Torn And Frayed.
This weekend beat me up. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel rested. Did I do much? It doesn’t appear so, but let me start with Friday and we can see where the ship ran off course.
There were hopes of leaving this fair city for the long weekend that got squashed by my incessant concern with “missing something.” Instead, I got drunk, bummed around and didn’t accomplish anything. Not a bad weekend for most, but as previously stated, there were some high hopes.
Cami and Leah came over to 172 in the early evening. Cami wasn’t feeling well, but my company made her better. Believe it. I have healing powers. With Cami on the upswing and Friday night looming, we hit the streets in search of drinks. We returned to 172 to usher in the night from the comfort of the terrace. The terrace had a magical power. It transported me back to the 90’s when my family used to stay at my Uncle Roy’s condo in Ocean City, Maryland. The street noise acted as the calming ocean, while the scenery had to be imagined. Anyway, Kyle, Erin, Leah, Christie and Bri all stopped in and we didn’t end up going out until it was Saturday.
The crew stopped into Bside where Carlos was manning the bar with some help from Josie. After some kicking about, we made our way to the back room where I shot pool with Johnny (one of the regulars). Our first game was against a pair of brits who were kicking our asses, but lost on a technicality, (scratch on the 8ball). Not thinking much of it, we continued with the next game, but one of the brits (go figure it be the little wank rather than the big guy) started giving me shit for having a lip piercing. After his first comment, “I didn’t know they let lip rings on this side of town,” I immediately punched back with, “I didn’t know they let mini-me Fred Durst’s into this bar.” The kid looked exactly like the Limp Bisquick front man, and judging by his pissed reaction, the comment didn’t take well.
The night progressed and he continued badgering me, but I shrugged it off because the kid was half my size. I just kept calling him Fred which added to his wannabe thug aggression. Later that evening he came back through the makeout tunnel entrance, saw me sitting across the bar and called me “Weezer.” I politely thanked him and told him, “That’s exactly what I’m going for,” which wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I also asked him to get the fuck out of there. He decided his best option was to throw beer on me. Though I was a bit stunned, I took off my glasses and asked Dee to hold them for me. I got right up in the kids face and asked him to step outside because I wasn’t going to start a fight in Sivan’s bar. At this point the fucking coward slammed me in the head with his Corona bottle. His big Brit friend (a much nicer chap) grabbed him just as the bouncer stepped into the back room. Desmond pulled the kid out of the bar and our little altercation was over. The kid wanted to apologize, but I didn’t want to see his face in the joint. We finished up the evening and I took my golf ball size bump home for bed.
Wasting Away In 186.
The following morning greeted me with a bitch of a headache. I collected myself and met up with Christie, Cami, Builder, Brian and Dan for brunch at Sidewalk Café. A quick question: What is it with the waiters at Sidewalk? They act as though it’s such a pain in the ass for you to score a cup of water or some ketchup. If you don’t want to be helpful then don’t take the fucking job. It’s not as though you have some unique skill. In fact you suck at an easy job. Not that customer service is easy, but you are paid to be cordial so just give me a Coffee, a smile and shut the fuck up.
After brunch it was back to 172 so I could pack up my belongings, bid farewell to Hawk’s one bedroom palace and move back to 186. We sat on the terrace enjoying the afternoon sun while talking politics and catching a buzz. It was a great Saturday afternoon activity.
Later that evening Kyle and I decided to throw in the towel. Instead of rocking out, we went to Chipotle, got some groceries for Sunday’s BBQ and then rented some movies. We spent the evening watching Bad Santa and The Great Muppet Caper. It was so joice.
Keg Stands For Everyone!
My ass didn’t get out of bed on Sunday until Cami woke me up at 2pm with a phone call. We planned to meet out at the BBQ, but first I had some work to do. Eventually I met with Del and we took the F out to Jeff and Simon’s house. The weather was anything but picture perfect for the BBQ, but there were 2 kegs and heaps of meat present so all the right elements were in attendance. Though this party was smaller than the last throw down, the desired affect was still achieved. We partied till late in the evening. The clock seemed to move at a snail rate which was just fine with me. Not spending money is one of my main concerns these days, and leaving an unfinished keg to go out drinking didn’t make much sense to me. Towards the end of the party we started getting sloppy. Everyone was doing keg stands in hopes of finishing the second keg. Though the goal was never reached, we still did proper damage. By 10pm most of us had abandoned our cups and we just drank straight from the keg hose. We are so fucking glamorous.
Bumming Around Like A Bulldog.
I woke up sick as a dog on Monday. My heart was pounding. I felt the need to pass out. My body lacked all the necessary energy needed to make something out of my Labor Day. I managed to get out of bed to finish a letter I needed to send to some asshole relatives. By 2pm Hawkins and I had walked around to a few different brunch spots. We saw David Cross in the General Store. We saw Tumbleweed and Lucy by the Velselka. But we didn’t see anyone in our final resting ground, Cafecito. Let’s just say, if I could eat steak every day, I would.
So the relaxing weekend I had does not reflect the fucked up nature of this world. The Russian tragedy, Bush’s boosting in the poles, more military deaths and kids already killing themselves at NYU, (classes started today and two kids have died, one jumped, one died of partying). I am loosing my ability to process all of this information. The desensitizing affect it is provoking has me a bit worried. Hopefully I can get back in the rock swing of things so I can learn to forget.
This weekend beat me up. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel rested. Did I do much? It doesn’t appear so, but let me start with Friday and we can see where the ship ran off course.
There were hopes of leaving this fair city for the long weekend that got squashed by my incessant concern with “missing something.” Instead, I got drunk, bummed around and didn’t accomplish anything. Not a bad weekend for most, but as previously stated, there were some high hopes.
Cami and Leah came over to 172 in the early evening. Cami wasn’t feeling well, but my company made her better. Believe it. I have healing powers. With Cami on the upswing and Friday night looming, we hit the streets in search of drinks. We returned to 172 to usher in the night from the comfort of the terrace. The terrace had a magical power. It transported me back to the 90’s when my family used to stay at my Uncle Roy’s condo in Ocean City, Maryland. The street noise acted as the calming ocean, while the scenery had to be imagined. Anyway, Kyle, Erin, Leah, Christie and Bri all stopped in and we didn’t end up going out until it was Saturday.
The crew stopped into Bside where Carlos was manning the bar with some help from Josie. After some kicking about, we made our way to the back room where I shot pool with Johnny (one of the regulars). Our first game was against a pair of brits who were kicking our asses, but lost on a technicality, (scratch on the 8ball). Not thinking much of it, we continued with the next game, but one of the brits (go figure it be the little wank rather than the big guy) started giving me shit for having a lip piercing. After his first comment, “I didn’t know they let lip rings on this side of town,” I immediately punched back with, “I didn’t know they let mini-me Fred Durst’s into this bar.” The kid looked exactly like the Limp Bisquick front man, and judging by his pissed reaction, the comment didn’t take well.
The night progressed and he continued badgering me, but I shrugged it off because the kid was half my size. I just kept calling him Fred which added to his wannabe thug aggression. Later that evening he came back through the makeout tunnel entrance, saw me sitting across the bar and called me “Weezer.” I politely thanked him and told him, “That’s exactly what I’m going for,” which wasn’t what he wanted to hear. I also asked him to get the fuck out of there. He decided his best option was to throw beer on me. Though I was a bit stunned, I took off my glasses and asked Dee to hold them for me. I got right up in the kids face and asked him to step outside because I wasn’t going to start a fight in Sivan’s bar. At this point the fucking coward slammed me in the head with his Corona bottle. His big Brit friend (a much nicer chap) grabbed him just as the bouncer stepped into the back room. Desmond pulled the kid out of the bar and our little altercation was over. The kid wanted to apologize, but I didn’t want to see his face in the joint. We finished up the evening and I took my golf ball size bump home for bed.
Wasting Away In 186.
The following morning greeted me with a bitch of a headache. I collected myself and met up with Christie, Cami, Builder, Brian and Dan for brunch at Sidewalk Café. A quick question: What is it with the waiters at Sidewalk? They act as though it’s such a pain in the ass for you to score a cup of water or some ketchup. If you don’t want to be helpful then don’t take the fucking job. It’s not as though you have some unique skill. In fact you suck at an easy job. Not that customer service is easy, but you are paid to be cordial so just give me a Coffee, a smile and shut the fuck up.
After brunch it was back to 172 so I could pack up my belongings, bid farewell to Hawk’s one bedroom palace and move back to 186. We sat on the terrace enjoying the afternoon sun while talking politics and catching a buzz. It was a great Saturday afternoon activity.
Later that evening Kyle and I decided to throw in the towel. Instead of rocking out, we went to Chipotle, got some groceries for Sunday’s BBQ and then rented some movies. We spent the evening watching Bad Santa and The Great Muppet Caper. It was so joice.
Keg Stands For Everyone!
My ass didn’t get out of bed on Sunday until Cami woke me up at 2pm with a phone call. We planned to meet out at the BBQ, but first I had some work to do. Eventually I met with Del and we took the F out to Jeff and Simon’s house. The weather was anything but picture perfect for the BBQ, but there were 2 kegs and heaps of meat present so all the right elements were in attendance. Though this party was smaller than the last throw down, the desired affect was still achieved. We partied till late in the evening. The clock seemed to move at a snail rate which was just fine with me. Not spending money is one of my main concerns these days, and leaving an unfinished keg to go out drinking didn’t make much sense to me. Towards the end of the party we started getting sloppy. Everyone was doing keg stands in hopes of finishing the second keg. Though the goal was never reached, we still did proper damage. By 10pm most of us had abandoned our cups and we just drank straight from the keg hose. We are so fucking glamorous.
Bumming Around Like A Bulldog.
I woke up sick as a dog on Monday. My heart was pounding. I felt the need to pass out. My body lacked all the necessary energy needed to make something out of my Labor Day. I managed to get out of bed to finish a letter I needed to send to some asshole relatives. By 2pm Hawkins and I had walked around to a few different brunch spots. We saw David Cross in the General Store. We saw Tumbleweed and Lucy by the Velselka. But we didn’t see anyone in our final resting ground, Cafecito. Let’s just say, if I could eat steak every day, I would.
So the relaxing weekend I had does not reflect the fucked up nature of this world. The Russian tragedy, Bush’s boosting in the poles, more military deaths and kids already killing themselves at NYU, (classes started today and two kids have died, one jumped, one died of partying). I am loosing my ability to process all of this information. The desensitizing affect it is provoking has me a bit worried. Hopefully I can get back in the rock swing of things so I can learn to forget.
5 Comments:
JJJay,
Sorry to hear about the asshole at bside..just reading that made me angry. I hope you lump feels saucier.. So are the rumors true about you moving to a republican state so to insure your vote will count? I think this is a great move on your part. I give you crazy MCP's.....
Thanks for the words, but i don't think i'll be moving anytime soon. I'm cooking up a soup everyone is gonna wanna try.
Is it called love snot??? love mayo??? Nutt Butter??? oh and all dogs go to heaven....
no boating? Lest you forget?
jay, i'm sorry to hear about that joker who started fronting you. my only regret is that you didn't kick his ass. if i were there i would have done it for you. i hate fuckers that start shit for no reason. anyway, this weekend i'll buy you a beer if you're down for some free booze. i'll be in the l.e.s. for the first time in about six weeks and i'm good to go with the drinks. name the spot and i'm there. so unless free booze isn't your thing...i'll see you wherever it's gonna go down. scat turdly
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