Los Angeles, CA It’s like I need a time machine to even attempt to finish off the posts from my Farewell Tour last season. We’re looking at a seven month delay here, but I figure it’s still worth finishing up. Unfortunately, the second last day of my air portion of my NHL Farewell Tour was an off day. Bear with me here.
I woke up fairly early the morning following my first Shark Tank experience. As much as I wanted to explore San Jose and/or San Fran, I decided to spend my last day in Cali back in Los Angeles. Even I am amazed that I managed to steer clear of all the IN-N-OUT Burgers. I had successfully made myself sick of its deliciousness. However, fast track four months to life in Korea, and the cravings set in once again.
It was dinner time when I arrived at my final destination. The hotel was unseasonably busy, and I should have read this as the terrible omen it was. The unholy lines in the parking lot were no match for the horrors that awaited me at the front desk. For a girl who had been on an unending stretch of highway between San Jose and Los Angeles, you can imagine that these offenses were far too much for my pregnant bladder to bear.
I blindly followed the golden toilet decals as they led me not to the bathrooms, but rather to the seventh layer of Hell. Two aged she-beasts were perched upon their authoritative stools with whore-pink mouths and damaged skin from years of sunless summer. The monsters from the abyss assessed me with their serpent eyes, and determined that I was far too unkempt to be served with their papers. Photos reminiscent of that little dead Ramsey girl cluttered the walls. It was becoming frighteningly clear what was going on.
I was suddenly surrounded by an overwhelming pack of sparkly pink, blue, and purple Hell hounds. Their fangs were drawn up in a demonic grin, as they fussed over one another with painted claws permanently locked in attack mode. They, too, gave me a thorough sizing up, as my lack of make up, hair spray, and tiara wasn’t an obvious enough sign that I was not to lose my soul that day. Eventually these heinous spokes models for premature aging cleared a path for my escape from the other side. I knew it was best to get to the safety of my room as quickly as possible, and flee to Orange County before the results were in. There’s no telling what would happen to the hotel occupants with a horde of scorned would-be Miss Californias running amuck.
I spent the evening at The Cannery in Newport Beach. A bad all-you-can-eat experience that winter ensured that I did not enjoy sushi that night. Everyone raves about it – not sure why. I still have problems with sushi to this day – good thing I moved to Asia. The dessert was incredible, though.
On my way home that night, I drove past the darkened windows of the Honda Center. The lights had already gone out for hockey fans in Anaheim for the summer. There is nothing sadder than an empty hockey arena, as it is a painful reminder of the long and boring offseason ahead. The building obviously had more symbolism for me that night, as I was about to embark upon a journey that would take me as far away from hockey as possible for a year or maybe even longer – like forever. I only had one NHL game left to experience, and in less than twenty-four hours this would all be over.
Roll the credits…
Give my regards to Miss California…
