People may argue that certain parts of the Middle East, or a war concentration camp or possibly Cleveland is "the worst place in the world." But make no mistake, that distinction belongs to the Trader Joe's in Toluca Lake, California. This is not an affront to the Trader Joe's franchise in general, in fact I am a regular shopper at 33rd and Pico. I drink a bottle of 2 buck chuck every night I write and genuinely think that Joe O's are better than Cheerios. I am arguing that this specific Trader Joe's is far worse than the institution of communicable disease (can we just accept that EVERYONE has had someone close to them die of cancer and therefore it universally sucks and just know that the phrase "worse than cancer" is therefor inoffensive? No? Ok.)
First of all what is Toluca Lake? Toluca Lake is a community full of moderately successful studio folk who are too pretentious to admit they live in Burbank. They still live in the valley which is in itself embarrassing, but apparently it's less embarrassing when you live in the self proclaimed "Pacific Palisades" of the 818. By the way, it's not. It's a marginally nicer area than surrounding North Hollywood, Studio City and Burbank. But I digress.
The people that eat raw/vegan/gluten free in most areas do it because they think they gain some sort of competitive advantage from doing so. Maybe you live by the beach and think it will make you skinnier and thus more fuckable come summer. Maybe you saw a documentary on how slaughterhouses work and you get physically ill when you think about consuming meat. These motherfuckers do it simply so they can judge those who don't. You either grab a piece of bread and some guy says, "you know the human body wasn't built to handle gluten" or "ever since I gave up meat my colon operates so much better."
Well first of all thanks for sharing with me your shitting habits. I'm fairly certain the human ass wasn't programmed to have shit shoved up it? But that didn't stop you. Look man, I don't give a fuck what you eat but don't you spew your liberal bullshit at me about how you feel great ever since you started eating exclusively nuts. I'm sure I would feel great if I didn't drink 5 nights a week and engage in reckless behavior that resulted in varying bodily injury. So when I walk in with a bagel in the morning don't fucking ask me:
"Oh that looks so good, is it GF"
No actually it's GFY. Go fuck yourself loser.
Now let's get to what you really want to read about, how much blow I did in San Francisco.
Doing Thanksgiving with a friend's family is a strange experience. Of course there is a ton of drunken family drama and you want to pick a side and get involved, but it's not really your place. I limped into Sacramento after an extra debaucherous Wednesday night. I believe I drank about 30 shots of whiskey before finally waking up to find out I had again woken up alone, on top of a pile of my clean clothes staring at a note I had left myself before going out.
"Don't even think about passing out before you pack for NorCal faggot."
The shame of not being able to listen to a sober version of myself poured over me as I peered into my empty bag. (Note: this is a lie, because that would mean I unpacked after the Red Wedding)
So I threw a bunch of wrinkly clothes into a bag and ubered it to the airport, JUST in time to make the earlier Southwest flight. Only it turns out Southwest doesn't do standby flights so I had to buy a new ticket just to get on a plane 3 hours earlier. THANKS FOR NOTHING OBAMA.
(I did get mistakenly upgraded to business select though where I drank 4 cocktails in 45 minutes thus earning back 20 dollars from those greedy bastards)
Anyway flash forward to Thanksgiving dinner. I grew up in a family where I spent all of Thanksgiving getting scolded for how much I party.
"When are you going to get a nice girlfriend?" I suppose when I'm done railing out random sluts in bathrooms, that's when I'll settle down.
Eventually I go downstairs where I can freely drink my whiskey while playing Karaoke Revolution with all my 5 year old cousins and they don't give a shit. That is a judgment free zone. As long as I sing Miley songs with them, I can get as drunk as I want.
This family was not like that at all. We were required to take a shot between every course and then a shot after every person said for what they were thankful. All in, I finished dinner about 12 deep. But that was just the beginning. From there, the party moves to the garage and after about 60 games of Civil War and even more You Got Served, when everyone is good and blacked out and my phone is completely destroyed (ya thats why I haven't been answering your texts) then comes the real fun.
My friend has a younger brother and he invited his rag tag of friends over...then the old guys (us) and the young guys (them) do a re-enactment of the Vietnam War.
When I say a re-enactment of the Vietnam War, it is more like an all out brawl akin to the battle scene from Anchorman. People weaponize any available household object and begin to violently brawl.
There was blood everywhere, thousands of dollars of damage done, and I couldn't help myself thinking, "is this real life?" There was literally a trash can aflame in the corner and a 18 year old vomitting blood and crying.
I imagine this is partially what real war looks like.
We captured one of the Vietcong and our Marine buddy proceeded to water board him for information. What information you ask? It doesn't really matter, we were just torturing him until the Vietnamese side decided to surrender, which happened after about 5 minutes of bloodcurdling screams from a 19 year old. On a driveway. Of a 20,000 square foot home. In a gated community. Of suburban Sacramento.
Then in the spirit of the first Thanksgiving when the Pilgrims and Indians settled their differences over turkey and masked potatoes; we shook hands with the enemy and had drunken Thanksgiving dos in the garage.
Something about drunkenly eating leftovers amongst the carnage of the battle scene is supposed to signify a deep level of respect among the combatants. Needless to say a "peace pipe" was passed around the table and I immediately went to a room to pass out face down on the floor.
Unfortunately, a little later in the evening, Vietnam 2 broke out and I think my buddy broke a bottle over his little brother's head and I had to pretend to be asleep face down in the corner while my friend's mother berated him for 2 hours about how it's not ok to break bottles over your brother's head, even in the heated passion of war re-enactment. I've been tweaking on weed before. This was the worst. I remember stumbling through the house in between reality and dreams. One of my buddies was fucking an Asian in the movie theater, one had a face covered in blood and then there were the girls we had invited over, jaws dropped, unsure how to handle the animals that their high school friends had become. It was surreal.
I came out of a blackout in the corner, crying, eating leftover turkey, and trying to use my broken phone's Siri to call my ex girlfriend. It was equal parts horrifying and incredible. Thursday came to a close and my weekend looked like it was nearing rock bottom, but I think I can save it...Sure I'm 0 for 2 thus far on the trip. Black Wednesday and Thanksgiving couldn't have ended more pitifully for me. But you know as they say, 2 outta 4 ain't bad (do they say that?) Whatever, motherfuckers...I can turn this around.
We hadn't even departed for San Francisco yet. This was just the wholesome family holiday portion of the trip. What would happen when we got 7 bros in a hotel room in the marina district?
Will there be cable cars? Alcatraz Tours? Fun group photos on the Golden Gate Bridge?
Or...just a bunch of drugs, hookers and 48 hours of straight drinking?
FIND OUT TOMORROW in the thrilling conclusion to Ragegiving!
No comments:
Post a Comment