I found peace and solace in riding down from Calabasas to Santa Monica, despite the mad rush of traffic on PCH this morning. Sometime around Temescal Canyon, where a boardwalk allows me to begin dodging pedestrians and rollerbladers, I began writing the blog in my head. I always like playing events backwards as if specifically to highlight the foreshadowing that I often encounter. This is probably not one of those cases, but it's still interesting to recall things in this way.

I spent the night in a company meeting room splitting the evening between a brewery and a full nude strip club. Of course there was a fair share of partaking of each establishment's core product. Even inthat setting, I still found myself lurking off to the side, even chatting with two of the strippers: the hilariously funny Exotica and a buxom brunette from Connecticut named Skyler. I would later induce belly laughs from my friends after I emerged out of the VIP room with , attempt to take a sip from my bottle of water, and have to stop to pick some hair out of my mouth.

What I remember most was the expulsion of my gastrointestinal contents in the bathroom of the brewery. My nausea came from the whole cigar I smoked, which wasn't very good according to my roommate, and was very strong according to everyone. Five months of county-mandated clean living was about to come to a viscous end.

I was surprised at how empty my stomach was, considering the large Italian lunch I had (from Viva la Pasta, one of the best Italian places I've ever tried). I dry heaved a few times before downing a few quarts of water, giving the rejected contents a means of conveyance.

I stopped at Viva la Pasta because I was tired of mass transit and needed a break from riding on buses or waiting at stops. I spent the majority of the day using my bike and the Simi and Thousand Oaks bus sytem to visit my probation officer. (Totally inefficient office, but I'm on mail-ins, so I've caught a bit of a break.)

There's a bus stop a few miles from my house that I tried to catch in the morning to get to Simi. Zipping as fast as my new bike would take me, I manged to catch the bus despite my being late. A trip full of kids with Downs syndrome were boarding, and their use of the wheelchair elevator bought me plenty of time to spare. I stood in line behind the non-wheelchair-bound kids to board, and one of the chaperones pointed to me and asked the teacher if I were one of her students. Both she and some students reported that I was not, and the guardian apologized.

Lady: I just saw you among a large cast of characters.
Me: I'm just a prop.