Our Love is Like Fill In The Blank.

My Uber driver and I were doing anything but connecting this morning. It was a language barrier thing, it was I was a me being late thing and he ended up pointed towards Hollywood Boulevard instead of Franklin thing, but I thought Uber was a 'data driven' company and the data clearly indicates Franklin to Fairfax, Fairfax to Sunset. Sunset to Doheney. Doheney to Santa Monica and from Santa Monica to my beloved Avenue of the Stars. But I really don't know how 'data driven' I can expect when I'm picked up in a Mitsubishi Mirage not that I'm complaining or that I didn't tip. It's not like I have fuck all to do at work.They want me to 'review' the work I did last week which I take as hanging out in the mall and wondering why I didn't buy those shoes last week when they were 25% off.

My dearest Kevin Kiermaier went and cracked his hip bone and will be out of the looking gorgeous and throwing shit scene for a few months at least. I'm sure his 'fiance' is going to cope just fine. It's not like he was going to be spending his spare moments banging that Basic AF bimbo. Sorry. I'm sure that sounded bitchy, but really, they must grow them in pods somewhere.

The millennial wants to do dinner and sex this week and then baseball and sex next week and who knows what. I just can't seem to get through a day without receiving 87 texts from the motherfucker. If I hadn't totally fucked everything up with the amazing cloud of stud atoms none of this, you know, whatever. It is what it is and its Andre Ethier bobblehead night. This shit always comes in three and there you have it. My Uber driver, Kevin, and now this.