Firstly, apologies for the slight delay in getting this next blog post out.
The following in the continuation of my adventures in LA, the weekend of Saturday April 18. Saturday: Didn't do too much this day. Met up with Vince and Allan before they headed to the GLAAD media awards. They were volunteer celebrity ushers--basically free personal assistants to an assigned Hollywood celeb. Side note: Vince got Jessica Alba--totally jeal. After that I went to Eldon's work and hung out with him. It was fairly slow for him that day so it was okay for me to just chill there. We talked and laughed and read each other's minds and it was great. After a couple hours there I went back to Eldon's house, read my book and took a well deserved nap. Eldon came home in about 2 hours, we got up, showered, mixed a drink and met up with Brad (another very good friend up in LA) for dinner. I forget where we went but it was great. It was right across the street from the Abbey, the super-popular nightclub + restaurant in the epicenter of West Hollywood. We ordered mojito-like super-limey drinks. EXCELLENT. Eldon--what were they called again? Definitely getting that again.
Following dinner Brad, Eldon and I went to an Instinct magazine party. It was a little slow, but there was a hosted bar, so we weren't going anywhere. As people started to trickle in we chatted and gabbed and drank more. Eldon and I wanted a change of scene so we popped over to Here bar and had a couple drinks there. We ran around, chatted with people and decided that we needed to get back to the other party. Eldon knew some people so he was able to zip right in. I had at least a handstamp something so I was very, very first in line, but still had to wait a bit. After getting back in I don't remember too much more, but I remember dancing a touch, chatting a bit more, but leaving shortly after arriving. Fun times.
Sunday was fabulous. We got up around something o'clock and went to our Chad & Brian house. Chad & Brian I met on the Atlantis cruises and they are, in mind, a dream. They are both beautiful, have great style, are the sweetest boys, and are as well off as I am crazy. I'm their friends because they are such good people, the wealthy thing is just perk. I was able to partake on this perk this day because they were having a pool party. One word: AMAZING. Their house is stunning, seated in the Hollywood hils. They are able to point out celebrities' homes from their place. Oh and the view, don't get me started. It was phenomenal. The only thing better than the view was the company. It was very much birds of a feather with their friends. They are all super nice and pleasant people. What a perfect day. The day started to escape us as it followed the sun and the pool party dwindled and faded. We all needed a bit of sustenance so we jumped into our vehicles and headed to a Mexican restaurant, again the name I don't know. In short we waiting around by the bar for about 2 or 3 hours, finally once sat it took us 45 minutes to order, eat and leave. Albeit a long wait it was fun hanging and drawing the weekend out a bit. I left Eldon's place in LA right at 10:00 pm, and made it home in my door at about 11:40 pm, a record time drive. There was no traffic whatsoever.
It was a fabulous weekend full of Britney and bars and boys, but, of course, my favorite part was spending quality time with some of the best people in the world. Love you all my LA friends!
Showing posts with label weekend. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weekend. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Ringleader
Merry Christmas! What? But it's April. Well my story starts on Christmas: John, for Christmas, bought us tickets to see Britney Spears' latest tour LA. As the concert date approached John was summoned to Switzerland for work and, unable to go, gave me his ticket to take someone else in his place. I called Eldon, one of my best friends and he gracefully accepted. Let's get to it.
Eldon and I get to the Staples Center around 8:00pm, showtime, but of course concerts always run late so we were not bothered. After zipping through the rather short line the guard utters, "I'm sorry this isn't you're line. You need to enter of there, pointing at a "VIP Entrance" sign. I love signs like that. We scurry to the appropriate door and parade through the gateway, tickets in the air and spirits high. Speaking of spirits it was time for a drink. The VIP tickets also grant us access to a VIP lounge where cocktails are served. We run into the VIP lounge and notice there is all sorts of noise coming from the stadium hall--the concert started! It was only 8:15! At any rate we thought a drink was more urgent than seeing the opening act, Pussycat Dolls, sober. Drink we did and arrived at our seats with drinks in hand. The Pussycat Dolls... frankly... stunk. Their costumes were fun, they looked great, but the "singing" and the "dancing" was awful. It explained to my why they--a very, very popular group--would open up a show, rather than be the headline themselves.
Once the Pussycat Dolls finished their lackluster performance, the house lights went up and intermission began. Rather than an uneventful intermission, various performers came out and performed: hula hoopers and jugglers and tightrope walkers and ribbon dancers and a midget and all sorts of characters. It was fun, I really enjoyed it. Another drink and a couple circus performances later, the show finally begins.
I wont go into too much detail, but even saying that I'm sure I will. Firstly the concert itself was set-up like a three ring circus (one large circular stage in the middle and two smaller circular stages flanking the main stage). The stages were in the center of the arena as well, not pushed against a wall like most concerts. The show opened with her song "Circus"--she came down on a rotating pedestal from the ceiling dressed in a sparkling, radiant ringleader's costume. She played all her hits from her last two CDs with a couple of other fantastic songs like "Baby One More Time" and "Me Against the Music." It was really a great show. Keeping in line with the circus theme they had aerialists and magic and the whole nine yards during her show. The dancers were fabulous, the costumes were dazzling, and the music was great--sure it was all on a track, but I don't feel short-changed--when she's dancing her booty off on-stage, running around like a crazy person... err umm like... a Britney, I give her a little slack on the singing.
It was a fabulous weekend, a fabulous concert with fabulous friends and fabulous memories. Love to all.
Eldon and I get to the Staples Center around 8:00pm, showtime, but of course concerts always run late so we were not bothered. After zipping through the rather short line the guard utters, "I'm sorry this isn't you're line. You need to enter of there, pointing at a "VIP Entrance" sign. I love signs like that. We scurry to the appropriate door and parade through the gateway, tickets in the air and spirits high. Speaking of spirits it was time for a drink. The VIP tickets also grant us access to a VIP lounge where cocktails are served. We run into the VIP lounge and notice there is all sorts of noise coming from the stadium hall--the concert started! It was only 8:15! At any rate we thought a drink was more urgent than seeing the opening act, Pussycat Dolls, sober. Drink we did and arrived at our seats with drinks in hand. The Pussycat Dolls... frankly... stunk. Their costumes were fun, they looked great, but the "singing" and the "dancing" was awful. It explained to my why they--a very, very popular group--would open up a show, rather than be the headline themselves.
Once the Pussycat Dolls finished their lackluster performance, the house lights went up and intermission began. Rather than an uneventful intermission, various performers came out and performed: hula hoopers and jugglers and tightrope walkers and ribbon dancers and a midget and all sorts of characters. It was fun, I really enjoyed it. Another drink and a couple circus performances later, the show finally begins.
I wont go into too much detail, but even saying that I'm sure I will. Firstly the concert itself was set-up like a three ring circus (one large circular stage in the middle and two smaller circular stages flanking the main stage). The stages were in the center of the arena as well, not pushed against a wall like most concerts. The show opened with her song "Circus"--she came down on a rotating pedestal from the ceiling dressed in a sparkling, radiant ringleader's costume. She played all her hits from her last two CDs with a couple of other fantastic songs like "Baby One More Time" and "Me Against the Music." It was really a great show. Keeping in line with the circus theme they had aerialists and magic and the whole nine yards during her show. The dancers were fabulous, the costumes were dazzling, and the music was great--sure it was all on a track, but I don't feel short-changed--when she's dancing her booty off on-stage, running around like a crazy person... err umm like... a Britney, I give her a little slack on the singing.
It was a fabulous weekend, a fabulous concert with fabulous friends and fabulous memories. Love to all.
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Weekend Number 18: New England
Firstly, let me disclaim that this trip was Weekend Number 18 (in May), but due to my Blog-cation, I am not writing it until now. Let us commence.
Let's start with the beginning this time. The beginning isn't really the weekend at all, but it's my blog--deal with it. The beginning was a Thursday night when I had a red-eye flight to Boston. I've never been to Boston (nor Massachusetts, nor New England) and thought it would be a lovely opportunity to go. John was there for work (about 3-weeks) and I figured Pfizer wouldn't mind me bunking with John while they pay for the hotel. Lovely. So it's a Thursday night, I go through security, yada yada, normal stuff, get on the plane, great.
We are flying, everything is normal, it's a red-eye, we are all getting sleepy when, out of nowhere comes the flight attendant and her PA to the tune of, "Thank you for choosing Delta. We are glad we have jobs because we are officially out of bankruptcy now, and today/tomorrow (cuz it would be Friday on the East Coast) marks the official day we are back on the NYSE (she didn't say the acronym but yeah, it's easier). We would like to have you join us in celebrating with a champagne toast." The lady next to me, whom I think fondly of to this day, kinda gave me a look like, "Shit--did she say, champs!?" And I gave her the same look back. So the flight attendants scuttle down the isles, passing out tiny, almost thimble-sized containers of champagne. Had a sip, then another, it was gone, great. Thank you Delta. So I'm sitting here, with my new BFF "36A" (that's not her bra size, that's her seat assignment) and neither of us could sleep. It was like a cooky boots crazyland. Everyone--quite literally everyone--was fast asleep except me and 36A. It was midnight in San Diego, it was 3:00 am (insert Matchbox 20 song) in Boston, and I was up up up. Thank GOD there was an in-flight movie, which who says that, but it was a movie with Mandy Moore (who I adore), so I watched that. So did 36A but she didn't have headphones so she umm, just watched it I guess. Hmm... now that I think about it, I love Mandy Moore so much I must have gasped a couple times (like, you know, the gay-gasp), and maybe I kept 36A up the whole time. Well, water under the bridge.
Okay, I get to Boston it's about a zillion in the morning at this point, and I'm greeting by bright-eyed John with a sign that says, "Mr. Shyne" and something else like "Leone Tours -we only provide the best." or something like that. Well, that's a very, very cute gesture, however, it was done with a crumply sheet of cardboard and a big ol' black sharpie, so... it looked like some homeless person's sign. Anyway... nice gesture, not the best execution, and "A" for effort. John and I take the "T" (that's Boston's "MAX" or "BART" if you will) back to the hotel, I finally sleep, then we get up and head out.
Boston is very cute, very historic, with stout, brick buildings from the 1700's neighboring glass and metal high rises from the 2000's. It's very cool. Oh and by cool, I mean cold. It was the beginning of May and it was still at temperatures San Diego has never seen before. Ever. My thoughts on Boston: it's nothing but churches, pubs, and Paul Revere. That's it. That night we go out to one of the gay bars, The Machine (the gays have the funniest names for stuff). We go there, and again LITERALLY no one spoke to us. I was like, "What the freakin' hell is going on?" I guess people in Boston need to conserve all their energy to sustaining human body temperature and they cannot afford to waste precious calories on interaction--I guess one could call them fidget bitches. HA! I even laughed at that.
Okay the next day John and I took this walking tour of Boston. So we get to where they are all meeting, pay the guide and go. Now, if you all don't know I like walking tours--I like the narration and the anecdotes, it's lovely--but I seriously could have done what she did, if not better, and I don't even live there. We would be walking along and like, there'd be a plaque on a building, she'd go up and read it, then recite what it said. Like, I paid you for what? I mean, she had other stories and stuff, but it was just so ridiculously funny. She's all, "Oh what's this? Oh this is interesting! Everybody! Group! Please come look at this!" You're joking me, lady. And she wasn't even dressed up like Mother Goose or Paul Revere or whatever. Anyway, it was still money worth spent (more so for the story I get to tell of the tour, rather than the tour itself). Okay, so later we had plans--well, John had plans--I had no idea what they were. I guess that's called a surprise. John took me to the "Theatre District" and the whole time I was thinking to myself, "Shit--he better have not gotten tickets to a musical--he knows how much I dislike musicals." We turn into some alley, then up stairs, and it turns out we got tix to Blue Man Group.
Relief.
So we did the Blue Man group, they pounded their drums and ate cereal and ran around acting like mute fools, but it was a very nice show and I very much enjoyed the surprise (and it wasn't a musical). After the show we go to some pub, eat our food, some guy smashes his hand into a beer glass, and we leave, back into the winter wonderland that was Boston. The next day was a little more leisurely--we went to the iMax at the Boston Aquarium and watched a show on whales (I was happy) and took a city tour via Old Town Trolley. We have these in SD too; you know, the orange and green bus/trolley looking contraptions that are zipping all over town. Anyway, it was very, very cool and I would recommend them to anyone--worth the money. We saw Paul Revere's house, the Boston Convention Center, The Big Dig, all the Boston sights. The next day we just had a nice breakfast in South Boston and I went back to the airport (cuz John still had work on the East Coast to do).
Well, that pretty much sums up my trip and my weekend. Weekend Number 18, you'll be remembered as the most "wicked sweet bro'" weekend of 2007. Lovely.
Let's start with the beginning this time. The beginning isn't really the weekend at all, but it's my blog--deal with it. The beginning was a Thursday night when I had a red-eye flight to Boston. I've never been to Boston (nor Massachusetts, nor New England) and thought it would be a lovely opportunity to go. John was there for work (about 3-weeks) and I figured Pfizer wouldn't mind me bunking with John while they pay for the hotel. Lovely. So it's a Thursday night, I go through security, yada yada, normal stuff, get on the plane, great.
We are flying, everything is normal, it's a red-eye, we are all getting sleepy when, out of nowhere comes the flight attendant and her PA to the tune of, "Thank you for choosing Delta. We are glad we have jobs because we are officially out of bankruptcy now, and today/tomorrow (cuz it would be Friday on the East Coast) marks the official day we are back on the NYSE (she didn't say the acronym but yeah, it's easier). We would like to have you join us in celebrating with a champagne toast." The lady next to me, whom I think fondly of to this day, kinda gave me a look like, "Shit--did she say, champs!?" And I gave her the same look back. So the flight attendants scuttle down the isles, passing out tiny, almost thimble-sized containers of champagne. Had a sip, then another, it was gone, great. Thank you Delta. So I'm sitting here, with my new BFF "36A" (that's not her bra size, that's her seat assignment) and neither of us could sleep. It was like a cooky boots crazyland. Everyone--quite literally everyone--was fast asleep except me and 36A. It was midnight in San Diego, it was 3:00 am (insert Matchbox 20 song) in Boston, and I was up up up. Thank GOD there was an in-flight movie, which who says that, but it was a movie with Mandy Moore (who I adore), so I watched that. So did 36A but she didn't have headphones so she umm, just watched it I guess. Hmm... now that I think about it, I love Mandy Moore so much I must have gasped a couple times (like, you know, the gay-gasp), and maybe I kept 36A up the whole time. Well, water under the bridge.
Okay, I get to Boston it's about a zillion in the morning at this point, and I'm greeting by bright-eyed John with a sign that says, "Mr. Shyne" and something else like "Leone Tours -we only provide the best." or something like that. Well, that's a very, very cute gesture, however, it was done with a crumply sheet of cardboard and a big ol' black sharpie, so... it looked like some homeless person's sign. Anyway... nice gesture, not the best execution, and "A" for effort. John and I take the "T" (that's Boston's "MAX" or "BART" if you will) back to the hotel, I finally sleep, then we get up and head out.
Boston is very cute, very historic, with stout, brick buildings from the 1700's neighboring glass and metal high rises from the 2000's. It's very cool. Oh and by cool, I mean cold. It was the beginning of May and it was still at temperatures San Diego has never seen before. Ever. My thoughts on Boston: it's nothing but churches, pubs, and Paul Revere. That's it. That night we go out to one of the gay bars, The Machine (the gays have the funniest names for stuff). We go there, and again LITERALLY no one spoke to us. I was like, "What the freakin' hell is going on?" I guess people in Boston need to conserve all their energy to sustaining human body temperature and they cannot afford to waste precious calories on interaction--I guess one could call them fidget bitches. HA! I even laughed at that.
Okay the next day John and I took this walking tour of Boston. So we get to where they are all meeting, pay the guide and go. Now, if you all don't know I like walking tours--I like the narration and the anecdotes, it's lovely--but I seriously could have done what she did, if not better, and I don't even live there. We would be walking along and like, there'd be a plaque on a building, she'd go up and read it, then recite what it said. Like, I paid you for what? I mean, she had other stories and stuff, but it was just so ridiculously funny. She's all, "Oh what's this? Oh this is interesting! Everybody! Group! Please come look at this!" You're joking me, lady. And she wasn't even dressed up like Mother Goose or Paul Revere or whatever. Anyway, it was still money worth spent (more so for the story I get to tell of the tour, rather than the tour itself). Okay, so later we had plans--well, John had plans--I had no idea what they were. I guess that's called a surprise. John took me to the "Theatre District" and the whole time I was thinking to myself, "Shit--he better have not gotten tickets to a musical--he knows how much I dislike musicals." We turn into some alley, then up stairs, and it turns out we got tix to Blue Man Group.
Relief.
So we did the Blue Man group, they pounded their drums and ate cereal and ran around acting like mute fools, but it was a very nice show and I very much enjoyed the surprise (and it wasn't a musical). After the show we go to some pub, eat our food, some guy smashes his hand into a beer glass, and we leave, back into the winter wonderland that was Boston. The next day was a little more leisurely--we went to the iMax at the Boston Aquarium and watched a show on whales (I was happy) and took a city tour via Old Town Trolley. We have these in SD too; you know, the orange and green bus/trolley looking contraptions that are zipping all over town. Anyway, it was very, very cool and I would recommend them to anyone--worth the money. We saw Paul Revere's house, the Boston Convention Center, The Big Dig, all the Boston sights. The next day we just had a nice breakfast in South Boston and I went back to the airport (cuz John still had work on the East Coast to do).
Well, that pretty much sums up my trip and my weekend. Weekend Number 18, you'll be remembered as the most "wicked sweet bro'" weekend of 2007. Lovely.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Weekend Number 16: Earth Dizzle fo' Shizzle
Saturday was a waste. I'm skipping it, thanks (it's my blog; I'll do whatever the hell I want).
Sunday was it though. So my roommate, Mike, and another great friend of mine, Vince (both of whom I've blogged about before) ran in the La Jolla Half Marathon (which I will refere to as the LJ1/2 from now on). So they had to be up in La Jolla at about half past zero in the morning to warm up and stretch and wax and breathe and kick and tai bo and all that. They run, I'm sure it's amazing and then they are done. And get back in their cars and ruin the environment. Okay, so I meet Vince at Urban Mo's (for you non-San Diegans, Mo's is an open-patio burger bar that's SUPER popular on Sunday mornings--and for those don't know, "Mo" is short for "homo"). Okay, meet Vince there apres his run (John and I walked--the environment) and had a celebritory cocktail. Horray! We order some food, meet up with a couple other friends, one of whom is Mr. Alex Blayden (some may refered to him as Mackinzie Tartan). After consuming our fried, delicious Earth Day feast we casually jaunt to Starbucks ready to concume our daily allowance of calories in one cup. So we get there, order a double-what-the-fuckie and enjoy our coffees on the patio, watching the passerbyers. So it's alex, vince, me, some group of people we literally ran into on the walk over (walking, yes, Earth Day) and some other randoms. It was like 10 of us. Lovely.
Suddenly, and without warning, a figure cloaked orange and sagging shorts materializes onto the patio and starts barraging our congregation with stammering nonsense. Yeah. This guy just starts talking about all this stuff like Ibiza platinum memberships and how we are bringing sexy back and how he asked us if we had any vicodin ("Oh shoot, I gave my last one away to the last crazy, creepy kook that asked me for one. Sorry."). He was six kinds of crazy. At least.
We devised a plan to get rid of him (and get booze back in our system) and went to ANOTHER stop on our Earth Day tour, to Baja Betty's. So Baja Betty's is, the exact, exact same as Urban Mo's (previously mentioned) except instead of burgers it's burritos. Clever. So we dominate the patio of Betty's and order beers by the bucket and just talk about everything there ever was to talk about: work, school, madonna, boys, talking inanimate objects, strangers in orange, sunshine, the LJ1/2, music, clogging, etc. We were there from, oh let's say 2:00 pm to, well, until it started to rain, which was approximately 9:00 pm. It was fantastic though. It was the perfect.... oh, I forgot something. There is this troop of trannies that run around San Diego causing all sorts of ruckus called the Sisters of Purpetual Induldgence. They wear white, white faces and red lips and huge eyelashes and look like goth clowns. Goth tranny clowns actually. That's what I look for in a man, okay. No. So they were being SO funny and on their way by they were saying happy Earth Day to us and we started up a chorus of, "Happy Earth Day to you, happy Earth Day to you..." (like the birthday song right?) I pretty much died of laughter afterwards. It was soo freaking funny! So funny. They didn't think they were going to get any bite with their bark.
So anyway, that was pretty much it. A gaggle of cute boys sitting around a patio, drinking quite literally all day and laughing and bonding. Damn what a kick-ass Sunday. Weekend Number 16, you're sure to give the biggest bang for your buck.
Sunday was it though. So my roommate, Mike, and another great friend of mine, Vince (both of whom I've blogged about before) ran in the La Jolla Half Marathon (which I will refere to as the LJ1/2 from now on). So they had to be up in La Jolla at about half past zero in the morning to warm up and stretch and wax and breathe and kick and tai bo and all that. They run, I'm sure it's amazing and then they are done. And get back in their cars and ruin the environment. Okay, so I meet Vince at Urban Mo's (for you non-San Diegans, Mo's is an open-patio burger bar that's SUPER popular on Sunday mornings--and for those don't know, "Mo" is short for "homo"). Okay, meet Vince there apres his run (John and I walked--the environment) and had a celebritory cocktail. Horray! We order some food, meet up with a couple other friends, one of whom is Mr. Alex Blayden (some may refered to him as Mackinzie Tartan). After consuming our fried, delicious Earth Day feast we casually jaunt to Starbucks ready to concume our daily allowance of calories in one cup. So we get there, order a double-what-the-fuckie and enjoy our coffees on the patio, watching the passerbyers. So it's alex, vince, me, some group of people we literally ran into on the walk over (walking, yes, Earth Day) and some other randoms. It was like 10 of us. Lovely.
Suddenly, and without warning, a figure cloaked orange and sagging shorts materializes onto the patio and starts barraging our congregation with stammering nonsense. Yeah. This guy just starts talking about all this stuff like Ibiza platinum memberships and how we are bringing sexy back and how he asked us if we had any vicodin ("Oh shoot, I gave my last one away to the last crazy, creepy kook that asked me for one. Sorry."). He was six kinds of crazy. At least.
We devised a plan to get rid of him (and get booze back in our system) and went to ANOTHER stop on our Earth Day tour, to Baja Betty's. So Baja Betty's is, the exact, exact same as Urban Mo's (previously mentioned) except instead of burgers it's burritos. Clever. So we dominate the patio of Betty's and order beers by the bucket and just talk about everything there ever was to talk about: work, school, madonna, boys, talking inanimate objects, strangers in orange, sunshine, the LJ1/2, music, clogging, etc. We were there from, oh let's say 2:00 pm to, well, until it started to rain, which was approximately 9:00 pm. It was fantastic though. It was the perfect.... oh, I forgot something. There is this troop of trannies that run around San Diego causing all sorts of ruckus called the Sisters of Purpetual Induldgence. They wear white, white faces and red lips and huge eyelashes and look like goth clowns. Goth tranny clowns actually. That's what I look for in a man, okay. No. So they were being SO funny and on their way by they were saying happy Earth Day to us and we started up a chorus of, "Happy Earth Day to you, happy Earth Day to you..." (like the birthday song right?) I pretty much died of laughter afterwards. It was soo freaking funny! So funny. They didn't think they were going to get any bite with their bark.
So anyway, that was pretty much it. A gaggle of cute boys sitting around a patio, drinking quite literally all day and laughing and bonding. Damn what a kick-ass Sunday. Weekend Number 16, you're sure to give the biggest bang for your buck.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Weekend Number 15: J'adore Portland parti deux
(Reader: if you're starting here, please read "J'adore Portland" first. Thanks.)
Brother's think their they greatest thing since sliced hops. We did a couple beer samples and the went to the actual brewery. We got to see these HUGE vats of beer (or soon-to-be-beer) and watch it churn and spray and purify and Saturday I planned two activities ahead of time that were to be surprises for John: the first was a tour of the Widmer Brothers Brewery. We went to industrial North East Portland and arrived at the all-brick, super cute brewery. The hostess escorts us to the boardroom where we will soon meet with our tour guide. Other people start to filter in and soon after the tour guide arrives and we begin. They started with a movie on how beer is made and how it furments and all that. It was super, super cool. We received a Widmer Brother's glass and a bottle opener at the end of the tour and headed off to our next destination.
We arrived now in Old Town Portland where we took a tour of the "Portland Underground." Old Town Portland was very similar to San Diego's historic Stingaree district. It was at one time brothels, casino parlors, opium dens, etc. Portland, being a "port" town and had, what many other port towns called, "shanghaiing." What would happen is when some one was in this part of town and strolling down the streets intoxicated, inebriated or otherwise, they would be knocked-out, kidnapped and then drug down to the harbor and sold to a ship captain as a slave. This started around the 1850's and quickly increased in severity over the years. There was a network of tunnels that were constructed under buildings that made it easier to trap, hide and transport victims. The slavers started buying off the police force, politicians and barkeeps to just turn the other way. In the height of the Shanghaiing, it was 3,000 men a year that would be kidnapped and it lasted till 1941, World War II. The tour actually took us underground into the catacomb tunnels, and we saw some of the artifacts and actual holding cells of these people. It was very interesting to hear about the historic part of Portland, but I could have DEFINITELY done without all the campfire-ghost story-bull hockey. "If you squint your eyes, some people have said they've seen the whistler who whistled until they died....oooohh booga booga booga." Bitch please.
Okay so then what, Oh! So we get done with the Old Town tour and go to Matt's get our belongings and go to a pre-party. A pre-party to what you might ask? The red dress party!! Holla! Okay, so the red dress party is just a giant warehouse party with a bunch of men (yes, gay) in dresses. Not all are drag queens, but the ones who are are probably my old roommates. Oh yeah... okay so we go to Starbuck's house (that's his nickname, is birth name is Dave). Anyway, we get there, have a beer, muster up the balls (or not-balls) to put on a glitzy, glamorous red dress. John's was this full-length, beaded halter top gown and mine was this 80's Tiffany-ish sweater dress. It was hideous. Okay so started to bitch about how it was a little itchy and some guy there was like, "Oh, I brought this other dress that I ended up not wearing but you should totally try it." I tried it on, and what a dream come true. It is totally like a fairytale figure skater dress. It was SOO gay! And if I spun in a circle, my underwear would show, so I was happy. Okay, so we drink, great, and head off the red dress party (except John had a stomach ache and didn't end up going).
The red dress party was like, a line to get in another line, to get in ANOTHER line... uuggg. There was a line to get in the door (outdoors thanks), there was a line to get a cocktail (again, outdoors) and ANOTHER line to go the bathroom (yup...outdoors). This is not San Diego either, this is Portland, Oregon, on the river, freezing, drizzling cold. But so fun. Super fun. so we drink, eat, giggle, twirl, giggle more and go down to Silverado. For are you non-Portlanders, it's this very classy establishment, almost members-only, that the very upper-crust of society patrons. It's a total divy gay strip bar. So we changed out of our red dresses on the streets of downtown Portland (did I mention how classy I am?) and go to Silverado, meet up with friends, drink, twirl, tip, they twirl, tip again, drink and leave. It was fun.
Sunday morning Kurtis (some may know him as Asshole) came home from his work trip. Work flew him to Twinkistan or something and he was like a big in shit. Anyway, Mattgraves picked him up from the airport then we all went out to brunch--which was the most ridiculous meal I've ever had. We walk in and the hostess is like, "Okay yeah, table for four? Okay right this way (read it in a little Asian-lady-Miss-Swan voice)." We sit down, order some food and they are pestering us like, "You can't eat all that? You come wash dishes when you're finished..." and like, rubbing our heads and just being kooky. I can't even explain it. The tip of the iceberg was when I was watching the little girl that was staring into the wall, nose-to-wallpaper, like it was television screen, and I whip around and see this Asian lady cutting Mattgraves' pancake with HIS fork and putting it in HIS mouth. I checked out for the rest of the meal. I was in Kookykook Kooksville. So weird. Okay, so we get to the airport, get on our plane, talk about the amazing time we shared and about how random of a blog the whole weekend is going to make. So there you go.
Portland's fucking weird.
Brother's think their they greatest thing since sliced hops. We did a couple beer samples and the went to the actual brewery. We got to see these HUGE vats of beer (or soon-to-be-beer) and watch it churn and spray and purify and Saturday I planned two activities ahead of time that were to be surprises for John: the first was a tour of the Widmer Brothers Brewery. We went to industrial North East Portland and arrived at the all-brick, super cute brewery. The hostess escorts us to the boardroom where we will soon meet with our tour guide. Other people start to filter in and soon after the tour guide arrives and we begin. They started with a movie on how beer is made and how it furments and all that. It was super, super cool. We received a Widmer Brother's glass and a bottle opener at the end of the tour and headed off to our next destination.
We arrived now in Old Town Portland where we took a tour of the "Portland Underground." Old Town Portland was very similar to San Diego's historic Stingaree district. It was at one time brothels, casino parlors, opium dens, etc. Portland, being a "port" town and had, what many other port towns called, "shanghaiing." What would happen is when some one was in this part of town and strolling down the streets intoxicated, inebriated or otherwise, they would be knocked-out, kidnapped and then drug down to the harbor and sold to a ship captain as a slave. This started around the 1850's and quickly increased in severity over the years. There was a network of tunnels that were constructed under buildings that made it easier to trap, hide and transport victims. The slavers started buying off the police force, politicians and barkeeps to just turn the other way. In the height of the Shanghaiing, it was 3,000 men a year that would be kidnapped and it lasted till 1941, World War II. The tour actually took us underground into the catacomb tunnels, and we saw some of the artifacts and actual holding cells of these people. It was very interesting to hear about the historic part of Portland, but I could have DEFINITELY done without all the campfire-ghost story-bull hockey. "If you squint your eyes, some people have said they've seen the whistler who whistled until they died....oooohh booga booga booga." Bitch please.
Okay so then what, Oh! So we get done with the Old Town tour and go to Matt's get our belongings and go to a pre-party. A pre-party to what you might ask? The red dress party!! Holla! Okay, so the red dress party is just a giant warehouse party with a bunch of men (yes, gay) in dresses. Not all are drag queens, but the ones who are are probably my old roommates. Oh yeah... okay so we go to Starbuck's house (that's his nickname, is birth name is Dave). Anyway, we get there, have a beer, muster up the balls (or not-balls) to put on a glitzy, glamorous red dress. John's was this full-length, beaded halter top gown and mine was this 80's Tiffany-ish sweater dress. It was hideous. Okay so started to bitch about how it was a little itchy and some guy there was like, "Oh, I brought this other dress that I ended up not wearing but you should totally try it." I tried it on, and what a dream come true. It is totally like a fairytale figure skater dress. It was SOO gay! And if I spun in a circle, my underwear would show, so I was happy. Okay, so we drink, great, and head off the red dress party (except John had a stomach ache and didn't end up going).
The red dress party was like, a line to get in another line, to get in ANOTHER line... uuggg. There was a line to get in the door (outdoors thanks), there was a line to get a cocktail (again, outdoors) and ANOTHER line to go the bathroom (yup...outdoors). This is not San Diego either, this is Portland, Oregon, on the river, freezing, drizzling cold. But so fun. Super fun. so we drink, eat, giggle, twirl, giggle more and go down to Silverado. For are you non-Portlanders, it's this very classy establishment, almost members-only, that the very upper-crust of society patrons. It's a total divy gay strip bar. So we changed out of our red dresses on the streets of downtown Portland (did I mention how classy I am?) and go to Silverado, meet up with friends, drink, twirl, tip, they twirl, tip again, drink and leave. It was fun.
Sunday morning Kurtis (some may know him as Asshole) came home from his work trip. Work flew him to Twinkistan or something and he was like a big in shit. Anyway, Mattgraves picked him up from the airport then we all went out to brunch--which was the most ridiculous meal I've ever had. We walk in and the hostess is like, "Okay yeah, table for four? Okay right this way (read it in a little Asian-lady-Miss-Swan voice)." We sit down, order some food and they are pestering us like, "You can't eat all that? You come wash dishes when you're finished..." and like, rubbing our heads and just being kooky. I can't even explain it. The tip of the iceberg was when I was watching the little girl that was staring into the wall, nose-to-wallpaper, like it was television screen, and I whip around and see this Asian lady cutting Mattgraves' pancake with HIS fork and putting it in HIS mouth. I checked out for the rest of the meal. I was in Kookykook Kooksville. So weird. Okay, so we get to the airport, get on our plane, talk about the amazing time we shared and about how random of a blog the whole weekend is going to make. So there you go.
Portland's fucking weird.
J'adore Portland
Our adventure starts on a Thursday evening, after I get off from work, race to school to turn in my homework to my teachers dropbox (because I was missing class to go to Portland) and head to the airport. My roommate Mike took John and I too the airport and we bolted right to the security line (we were already checked in and we had no bags to check thank goodness). We see our good friend Allan who works at the airport and take him through the line with us. Once through the drones of people we make our way to the counter and--guess what, our flight's delayed. Crap. That's like the worst thing, well, not THE worst, but you get where I'm going. We happen to notice on a neighboring reader-board there is another flight to Portland that takes off in about 30-minutes (compared the the 2-hours we'd probably have to wait for OUR flight). We ask the lady at the ticketing counter if we can get on (we didn't check luggage remember) and she said, "You'd have to pay the difference in fair to change airplanes... but since your flight is delayed, I'm going to just put you on." Oh thank goodness! Oh crap. Thank Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth for shining down upon Terminal 1 of San Diego International.
Okay, so we get on the plane, fly in, great, good for us, land, meet one of my best friends, Mattgraves (it's really "Matt (space) Graves" but you say it like one word--for no reason at all, it's just fun). So we meet Mattgraves and head to a place called Doug Fir. It's this super-cute, hipster, modern bar that looks like a funky, futuristic log cabin type thing. There we meet up with some friends, on of whom is Celess. Celess and I met in French class (hence the "j'adore") and we've stuck ever since. She was leaving over the weekend and could only see us on this evening, so we made it work. After jovial rekindling We went downtown to a gay bar with a cocktail or two in our bellies, had another drink there and went home (Mattgraves had to work the next day). While we were downtown at the bar though, I see a familiar drunken homo, wedged in the corner of the room, slouched on a piece of furniture. I order Mattgraves to swiftly inspect. To our surprise it was Dan Quiearcuigrocia! He's another super-great friend of mine whom I was very excited to see. Yay! Okay so we drank, laughed, I spit an ice cube in Mattgraves' mouth by accident (but it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen/done) and we went home and crashed.
The next morning (Friday) John and I woke up and hustled out the door to take a walking adventure of downtown Portland. Since it was Friday, everyone was working, which was great because we got to spend the day to ourselves. Our first stop was a restaurant called Southpark. It's one of my favorites places in Portland. I took my mom their a couple times when she visited me. It's just a super cute restaurant with fantastic ambiance and delicious cuisine. It's just lovely. It's like high-end but their lunch menus are actually quite affordable. Anyway, okay, after lunch we walked down to the "U District" where Portland State University is, then down along Broadway and down to the waterfront. It was very pleasant walking around a city where you don't live yet being completely familiar with your surroundings. Anyway... at the waterfront we caught the MAX (the public transit lightrail--which is free in downtown) and went back to the middle of downtown to meet up with my former boss, Susanne, for a cocktail. Consumed said cocktails, visited a couple other stores then headed back to Mattgraves' house.
Mattgraves decided to have a little BBQ at his place and we invited a few friends over and had a mary ol' time. We drank, ate and conversed. After the BBQ commenced Mattgraves convinced us to go to this club called Halocene; they were having some event called "Gaycation." (The gays think they are so clever with their play on words). I've been to this club before actually, but it was in a fashion show for Portland Fashion week a couple years ago and was runway model (you better work...). Anyway, this night it was so far from a gaycation it was a gaytastrophe. It was purGAYtory. Let me explain: it was NOT a bunch of cute gays running around in muscle shirts and tank tops, drinking blended drinks--no--it was a bunch of gnarly lesbians and their b.o. and attidutes and craziness, making out with each other or cutting in line and just being rude. We begged Mattgraves for departure and he finally caves (why he was enjoying himself is still a mattgraves mystery). We go BACK downtown to the same gay bar we were at the night before and play video poker (well, Mattgraves played video poker) and drank and shortly after went home. Phew!
Continue Story onto Weekend Number 15.
Okay, so we get on the plane, fly in, great, good for us, land, meet one of my best friends, Mattgraves (it's really "Matt (space) Graves" but you say it like one word--for no reason at all, it's just fun). So we meet Mattgraves and head to a place called Doug Fir. It's this super-cute, hipster, modern bar that looks like a funky, futuristic log cabin type thing. There we meet up with some friends, on of whom is Celess. Celess and I met in French class (hence the "j'adore") and we've stuck ever since. She was leaving over the weekend and could only see us on this evening, so we made it work. After jovial rekindling We went downtown to a gay bar with a cocktail or two in our bellies, had another drink there and went home (Mattgraves had to work the next day). While we were downtown at the bar though, I see a familiar drunken homo, wedged in the corner of the room, slouched on a piece of furniture. I order Mattgraves to swiftly inspect. To our surprise it was Dan Quiearcuigrocia! He's another super-great friend of mine whom I was very excited to see. Yay! Okay so we drank, laughed, I spit an ice cube in Mattgraves' mouth by accident (but it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen/done) and we went home and crashed.
The next morning (Friday) John and I woke up and hustled out the door to take a walking adventure of downtown Portland. Since it was Friday, everyone was working, which was great because we got to spend the day to ourselves. Our first stop was a restaurant called Southpark. It's one of my favorites places in Portland. I took my mom their a couple times when she visited me. It's just a super cute restaurant with fantastic ambiance and delicious cuisine. It's just lovely. It's like high-end but their lunch menus are actually quite affordable. Anyway, okay, after lunch we walked down to the "U District" where Portland State University is, then down along Broadway and down to the waterfront. It was very pleasant walking around a city where you don't live yet being completely familiar with your surroundings. Anyway... at the waterfront we caught the MAX (the public transit lightrail--which is free in downtown) and went back to the middle of downtown to meet up with my former boss, Susanne, for a cocktail. Consumed said cocktails, visited a couple other stores then headed back to Mattgraves' house.
Mattgraves decided to have a little BBQ at his place and we invited a few friends over and had a mary ol' time. We drank, ate and conversed. After the BBQ commenced Mattgraves convinced us to go to this club called Halocene; they were having some event called "Gaycation." (The gays think they are so clever with their play on words). I've been to this club before actually, but it was in a fashion show for Portland Fashion week a couple years ago and was runway model (you better work...). Anyway, this night it was so far from a gaycation it was a gaytastrophe. It was purGAYtory. Let me explain: it was NOT a bunch of cute gays running around in muscle shirts and tank tops, drinking blended drinks--no--it was a bunch of gnarly lesbians and their b.o. and attidutes and craziness, making out with each other or cutting in line and just being rude. We begged Mattgraves for departure and he finally caves (why he was enjoying himself is still a mattgraves mystery). We go BACK downtown to the same gay bar we were at the night before and play video poker (well, Mattgraves played video poker) and drank and shortly after went home. Phew!
Continue Story onto Weekend Number 15.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Weekend Number 12: Sunday
With Saturday behind us and the day chalk-full (I wonder where that saying comes from) of exciting activities, John and I wake up early (like 7:45 am--and trust me, for gays on a Sunday, that's like walking on water--miracle) and hit the gym. After an invigorating workout we rendez-vous with our friends David and Todd (another gay couple) and get some brunch. We go to a place called the Mission; I have had heard of it several times by this point but still never went. Excellent choice. Great food, good (enough) service, horrible chocolate mike (don't ever order it from them) but in-out-eat-yum-burp-done and that's all I wanted.
We had a task at hand. We had a goal. We--David, Todd, John and I--had plans: we were going to the Cat Show. I said it--Cat Show. It's like a dog show, except there are more gays and old ladies. Not like, the little old ladies with blue hair that drive 110 miles per hour and sit on a stack of phone books to see over the steering wheel, but like, the old ladies with big, homemade earrings and a sweater with a big cat on it and it says "My cat's shit don't stink" or some bull like that. Oh god. The cats were fun--some beautiful and exotic looking breeds--but the real entertainment was the freak show parade of these ladies and gays. It's like, they were so serious about these cats and how they were brushed a certain way and blow-dried and teased and probably sedated that it was a miracle both the owner and the cat actually made it to the venue.
Let me just say something: cats are predators. Brushed fur does not make them happy, death and carnage does. Let them eat cake. Mice rather. Let them eat Micecake. After the Cat Show (I still can't believe I went to a freaking cat show) we walked to Horton Plaza and casually let time slink by before preparing ourselves for a fantastic and fabulous evening at hand. My dear friend, and peanut, Vince had a little b-day celebration at Lei Lounge. Lei Lounge is a venue unlike any other really--it's hip, it's chic, it's smart--it's SO Vince. It was perf'. The event started out with cool cocktails and warm conversations over the fire pit and in the reserved cabanas. More and more people started to gather and a serious crowd had developed. Vince's parents and brother and all of Vince's close friends and it really was just a fantastic time--an enviable birthday event for sure. Allan, Vince's homohusband, even made a video montage of people that couldn't be at Lei (like former Talk Soup personality Hal Sparks) wishing him a wonderful two-five. Then there was cake (but, no Micecake). It was cupcakes on tiered serveware and just lovely lovely lovely. It gets better--there was a hosted champagne toast to accompany these said cupcakes. Let me just explain how I looked: pink shirt, fierce jeans, bitchin' hair, champagne glass in one hand, cupcake AND a partially spilling martini in the other and a big cupcake-eating grin on my face. Oh, to die for. John you're one lucky bitch. OH OH I forgot to mention it was a total pink party, where everyone had to have something on that was pink. Vince, you're a dream come true (and we happen to have identical taste--coincidence? No. Fate.). Fantastic. Finally the night progresses, (remember, this is Sunday the whole time) and it is time for John and I to retire. He pretty much pours me into the passenger seat of my car and escorts us home.
That was pretty much my weekend in review. I learned that my signature sucks (if you're a gypsy), steak is now on the black market (watch out cocaine), animals can be spoiled (and whored) and Vince is truly lovely (with a capital Meow). Thank you for tuning in and there will definitely be more to come shortly. Signing off.
We had a task at hand. We had a goal. We--David, Todd, John and I--had plans: we were going to the Cat Show. I said it--Cat Show. It's like a dog show, except there are more gays and old ladies. Not like, the little old ladies with blue hair that drive 110 miles per hour and sit on a stack of phone books to see over the steering wheel, but like, the old ladies with big, homemade earrings and a sweater with a big cat on it and it says "My cat's shit don't stink" or some bull like that. Oh god. The cats were fun--some beautiful and exotic looking breeds--but the real entertainment was the freak show parade of these ladies and gays. It's like, they were so serious about these cats and how they were brushed a certain way and blow-dried and teased and probably sedated that it was a miracle both the owner and the cat actually made it to the venue.
Let me just say something: cats are predators. Brushed fur does not make them happy, death and carnage does. Let them eat cake. Mice rather. Let them eat Micecake. After the Cat Show (I still can't believe I went to a freaking cat show) we walked to Horton Plaza and casually let time slink by before preparing ourselves for a fantastic and fabulous evening at hand. My dear friend, and peanut, Vince had a little b-day celebration at Lei Lounge. Lei Lounge is a venue unlike any other really--it's hip, it's chic, it's smart--it's SO Vince. It was perf'. The event started out with cool cocktails and warm conversations over the fire pit and in the reserved cabanas. More and more people started to gather and a serious crowd had developed. Vince's parents and brother and all of Vince's close friends and it really was just a fantastic time--an enviable birthday event for sure. Allan, Vince's homohusband, even made a video montage of people that couldn't be at Lei (like former Talk Soup personality Hal Sparks) wishing him a wonderful two-five. Then there was cake (but, no Micecake). It was cupcakes on tiered serveware and just lovely lovely lovely. It gets better--there was a hosted champagne toast to accompany these said cupcakes. Let me just explain how I looked: pink shirt, fierce jeans, bitchin' hair, champagne glass in one hand, cupcake AND a partially spilling martini in the other and a big cupcake-eating grin on my face. Oh, to die for. John you're one lucky bitch. OH OH I forgot to mention it was a total pink party, where everyone had to have something on that was pink. Vince, you're a dream come true (and we happen to have identical taste--coincidence? No. Fate.). Fantastic. Finally the night progresses, (remember, this is Sunday the whole time) and it is time for John and I to retire. He pretty much pours me into the passenger seat of my car and escorts us home.
That was pretty much my weekend in review. I learned that my signature sucks (if you're a gypsy), steak is now on the black market (watch out cocaine), animals can be spoiled (and whored) and Vince is truly lovely (with a capital Meow). Thank you for tuning in and there will definitely be more to come shortly. Signing off.
Weekend Number 12: Saturday
This weekend was particularly kooky. Where do I even begin. Well, let's start with the morning I guess. Saturday John and I woke up, made the bed, un-made the bed (okaay!), and cooked up some breakfast. I love sandwiches, which I've already confessed to you, my faithful bloggettes, so we made breakfast sandwiches. We decided to recreate Jack In the Box's amazing breakfast ciabatta sandwiches . Okay, let's explain these little joyful nuggets: they are warm, soft ciabatta with two fried eggs, melted American cheese and a touch of butter, warmed and made fresh to order. Crap my mouth is watering just thinkin' of them. So we got some ciabatta bread, eggs, cheese, all the goods right? The bread was tough, the cheese wasn't gooey enough and it just wasn't the same--it was good, but not the same. After my tasty yet unsatisfying breakfast we thought to ourselves (outloud), well let's take a walk. Where to? We could walk to the pet store and stare into the windows at all the little kitties and puppies--not enough... we came to a new conclusion: The Zoo.
John lives in Hillcrest and the Zoo is in Balboa Park--not far, not far at all. We took a medium-paced stroll down University Avenue, then Park Boulevard to our destination of the world famous San Diego Zoo. We had a leisurely jont through the park, visiting the petting zoo, the pygmy marmosets and the wolf's monkey exhibit (Kurtis, Matt, Mark and Mike you know what I'm talking about). After dodging strollers and colliding with families no less than 5 strong, we headed to our next destination: The Psychic Fair. My friend Patti at work turned me onto this activity. So freakin' random. It was in like a community center and you pay ten bucks and get two free readings of your choice (permitting availability). First I had my astrology read; she was gooood. I had chills the whole time and everything she said was pretty dead on--she said I was a healer in a past life and I'm very creative and I'm in a relationship right now and I breathe out of my nostrils and I'm so good at blinking it comes almost naturally to me. Amazing. The tarot card lady was next and like "you'll meet a celebrity in 6-months time and you're about to make changes and some things will stay the same and voodoo blah blah"and I just wasn't having her. Lastly they also had free hand writing analysis. This lady pointed at, like a "t" and was like "you're a strong individual" and then would point at a "w" and would be all "you like salty foods" and lastly was like "you're signature is shitty and you push people away." what the hell kind of reading is that!? You're supposed to make me feel better about myself, gypsy whore. I bet her signature is a picture of her shooting up heroine. Bitch.
After the Psychic Fair we were headed back to John's house, but before returning to our destination I ordered a detour. Two words: Cold Stone. oooooh yes, I said it. I love Coldstone Creamery. It's like a vacation to Pleasure Town for my taste buds and oooh was it so well deserved. After all it was reward for walking far and wide. I ordered my ice cream treat (politely if I may add) and sat in front of the store, dining on this confection whilst basking in both the sun's rays and the envious glares of the passer-byers.
One such passer-byer was more like a passer-seller--you know the type: a person of transient status approaches you with the sale of goods. Goods which most likely were stolen or looted and now they are trying to liquidate them into cash so they can buy smack or slick or sluck or whatever it is they buy. Sometimes it's flashlights or radios or Chinese babies or whatever. This particular individual asked if I wanted to buy steak from him. Steak.
Steak.
He tried to sell me steak. Steak that came from Whole Foods. He pleaded that he purchased this steak with his food stamps and is willing to sell it for ten dollars. Is that what steak goes for? How do you meat eaters survive? I mean, no wonder why all you all aren't bitchin' about gas prices as much as I am cuz you're too busy bitching about steak prices. "Come on, buddy. It's grade A, New York Strip [steak]." "No thanks," I quickly and decidedly declined.
I could have said, "Sorry, I'm vegetarian," but that would have been something he would have expected so I just kept it simple. No. Well, the sales person leaves, I finish my delicacy and John and I make our way back to his place, where we play X-men on the PS2 until I cannot even pry my bloodshot, dried-out eyes open any longer. Time for bed. (Continued on next chapter.)
John lives in Hillcrest and the Zoo is in Balboa Park--not far, not far at all. We took a medium-paced stroll down University Avenue, then Park Boulevard to our destination of the world famous San Diego Zoo. We had a leisurely jont through the park, visiting the petting zoo, the pygmy marmosets and the wolf's monkey exhibit (Kurtis, Matt, Mark and Mike you know what I'm talking about). After dodging strollers and colliding with families no less than 5 strong, we headed to our next destination: The Psychic Fair. My friend Patti at work turned me onto this activity. So freakin' random. It was in like a community center and you pay ten bucks and get two free readings of your choice (permitting availability). First I had my astrology read; she was gooood. I had chills the whole time and everything she said was pretty dead on--she said I was a healer in a past life and I'm very creative and I'm in a relationship right now and I breathe out of my nostrils and I'm so good at blinking it comes almost naturally to me. Amazing. The tarot card lady was next and like "you'll meet a celebrity in 6-months time and you're about to make changes and some things will stay the same and voodoo blah blah"and I just wasn't having her. Lastly they also had free hand writing analysis. This lady pointed at, like a "t" and was like "you're a strong individual" and then would point at a "w" and would be all "you like salty foods" and lastly was like "you're signature is shitty and you push people away." what the hell kind of reading is that!? You're supposed to make me feel better about myself, gypsy whore. I bet her signature is a picture of her shooting up heroine. Bitch.
After the Psychic Fair we were headed back to John's house, but before returning to our destination I ordered a detour. Two words: Cold Stone. oooooh yes, I said it. I love Coldstone Creamery. It's like a vacation to Pleasure Town for my taste buds and oooh was it so well deserved. After all it was reward for walking far and wide. I ordered my ice cream treat (politely if I may add) and sat in front of the store, dining on this confection whilst basking in both the sun's rays and the envious glares of the passer-byers.
One such passer-byer was more like a passer-seller--you know the type: a person of transient status approaches you with the sale of goods. Goods which most likely were stolen or looted and now they are trying to liquidate them into cash so they can buy smack or slick or sluck or whatever it is they buy. Sometimes it's flashlights or radios or Chinese babies or whatever. This particular individual asked if I wanted to buy steak from him. Steak.
Steak.
He tried to sell me steak. Steak that came from Whole Foods. He pleaded that he purchased this steak with his food stamps and is willing to sell it for ten dollars. Is that what steak goes for? How do you meat eaters survive? I mean, no wonder why all you all aren't bitchin' about gas prices as much as I am cuz you're too busy bitching about steak prices. "Come on, buddy. It's grade A, New York Strip [steak]." "No thanks," I quickly and decidedly declined.
I could have said, "Sorry, I'm vegetarian," but that would have been something he would have expected so I just kept it simple. No. Well, the sales person leaves, I finish my delicacy and John and I make our way back to his place, where we play X-men on the PS2 until I cannot even pry my bloodshot, dried-out eyes open any longer. Time for bed. (Continued on next chapter.)
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Weekend Number 10
This weekend was for sure a blast. For sure. I've got to say that moving to San Diego was a blessing, and the climate alone has really made me enjoy life a little more. Saturday was a busy day. Saturday wasn't much, however I did see "300" and let me just say this, it was bad ass. For sure. It was such a manly, epic, visually flawless, beautiful, strong and just a kick-butt, drag-out, bad-ass awesome movie. You have to go see it in the theatres. For sure.
Sunday aka daylight savings was the highlight. I think it was the warmest day San Diego has had all year, and if not the warmest, definitely the warmest I've been able to enjoy. I met up with a smattering of close friends for brunch. We went to Dmood. For you non-SDers, Dmood is a Persian restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner and has great decor, lounge music, very cheap cocktails (comparatively), a tasty array of food and is still "undiscovered" by the other brunch-goers and therefore very low traffice still. At one point we were the only party in the restaurant. It was fantastic. Fore sure. I will say that I've heard from people--as was Sunday--the service is inconsistent. Sometimes good and sometimes bad. Either way it was a smashing brunch full of conversation and merriment. And Marys (mom, that's a gay term used for "gay guy," like "Hey, Mary...")
Anyway, that was just the beginning; apres brunch we went to my friend Vince's condo at the El Cortez to lounge by the pool in the smoldering winter sun. What a wonderful idea. For sure. The El Cortez used to be a hotel and since has renovated and converted to a condominium building. Anyway, back to the day at hand: we made vodka-lemonade-something-or-others and just had a pleasant time. The story doesn't stop there; several of Vince's fellow condo tenants showed up around the same time as we did, and we all got to talking and laughing and conversing and lying poolside, simply soaking in the company as well as the rays for hours. Once the sun hid behind the neighboring buildings of downtown, we moved to one of the condo tenant's places, with access to a large patio area and a barbecue on-site. We drank more, barbecued (I had some vegetarian meat stuff) and spent the cooling evening with all these new friends. Nine o'clock rolls around and after the sun, food, and booze it's time to retire early. John and I go back to his house and just crash. What a wonderful weekend. For sure.
Weekend number 10, you will surely be remembered as the must unexpected weekend of them all.
Sunday aka daylight savings was the highlight. I think it was the warmest day San Diego has had all year, and if not the warmest, definitely the warmest I've been able to enjoy. I met up with a smattering of close friends for brunch. We went to Dmood. For you non-SDers, Dmood is a Persian restaurant serving breakfast, lunch and dinner and has great decor, lounge music, very cheap cocktails (comparatively), a tasty array of food and is still "undiscovered" by the other brunch-goers and therefore very low traffice still. At one point we were the only party in the restaurant. It was fantastic. Fore sure. I will say that I've heard from people--as was Sunday--the service is inconsistent. Sometimes good and sometimes bad. Either way it was a smashing brunch full of conversation and merriment. And Marys (mom, that's a gay term used for "gay guy," like "Hey, Mary...")
Anyway, that was just the beginning; apres brunch we went to my friend Vince's condo at the El Cortez to lounge by the pool in the smoldering winter sun. What a wonderful idea. For sure. The El Cortez used to be a hotel and since has renovated and converted to a condominium building. Anyway, back to the day at hand: we made vodka-lemonade-something-or-others and just had a pleasant time. The story doesn't stop there; several of Vince's fellow condo tenants showed up around the same time as we did, and we all got to talking and laughing and conversing and lying poolside, simply soaking in the company as well as the rays for hours. Once the sun hid behind the neighboring buildings of downtown, we moved to one of the condo tenant's places, with access to a large patio area and a barbecue on-site. We drank more, barbecued (I had some vegetarian meat stuff) and spent the cooling evening with all these new friends. Nine o'clock rolls around and after the sun, food, and booze it's time to retire early. John and I go back to his house and just crash. What a wonderful weekend. For sure.
Weekend number 10, you will surely be remembered as the must unexpected weekend of them all.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Weekend Number 6
Firstly I'd like to explain the title of this entry: I've decided that weekends can be a large contribution to the blog as they are a great source of activity, inspiration, and all around bad taste. Therefore I'll be categorizing weekends by it's sequential number (out of 52 weekends in a year). Last weekend was the 6th weekend of 2007--and what a weekend it was.
My roommate's birthday is actually today, but Saturday night we had a small gathering of people over at the apartment--some of Mike's coworkers, some relatives, but mostly close friends of his (and some of mine). Anyway, Mike's boyfriend David lives in Cleavland, Ohio (by his own masochistic choice) but thankfully is moving out here in a few weeks (and not soon enough, right Mike?). So the party went off without a hitch--I presume--as I was only there for the very beginning and the very end.
John (my lovely bf) and I had tickets to the symphony. How high-brow of us, I know. Actually John's a nerd in disguise and what we really had were tickets to John Williams, movie score and composer extraordinaire, direct the symphony, to such riveting classics as "The Indiana Jones Theme" and heart-renchers like "The Jaws Theme." Worry not, I wasn't in complete boredom. It was actually fun. I had a really great time--it was pretty much a combination of a Star Wars convention and a Four Seasons. There was this one guy I can remember who I'm guessing was killed off in his Dungeons & Dragons marathon or he wouldn't have been able to make it to the concert. Damn hippie. He had long, long coarse black hair, like a buffalo; a big dark suit jacket from his dad's closet (and this gentleman must have been in his late 30s; and jean cut-off shorts which, may I ask, do they still even make such a thing? Damn hippie indeed.
My bitching aside, John Williams really was amazing; he did a couple theme song I would actually know, like three Star Wars songs (bum-bum-bum bom be-bum bom be-bum) and (ba-buh ba, ba-ba-ba beee ba). What really blew me away was when he did the theme to Harry Potter and it was AMAZING. truly amazing. worth every cent I didn't spend. He also did a song from Memoires of a Geisha and that was fantastic. The nerd-audience could have cared less but I was a fat kid with cake for that song, and it was really really great.
Anyway, so then we go back to the party, grab a cocktail and start shooting the shit. Fun. a lot of people had left by this point and it was just the hardcore friends in for the long hall. It was awesome. (you hear that adam? Awesome.) So we were drinking and all of a sudden we chose to go out. Where to go, where to go... Well, as drunk as we were and as crazy as we needed to be we went to Montage. Let's see, how do I describe Montage to those in the dark. Umm... on one side it's a very large, very cool nightclub. It's three stories, with several different rooms that play different genres of music, and the top floor is an open patio and a sushi bar that's open all hours of the night. And on the other hand when I say all hours of the night, I mean all hours of the morning. I leave around two am typically, but that's because I don't do crack and can't stay up all night long. excuse me, morning long. I think it closes around 5am. No thank you. The gays love their dance music and they just want to party. Good for them, I'll keep my heart lub-dubbing the pace it's supposed to--Oh and no judgement--unless you're an obvious cooky boot and your dilated eyes about to spring out from their sockets while you're waving your glow sticks in the air. Silly gays.
So that was nice. we drank, danced, conversed, made jokes about the crazies and went home. All in all a 9.5 out of 10. Thank you weekend number 6. You wont be soon forgotten.
My roommate's birthday is actually today, but Saturday night we had a small gathering of people over at the apartment--some of Mike's coworkers, some relatives, but mostly close friends of his (and some of mine). Anyway, Mike's boyfriend David lives in Cleavland, Ohio (by his own masochistic choice) but thankfully is moving out here in a few weeks (and not soon enough, right Mike?). So the party went off without a hitch--I presume--as I was only there for the very beginning and the very end.
John (my lovely bf) and I had tickets to the symphony. How high-brow of us, I know. Actually John's a nerd in disguise and what we really had were tickets to John Williams, movie score and composer extraordinaire, direct the symphony, to such riveting classics as "The Indiana Jones Theme" and heart-renchers like "The Jaws Theme." Worry not, I wasn't in complete boredom. It was actually fun. I had a really great time--it was pretty much a combination of a Star Wars convention and a Four Seasons. There was this one guy I can remember who I'm guessing was killed off in his Dungeons & Dragons marathon or he wouldn't have been able to make it to the concert. Damn hippie. He had long, long coarse black hair, like a buffalo; a big dark suit jacket from his dad's closet (and this gentleman must have been in his late 30s; and jean cut-off shorts which, may I ask, do they still even make such a thing? Damn hippie indeed.
My bitching aside, John Williams really was amazing; he did a couple theme song I would actually know, like three Star Wars songs (bum-bum-bum bom be-bum bom be-bum) and (ba-buh ba, ba-ba-ba beee ba). What really blew me away was when he did the theme to Harry Potter and it was AMAZING. truly amazing. worth every cent I didn't spend. He also did a song from Memoires of a Geisha and that was fantastic. The nerd-audience could have cared less but I was a fat kid with cake for that song, and it was really really great.
Anyway, so then we go back to the party, grab a cocktail and start shooting the shit. Fun. a lot of people had left by this point and it was just the hardcore friends in for the long hall. It was awesome. (you hear that adam? Awesome.) So we were drinking and all of a sudden we chose to go out. Where to go, where to go... Well, as drunk as we were and as crazy as we needed to be we went to Montage. Let's see, how do I describe Montage to those in the dark. Umm... on one side it's a very large, very cool nightclub. It's three stories, with several different rooms that play different genres of music, and the top floor is an open patio and a sushi bar that's open all hours of the night. And on the other hand when I say all hours of the night, I mean all hours of the morning. I leave around two am typically, but that's because I don't do crack and can't stay up all night long. excuse me, morning long. I think it closes around 5am. No thank you. The gays love their dance music and they just want to party. Good for them, I'll keep my heart lub-dubbing the pace it's supposed to--Oh and no judgement--unless you're an obvious cooky boot and your dilated eyes about to spring out from their sockets while you're waving your glow sticks in the air. Silly gays.
So that was nice. we drank, danced, conversed, made jokes about the crazies and went home. All in all a 9.5 out of 10. Thank you weekend number 6. You wont be soon forgotten.
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