Thursday, April 10, 2014

The Cold Never Bothered me Anyway

Ok, slightly larger than three ounces
Sometimes I get really frustrated when things don't work out a certain way for me and I go into a tailspin of despair. In the past, any number of a certain things have caused it. Personal problems, professional angst, physiological lack of endorphines or sometimes (usually) a perfect storm of everything that could go bad, going bad. I get really down on myself, think about all the negative decisions that led me to where I am and then I pout for like a week.

Last week I wrote some mundane droll about how the older I get, the less I know and that we are all con men trying to hide our real feelings from the world because if our true colors were actually seen by the people around us, we would all be exposed as borderline sociopaths. No one has anything in life figured out, everyone is just trying their best to fake it.

Thank God I didn't publish that bullshit. Because last Saturday I woke up and the sun was out, the beach was open and the 21st Amendment was still going strong. This is the new positive message SingleDudeinLA where NO ONE, including the author will be allowed to whine about the pretty girl in class not liking them. Now I know that a lot of this blog has preached questionable treatment of women in the past, so if you've ever been offended please accept this sincere apology and listen to about how hanging out with a bunch of chicks helped me pull my head out of my ass.

I've been telling my roommate for weeks that I would go to Beer Fest with her.

"Buy your ticket now, it always sells out."

Sure, I will I promise.

Beer Fest is something that is held about every 3 months in Los Angeles. You go somewhere that is far as fuck away and super inconvenient to get to and pay $40. For said $40 you are allowed to chug as much craft beer as possible in 3 hours out of a 3 ounce sippy cup.

I never had any intention of buying a ticket. But Saturday morning, when my roommate and her friends were literally jumping on my bed trying to get me to wake up like they were my brother on Christmas morning of 1995 or my roommates on every little 5 race day in college (Christmas mornings 2006-2009) I caved. I log onto the website to buy a ticket and of course, it's sold out.

Fuck. I then sauntered on over to Craigslist where every dipshit seller wanted to charge me 4 times the value of the ticket and drive to Pasadena to pick it up. Actually, I believe in a free market, mad respect to people that flip beerfest tix for a living. Alas, I did what anyone in a rut would do when met with mild adversity, I gave up.

But this was unacceptable to Stephanie, who told me to "stop being a pussy and get in the fucking car" or something like that. So at her urging, I got in the fucking car. Riding in the front seat, I continued to search the bowels of the internet for a ticket when some good samaritan responded to one of my texts, "My roommate got to fucked up last night, do you want his ticket?"

I went through my mental Craigslist check list to see if this person was going to scam me or not.

1. Believable back story. If someone tries to tell you their cousin died, and they are just SO heartbroken that they have to travel back to Kansas with their fiance to attend the funeral, they're full of shit. They're trying too hard. "My roommate got fucked up" seems refreshingly honest, this is LA people party. Check.

2. Blue Texts. I realize that Droid now has a larger market share than Apple, but I will always mistrust green texts on my iPhone. Sure, the GS4 is a lovely device, I'm sure the Android interface integrates seamlessly with your Chromebook...but you know what other phones have green texts? BURNERS. No one is putting together a long con with an iPhone to get $50. (10 coachella tickets could be a different story) but again, I inherently trust Apple users. Check.

3. Area Code. While it may come off as a prejudiced, I feel a lot more comfortable dealing with a 310 or a 323 as opposed to a 562 or 714. This guy had a 425. (Does quick Google search) Tacoma, Washington? Is there anyone in the country that seems more trustworthy than a Seattle hipster with a whispy blonde beard? They're not trying to scam you bro, unless for every con they pull, a child in Indonesia gets a Latin Book. It's all about the give bro. Check.

4. When you call to meet up. The only time I have ever been conned by someone on Craigslist was a white girl. And yes the fact that I let my guard down for a while girl is lingering latent racism on my part, but I would urge you only to see if they sound educated, would mind letting you meet at their house, or quickly take a picture of their ID. No one is fucking you over if you know where they live.
We met at a Von's next to his house. Acceptable. Check, check check.

I gave "Max" 40 bucks (under face!) and it was off to LA Center Studios to pound some IPA.

Ok so remember that daunting picture I painted about the beer fest? If you can get past the logistics of getting there, and you don't mind watching uberSTRECTH's unloading with USC frat bros wearing customized tanks (Name BARLEY LEGAL Number .08 Get it, it's a play on words for barely/barley) then it's pretty fucking spectacular. And frat bros, you're my people, I ain't mad at cha.

So we get there, sample about 40 beers (big ups to Breckenridge Brewery and Marin Brewery) and proceed to dance at the b106 tent while a bunch of black people pointed saying things like "OHHH SHIT, look at white boy!" I have moves, I am used to this. Needless to say those 3 ounce beers, add up. I had some more beer, smashed a lobster roll*

*Side note: The only way to get a Lobster roll, is Connecticut style. Maine style is fucking gross. Everything in the fucking world is better hot. Weather, coffee, sandwiches, icyHOT. Ok maybe not beer, but if they put melted butter on my warm beer I might change my mind. /endrant

Whatever. It's 3 o clock, I'm drunk, time to go home.

That day would have been good enough, but it gets better. There is magical place near mid-wilshire called The Boiling Crab. They will sell you a bag of boiled crawfish and crab legs and let you take it home.

We did this. And we ate 20 pounds of crawfish and crab legs while watching Titanic in standard definition on the Ovation network, and I'll be damned if it wasn't the greatest fucking night of my life. No molly, no fireball, not even Kate Winslett's boobs made an appearance, this was a 4 hour, grainy edit of Titanic and some cajun juice, and it was magical.

Fast forward to Sunday. Although the lion's share of the drinking was done with the sun up, that didn't prevent me from having a debilitating hangover. And if there is one thing I've learned that is a terrible mistake to make when you're hungover, it's to double down.

So I went to a beach party and resumed drinking.

Every day in LA is summer, but when April hits everyone freaks out and "holy shit Spring is here" like they weren't allowed to go to the beach before when it was still sunny and 75.

I have a theory.

People are content to be having just a little more fun than their friends. So even though it's nice here year round, we don't feel the need to shove it down everyone's throat in the winter when it's negative 10 degrees in Chicago. In a certain solidarity, we keep the Sunday fundays to a minimum, but once those midwesterners post one photo of "Sluggers after the Cubs game #wrigleyville" it's all OH FUCK THAT, I LIVE IN PARADISE AND WILL NOT BE OUTDONE.
Cue epic day that includes, kite surfing, Malibu Wines and a Game of Thrones themed beach party.

Oh yes, unfortunately we ran out of beer on the beach around 3 and had a few hours to kill between beach and Thrones. So I did what any enterprising young man would do, I ran to the store, bought 6 cheeses with some friends and hosted a cheese draft. I remind you, none of this is metaphor. Cheese draft is not cocaine, titanic is not an indication of orgy, I'm growing up...we went to the store, bought cheese and put on Frozen.

I have a bone to pick with men now.

I know you're not into musical theatre. I know you probably think it would be more fun to plug in the Nintendo 64 and play Mario Kart. But seriously buddy, I'm putting you on blast. Do not pout and leave the party when a Disney movie goes on. We are at a birthday party, for a mid 20's girl. She likes Frozen, her friends like Frozen, and most importantly, I like Frozen. It's a great fucking movie, and if you don't like the song "Let it Go," well then you don't have a fucking soul. Everyone needs to check their 'man-card' at the door. Being a man, is being able to admit that you dig things that aren't traditionally manly, and if you leave the party when something doesn't go your way, that is an allegory for how the rest of your life will play out. /endrant2

And you know after Elsa saved Anna by an act of true love, and me and 8 girls polished off several gallons of white wine, well then Jamie Lannister tried to fuck his sister, there were some gay whores and an 8 year old girl stabbed two guys in the neck and laughed while they bled to death.

It was a perfect evening.

Tied the whole thing in a bow with my favorite BYOB restaurant in Venice Sunday night and I was officially out of my funk.

Late 20's is a volatile time in everyone's life. I don't really know what I'm doing, I'm not sure I'm where I thought I would be or if I should be doing something different. But that's fine. That is what growing up is about. You're allowed to just be sad sometimes, just fucking feel...something. Wallow in your own misery, it can feel, dare I say, therapeutic? I'm still pretty young, there is a lot of good and bad left to come, so when you feel cold, bitch about the weather for a minute and then throw on a fucking scarf. (Ok now that was a metaphor, allow yourself to be sad for a minute and then go do something about it)

I wrote most of this on Monday, and then I got completely sidetracked with my Coachella planning.
By the way, I still don't have a ticket, but I think if I create 20 email adresses next Tuesday SELLING tickets for $200-$220 I can shift demand down, because people are stupid. Ask any of the chicks that sent their "best selfie" to some burner phone with the promise of a FREE WRISTBAND. Seriously, there wil be a Tumblr next week, "The dumb girls that send me tit pics for Coachella tix lol" it's despicable, wholly disgusting. But there should be an aptitude test required to use the internet.

Here's the thing. Tomorrow is the last day of my employment. Monday I will be a free agent for the 6th time in 3 years. It's a stressful part of the life I chose, but I don't regret it at all. Because Thursday, I'm driving 3 hours east, where I will take up temporary residence with 14 kick ass people, and we are going to have the greatest fucking four days of our lives. And really can you ask for anything more? Sometimes you'll feel like you're going through cold spells in your life, and sometimes you just need to rent a house in Palm Springs to turn everything around. Or have all the awesome women in your life remind you that things really aren't that bad. And all my friends that I'm heading to Coachella with next week, do yourself a favor and memorize the lyrics to "First Time in Forever" because I'm most definitely bringing the ice to the desert.

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