After being stuck in traffic on the 101 for decades, then getting lost in Echo Park, then spinning out trying to parallel park on an SF-worthy steep hill, which led me to scream “I hate LA!” out my window, I finally made it to a 100% fun party hosted by Ukulady and her lovely Ukulad.

• I introduced Anthony, one of the best 11-year-olds I’ve ever met, to the magical universe of Wacky Packages. His obsession was instantaneous and wonderful. He also gravely debated the merits of standard-issue Pop Rocks versus Pop Rocks dips. He gave me a hug when he left. Siiiigh.
• With the parents’ permission, I got to squish (gently, and with love) a 1-year-old who gamely grinned throughout the procedure.
• At one point I found myself with a mouth full of Krispy Kreme and another in my hand, without a conscious memory of getting to the donut box.
• I talked to a writer who had a similar background to mine (grew up in the southwest; both of us the youngest, by far, of a large family; had dads in WWII; our moms died a year apart at the same age). It was the last similarity that led to a cathartically hilarious and passionate conversation about how lame the Amercian grief process can be — my favorite subject!
• This writer’s fantastic wife and I bonded over our proud Girl Scout memberships as girls — and both of us admitting it was mostly for the uniform.
• My friend Jayne showed us pictures of her in costume for her role in Big Love, which was pretty great and made me feel preeny at the fact I have cool working Hollywood friends.
• Conversations topics with various people: The Museum of Tolerance; the awfulness of LA; how George quit pot and now is really productive; shrink dads; Justin Bieber: hot or not?; circus training leading to life epiphany; guns; how “The South” is not a place (after the guy from Georgia and the guy from Tennessee were encouraged to “drawl together”); wax lips.