© 2012 Timmy Tamisiea. All rights reserved. I prefer this kind of run-in with Oblivion . . . more manageable.

176/365 – The Seafood Lover In You!

Last night I sat on the rooftop of a Hollywood apartment building drinking birthday cake flavored vodka and watching the LAPD bust the party I was attending.  Well, busting is a harsh word.  They were giving it a warning for noise disturbance.  I’m sure that at some point, I was suddenly transported to my Marquette days when tom foolery such as this was common place.  Then I probably remembered I’m of legal drinking age — I just hope all the kiddies down stairs were too.

It was strange that the party was at a daycare center.

When we descended from our La La land perch (A perch, I might add, that was broken into by a fellow classmate . . . padlock and all) I was left with two grand lads — Chris Svehla (a co-worker form the Columbia Screenwriting Center) and Tim Attewell (the line producer for my film Belittle).  What a trio.  A trio filed with hope and mischief but not filled with food . . . and so, we headed to the Hollywood Denny’s — proof that no good decisions are made at 2am.

Meanwhile, at the party . . .

If you’ve been following the blog since I came to LA, you’ve noticed that my eating habits haven’t been too stellar.  Just gross, for the most part.  This trip to Denny’s is not helping.  Especially since my bad habits have become awful habits — like the domino theory.  Except my dominos are made of fat, grease and self deprecation.  Red Scare?  More like Fat Scare.  I’d categorize these bad habits as “run ins with oblivion.”

I prefer this kind of run-in with Oblivion . . . more manageable.

I’m only pointing this out because I just got done with a meal from Red Lobster.  Pat really wnted to go.  So, we headed to a lovely area of LA where I proceeded to eat a 1000+ calorie meal for 30 bucks.  This presents a dilemma.  I neither have the gastral room for this shit nor the wallet space to pay for it.  I need to get out of this city.  You’d think LA would be a safe haven for me to eat healthy.  Especially compared to Chicago — home of Italian beef, chicago dogs, deep dish pizza and polish sausage.

And this guy.

Ugh.  I feel this is the end as the beer/Denny’s/lobster poopies take hold.  If there’s a news flash showing pictures of a crater in Hollywood, it’s not the latest disaster movie starring Nick Cage.  It’s me.  And my butt.  Stop “ewwing” me.  Everyone poops.  It says right here:


If there’s one truth right now is that I need to get back to chicago ASAP.  I need to get beck to my reular routine.  Denny’s?  Jesus Christ.  No, not “Jesus Christ” as a exclamation.  More like, “Even that skinny dude wouldn’t go to Denny’s.”  Dear God, forgive me.  It’s been weeks since my last healthy meal.  I got to go.  My bowels and I need to have a long talk in the bathroom.  We’re having an intervention with my mouth.

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