The first easy drops of the Great Three Pacific Storms quietly fall. Some loud as they gather, fat, and smack the concrete, burgeoning pools of water. A perfect morning soundtrack, even though the waking was at 1.
The beach was beautiful yesterday, though at first quite chilly as James and I made our way to The Waterfront Cafe in Venice Beach. In land it was gorgeous and warm, and we caught sight of a building being demoed. I’ve attached the video I took over James’ lap from the passenger seat. From tv and movies I’d always asssumed this was a fast process, but it was a slow and loborious take down. Undeniably fascinating.
We ordered brunch, still shivering, until House and SC Jesus appeared with the sun. The visitors, James and I fell into easy conversation and quickly devloped our own language. SC James immediately reminded me of Carl, James and James considered themselves dopplegangers, Carl initially dubbing them mirrors, so I rilenquished to patience. By the end of the evening I swore SC Jesus transformed into Hunter S. Thompson. The events:
Getting that awsome cowboy hat James picked out for me on the venice boardwalk at the store with all the welded robot/alien art, part western, part Indiana Jones adventurer. James wanted me to wear the hat outfit again, of blackwash rhinestone jeans, brown leather riding boot, and his black dkny button down I stole from him. He was quite taken with the hat.
The four mile walk we took with House & SC Jesus from Venice to Santa Monica Pier, stopping for a beer; trudging through the sand a half mile to the Ultimate Frisbee Tournement (photo seen above), the reward: a shared sandy can of bud light; scaled the bluffs of Santa Monica at sunset (panoramic picture above) to 3rd street promenade, aquiring Troy’s key, produced at James’ request; on to the Britania bar where we messed with the waitress about Ponys and pulled the best “your lesbian’s so fat” jokes out, with punchlines including the words GPS, spelunking and pineapple; the most confusing cab ride back to our cars in Venice.
Drove on to Jimmy’s birthday party in Glendale, shifting gears, and had a marvelous time. We found the birthday boy a rockin cowboy hat on the boardwalk that kind of looked tweed, it looked amazing on him! Had a great conversation with a Brit lesbian who’s name I can’t remember, but was so lovely she couldn’t possibly be a candiate for the lesbian jokes earlier in the evening and thus I didn’t think about it and didn’t stick my foot in my mouth.
Back home and revved into gear for the long party. I threw in the hat around 5:30am, and have no idea what late morning hour James finally came to bed. I was a little bummed to see that House and SC Jesus had left by the time I woke up.
Carl on skype, up on the tv, partyed in room with us. Though we had some technical difficulties, it still was a successful session starting around 11pm and ending sometime after I went to bed.
Hit the 4100 bar, SC Jesus got his first taste of an LA bacon wrapped hotdog: fated to be, it was the last in the cart.
Went a bit crazy with Gowalla log ins, blew up facebook. Chase commented that I was getting paid to check in. Noted. Cut back on the Gowalla/FB tie notification tie-ins, but keep that hard pace, I can’t stop now, I just got my ranger pin!
A madcap band of wreathers.
Starting the grill around 3am to make a marinated skirt steak House brought down struck me as a terrible idea, though not as terrible an idea as lighting wreath on fire at the Manzanita St stairs leading to Sunset Blvd. My case doubled when the cops told everyone grilling on our front sidewalk that drinking in public was illegal and in a desprate flee, the smoking grill was run through the house to the backyard. I shut-down at this point, but after a little alone time I made it out. And thankfully I was wrong about the whole idea: The skirt steak was amazing! It was worth it, all of it!
Caught an epi of buffy before falling to sleep 🙂