Too Close for Comfort
This morning I got a call from my friend Lala on her way to Vegas (without me bitch!) to tell me how bad traffic was (karma) because of a melted freeway near the airport. After I got all the details, I nearly had heart failure. A few blocks away from the gas tanker explosion is my good friend Bruce's house, where I'd just been celebrating his birthday (among other enjoyable experiences) until about 2:30am.
About an hour before this fucking disaster happened, my Colonel was on this road coming to pick me up after his show. We missed the explosion by an hour coming back home.
My friend lives just off the West Grand Ave. exit.
One little hour. It makes me sick.
6 comments:
Omg.. i just saw this on the news then read your blog about you had been so close to being there. I'm sick to my stomach thinking about it.. Thank God you and the Colonel weren't there... Hugsssssss and love you
Isn't that the same part of the freeway dad was close to during the earthquake?
A little too close for comfort is an under statement.
I'm agnostic, but thanks anyway. I love you too.
I'm not sure about the dad story. Tell me again tonight when I call you.
That was close... I'm glad you're ok.
Vegas ROCKED. I almost hi-jacked the vaccuum cleaner at Hard Rock. Circle Bar baby, Circle Bar...
What's a vacuum cleaner? Oh how I miss the circle bar.
"It's not going to suck itself..."
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