's the longest meeting I've ever attended in my life. Everytime I get to one of these meetings I plan on getting there early and sitting at the table where there's the most action. But unfortunately, for me, it's like going to the bank and trying to pick the shortest line and always picking the wrong one. This time, everyone was quiet and I sat an empty table thinking talkative people would just gravitate towards me...wrong. All my peeps were pretty much dead. It wasn't until we got on the bus, that table's got mixed up and started talking. I sat with some New Yorkers and a guy from Atlanta...It was pretty...ethnic. One of the New Yorkers was a large, Italian mafia-looking pizza shop worker, and the girl was a chain-smoking hip-hop girl. The Atlanta guy went to the Martin Luther King School down in Atlanta and apperantly is "knighted," in his own words, and much to his discomfort, the gayest college in the nation. You learn something new everyday, right? Anyways, they all started to talk about the rappers they love and I was way out of my league; sitting there as a white boy from Okalahoma, as I joked with them about later.

So after the meeting I have to take an extravegently planned system of buses and Monorails to get to Hollywood Studios, where I had left my apartment key the day previously. I called the day it happened and they said they had it with my name on it. So I go there, as Liam, and ask for my key. She pulls out the drawer and there's a whole bunch of keys. She starts pulling them out one by one and I look inside the drawer and theres one with my name on it. I tell her that's my name and she gives it to me. I'm elated, because this lack of key was presenting somewhat of a burden on me and my roomates. I arrive at home, excited because I have it and...it's the wrong one. In the corner, I see my terrace. I consider scaling it. What scared me about this, was that I suggested to myself "I should scale that, like Edward, like a twilight vampire," rather than Spiderman or a rock climber, or anything other than that! My masculinity was seriously challanged.

It was agian when I arrived home to a house where everyone had a signifcant other. One of my roomates girlfriends comes out, skimply dressed, to use the bathroom. Another is on the couch making out with my other roomate. Even my other roomate had his...friend over.

Thanks to the persistent nature of my mother, she tossed some money into my account to get the good eats around here. I was excited that I was going to eat a legit meal somewhere. So I ask Dayna to dinner and she goes conditionally: I have to go shoe shopping with her. Not real shoe shopping, work shoe shopping. Not quite as exciting. But I'm in a good mood, lucky for her because she's had a long day. I use my postive energy and uplifiting personality to brighten her spirits. It totally works and we start having a great time. We go downtown and go to a cuban resturant. I got their "famous roasted chicken," chicken in a creole sauce and other fixings, with Moro Rice, white rice tossed with black beans until the rice itself is black, and Maduros, fried bananas with the consistancy of a banana, and the look at texture of golden browned broiled potatoes. The Maduros were...interesting, and the Moro rice was good enough. When I go to a resturant, I dip everything in ranch; no, dip isn't the word...more like drench. But if I go for some Spanish-infulenced cuisine, I go for sour creme. Sour creme is the hispanic ranch. The chicken was tender and juicey, but I'm not a fan of complicated food. The kind you have to work around to get to, such as picking out bones. The diet coke was pretty good there too.

We had a splendid time strolling down the streets of downtown, taking pictures around different locations. We made a special trip to the Ghirardelli chocolate place (I am a constantly relapsing chocoholic) and get a little square of heaven. I choose to skip out on the ice cream with the heart-stopping scented chocolate covered waffle cone because I don't want to splurge all my money. But one day...

After that, we hit up all the candy stores. Most of the time just to pop in and walk around to sniff the place out. Just the sweet scent of sugar being everywhere can derive the simplest pleasure for a sweet-toothed, sugar-deprived child like me. Everywhere down there, they have these awesomely crafted candy apples. You can also make your own. It's "totally awesome."

We hed home after getting lost trying to find the way Dayna has to go to work. She drops me off, did I mention she has a car? It's awesome! I sound like a fifteen year old kid dating a sixteen chick with a way out of his parents house. Well, usually it's the other way around. Whatever. So I'm home, I talk with Justin for a while and go to bed.