puppy dog tails.
I've been on a week long vacation at Mercedes' request, spending time with the wife and Kayla. I wanted our first vacation with Kayla to be special, so I took the family to Greece. It was absolutely beautiful. I had a lot of time to think while I was there. Mercedes and Kayla would sleep in most mornings while I took long walks to see the sun rise. I miss my dad.
I flew in yesterday afternoon. There were two limos waiting for us at the airport; one bound for the ranch, the other for a radio station where Yorba set up an interview. I kissed the family good bye and abused the complimentary alcohol in the limo's mini bar on the way to Lexington. There was a fruit basket from Louis. Aside from throwing an orange at a man under his hood on the side of the highway, I didn't touch the basket.
Got to the station around 8, just in time for the evening belching contest. Great I thought, One of those interviews...
It was an innocent interview, at first.
I spoke about the ep, I spoke about the album, I spoke about the tour, and I played a few songs on a shitty baby grand they had in a corner. There was a cute girl that kept floating in and out of the door, refilling my tumbler with whiskey. I don't remember much after that, but Louis assures me I'm to blame for 80% of it.
According to Yorba, I turned a fifteen minute Q&A call-in session into three drunken hours of speech impediments and abuse during which the station saw it fit to call security and dismiss me from the premises.
I came to in a sleeping bag at the front gates to the ranch. Mercedes was standing over me shaking her head, smiling nervously. I don't remember any of it was all I could muster myself to murmur.
She made french toast.
I flew in yesterday afternoon. There were two limos waiting for us at the airport; one bound for the ranch, the other for a radio station where Yorba set up an interview. I kissed the family good bye and abused the complimentary alcohol in the limo's mini bar on the way to Lexington. There was a fruit basket from Louis. Aside from throwing an orange at a man under his hood on the side of the highway, I didn't touch the basket.
Got to the station around 8, just in time for the evening belching contest. Great I thought, One of those interviews...
It was an innocent interview, at first.
I spoke about the ep, I spoke about the album, I spoke about the tour, and I played a few songs on a shitty baby grand they had in a corner. There was a cute girl that kept floating in and out of the door, refilling my tumbler with whiskey. I don't remember much after that, but Louis assures me I'm to blame for 80% of it.
According to Yorba, I turned a fifteen minute Q&A call-in session into three drunken hours of speech impediments and abuse during which the station saw it fit to call security and dismiss me from the premises.
I came to in a sleeping bag at the front gates to the ranch. Mercedes was standing over me shaking her head, smiling nervously. I don't remember any of it was all I could muster myself to murmur.
She made french toast.