Everyone has left for a sexual harassment meeting and I am in charge for the next hour. It's funny that I am the one person exempt from going (I did it on my last show, you get a year) because I think not a week later, I was violating some of those policies. Hooking up with a coworker is kind of like a bad snl sketch. In theory it's fucking amazing, why would I not want to spend the 13th hour of my shift banging it out in the copy room. Work and play concurrently, it's a win/win! Well the 10th iteration of the Californians wasn't funny either. So when the flirty girl at work starts batting her eyelashes at you, choose cheese instead and then go out that night and find some random slut at The Whaler in Marrrrrrina Del Rey (That's almost Long Beach man!)
One more thing on the Toluca Lake Trader Joe's. Gays, I'm rooting for you. I really really am. But after I have suffered an hour in the suffocating pretentious smugness of Burbank's worst…not the best time to ask me to sign a petition for anything. The midwest comes out in me and I just want to yell out to everyone. EAT BREAD AND RED MEAT AND FUCK CHICKS AGHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Enough of that…where were we? Ah yes, Beautiful San Francisco.
So let's just go ahead and skip to Saturday shall we? Friday was kind of a non-event, it climaxed in me and all of my friends chickening out on a rub n tug parlor. (One could argue there was no climax at all heyoooo) We ended up at some sort of booze less night club that literally has the mission statement "come here blacked out or sneak in your own booze, because we don't have a liquor license."
This place, cleverly named "The End Up" (OMG it's like the hangge uppe lollllz) was home to 2 major subgroups. Shirtless gays (to be expected) and Asians. Has anyone ever realized that almost every mid 20's Asian girl is a hard 7. They are small and cute, with no boobs or ass, but they're skinny. Literally they have a floor of 6 and a ceiling of 8, it's amazing. That is right in my wheelhouse. Watch, I'll marry an Asian. (Sidenote: LOTS of Asians in SF, you would've thought after the whole WW2 internment camp thing they would've GTFO, but apparently Silicon Valley pays THAT well.)
Wtf, we were going to skip this. Ok. Saturday.
Saturday started off like any other normal day, we were nearing black out drunk before noon at an Alabama bar in the marina district. "Crossroads" for those of you in the know. Anyone that knows how Saturday went down won't be surprised when I say I was standing on top of a table, doing key bumps, screaming War Damn Eagle! Much to the chagrin of all of the Bama fans. In most towns I would have been beaten badly, but I believe the San Francisco folk are a more socially conscious peaceful people. I think someone made a comment, "You can be as obnoxious as you want as long as your car has low emissions."
We stayed at the bar through the greatest game in college football history and into the USC game. It was at this point that there was a secret pact made behind my back.
"If we get Dave super fucked up and have hot chicks talk to him, maybe he will forget about the Pretty Lights concert."
Let me backtrack a little bit.
The whole point of this trip was to go to a Pretty Lights concert and roll balls.
My friends didn't see it that way. In fact, I was brought to SF on false pretenses. We will avoid the clubs, we'll get super drunk, eat chicken wings and then go to Pretty Lights. At this point in the trip, I felt like I was in charge. I usually am, just because I am the loudest and tallest in the group, little did I know this sabotage mission was in place.
Somehow, at some point in the day, people start feeding me shots, gorgeous blonds start approaching me. This never happens to me. It wasn't until it was in a cab heading to Ruby Skye that I knew it was too late. I had been sabotaged.
You can imagine what happens next. 3 bottles and a group of dick hungry sluts orbiting my table like some sort of unruly comets, just ready to armageddon into our table and steal all of our booze.
But that's why you do it, right? That's the idea in buying bottle service. You look cool, and hot chicks come hang out with you in exchange for the privilege of being behind a rope. Mark my words, if there is a fucking rope, there are people that want to be behind it. And when you're in the 12th hour of a bender you really begin to stop caring.
"Should we get another bottle? Just $200 more each!" Fuck it, why not? Maybe one of us will get laid.
A lot of what I tell you on this blog is made up for the purpose of telling a better story, but I shit you not I talked to a girl on the dance floor for 2 hours not knowing that the girl I was grinding on was from a different hemisphere and didn't speak english. Does it make me rapey that I just assumed she was just too drunk to talk and yet I continued to pursue?
Turns out she was Brazillian, also turns out Brazillians speak Portuguese and not Spanish. Lastly, when trying to pantomime your intentions to someone with which you have a language gap, putting your right pointer finger into a simulated hole made with your left hand is ineffective.
Also ineffective moves tried by me last weekend:
- I'm from out of town, what's fun around here? (Oh where? LA! Oh, FUCK LA)
- I'm locked out of my hotel, I have no place to sleep (sucks, I think I saw a park bench outside)
- I'm having an after party at my hotel room (oh really, you and who else)
My night comes to an end and I am financially and morally bankrupt. I made my way to a late night massage parlor and I was in such a pathetic state that the overweight Taiwanese masseuse/prostitute refused to service me. I didn't even know this was legal. Probably for the best though, I can't imagine the shame in failing to achieve an erection during a rub and tug and still having to pay full freight.
During my 10 hour drive home from Sacramento to Los Angeles (Yes it was a top 5 terrible day of my life) I had plenty of time to reflect on my trip. I realized the happiest part of my trip wasn't crawling around SF in search of hedonism, or torturing 19 year olds in the name of war re-enactment, or even the shot of vodka I took ocularly at the bar because I heard it would get me drunk faster.
The best part of the trip was sitting around the dinner table telling funny stories from years passed with close friends and family. Recounting all my misadventures from abroad and razzing on buddies about fat chicks they hooked up with once can be much more fulfilling that chasing a bunch of tail and trying to see how blacked out I can get the fastest.
Thanksgiving will always be one of my favorite holidays, and this one will be no exception…from the Vietnam War to being denied a happy ending in SF's underworld.
When you go as hard on the weekend's as I do, people look at you a little funny at work on Monday. What is this guy's real story? Why does he show up with a hoarse voice and mysterious cuts, why is he so quiet and out of it until 2pm…
Because that's when my BAC returns to 0 and I can be a functioning member of society again.
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