The Cobb Salad

Saturday, August 11th

I really had no plans for Saturday...no wait, I did. I was supposed to see the opening of my friend's zine at Beep Beep. But I was spending the evening in an idle splendor when my friend Jeff dropped by. Me and Jeff had previously had a whiff of drama between us, so it had been a while since we last hung out. But the day was going well, I actually remembered all the reasons I liked the kid.

But then Jeff started to whimper about needing a drink. I was actually cool with rolling substance free for the moment, because I didn't want to fall under the drinking leer. But Jeff was insistent and demanded tequila at that moment. But as we walked out, we were caught in an Arkin tornado, which always take about 45 minutes to pass. 45 minutes later we finally departed for the liquor store and promptly took three shots immediately. But this wasn't enough for Jeff; he needed some more extracurriculars.

I called the main man and hooked up the exchange, after a mild bout of Jeff's cajoling. Now we only had to wait, which allowed ample time for drinking. Me and Jeff started to move towards being three sheets to the wind. Finally we received the call to arms and moved in make our night moves. But the main man had to go receive substancies from a foreign country, so we deposit our asses in the parking lot and him inside.

Big mistake. My plan to make it to Beep Beep was fucked by this delay to get extracurriculars. The hour glass lent its last grain and the party in Buckhead was the only option. The man with the plan returned, but without the merchandise. We had to dip at this point, because the police had started to question why we weren't leaving the car. We decided to go back to the house to continue drinking and pick up my roommate James. We watched Austin City Limits with Calexico, which turned out to be a treat, but it was damn well 1am before we could even pick up merchandise.

Which leads me to the main problem with Jeff; the set of priorities were completely skewed. Women were waiting and we didn't even show up til 2am. Drugs cannot and never will replace pussy, which if that is really the case means you just don't like pussy that much.

Speaking of poon, the ladies at this party were outrageously good looking. They made Lizzy, Arkin's girlfriend, look low grade. I can promise you that Lizzy is in no way low on the looks totem pole. I was immediately accosted at this teacher named Ashley at the door. I only wished my fifth grade teacher made me this hot. Lizzy tried to facilitate, but I wished she hadn't. I decided to lure her to the car to do some introductory imbibing, but Jeff was the keeper of the substances. He felt this was a reason to include himself in the proceeding rather than to politely fade into the background. After his constant interruption of my pitching woo to the car, on the initial swigs from the bottle, and the walk back to the house, my chances with Ashley had evaporated. Now was the time for me to regroup, so I decided to smoke on the porch.












The one other black guy at the party decided to join us and what do you know if this man was not a sage. We didn't really have enough time to scope the party, but this man already had the low down. Not more than 10 words had come out of his mouth when he guided us all to the one girl we needed to hit on. I didn't even wait for him to finish, I just set out on a quest. She was playing Wii and I was going to try to use that as an in. But we had all heard the call of this prime real estate and there was some prospecting going on.

But much like the Gold Rush, too many hands in the river means non of us came up with gold. It was time to leave. But we were dealing on Arkin time, which meant it took us 20 minutes to leave the premises. We became the dregs of the party, which is always a poor show. Then, between Arkin's dawdling and arguing with Lizzy, we didn't get home until 6am. I had to be up at 9.

A Pleasant Surprise

Thursday, August 9th


This post isn't going to have any photos, because I didn't get invited to this shindig and didn't bring my camera: it was a classic party crashing of the highest order. I saw a mass of cars in my neighborhood and decided I knew what I was doing that night. I'm dog sitting Eloise at the moment, so I decided that dog walking was going to be my cover for the home invasion.

Alex was going to be my co patriot in crashing and we had a nice plan. If there was any static, we had a pit bull with us and we could depart with dignity. But if we were welcomed or if we knew people (which I was banking on), we were home free.

Everything went as planned; a matter of a fact, everything was Tony the Tiger. We knew people somewhat tangentially and the ladies loved the pooch. It was a trad indie party, the type of party that rare now in this age of the hipster. The lady situation was good in all aspect of quality, quantity, and IQ. The music was varied and impeccably good: someone used the power of the IPOD for good, not evil.

We decided we needed to be contributors to the shindig, not takers, so me and Alex made a beer run. But the effort tuckered him out, along with the grease of McDonald's, so I was roaming solo for now. When I arrived I was immediately drafted into playing volleyball: I guess that the other advantage of being black.

I was a superstar on the court and the ladies noticed my, ahem, athleticism, especially these two sisters. One of the sibling, Amanda, played right besides me and I noticed she knew how to move. But our team got so focused on domination (my team didn't lose all night, from 1am to 4am) I couldn't really flirt. It was all to the good. I'll see her around I'm sure.

But after punishing my body with exercise more than alcohol, I decided to call it a night. I was sure I was going to wake up sore, but this throwback evening was worth it.

Deerhunter gets robbed while I get sloshed

Friday, July 27th

The day was turning out to be a two for one deal, with two social engagements on the calendar. The lineup was killer and free: first a pool party with electronic music and the best girls my friend Chris could dig out (the kid has good taste in both) and a Vice/Colt 45 sponsored show with Deerhunter.

Sweet bathing beauties followed immediately by the masochistic thrills of the sometimes we do noise, sometimes we do bliss of Deerhunter. I actually felt like being a part of the slobbering, adoring hipster mob sure to be there.

Me and Bishop spent most of the afternoon pregaming before hand, listening to music and getting crunk way too early: if I had none the results of the evening I would have slowed down then. But a tragedy struck; Bishop started to following his bliss a little too much and it led to Nerdia, land of video games. He just wouldn't stop playing, which led to a delay. We had planned to arrive around six and he didn't put down the sticks until the bell tolled, which led my roommate Arkin arriving home and asking for an invite.

Nada, nada and we didn't get going until 730, which meant we didn't get to the party until 8. By the time we arrived, with another export in Max, all the bbq and the babes had left, just like the sunshine. Also my crunk juice had worn off, so I was left to try to regain it with the help of my friend Jack.

After the mashups the hostest with mostest Chris left a lot to be desired, we decided to drink on our own turf, which was at least dry until we went to Lenny's for Deerhunter. But our drinking platoon was clumsy and slow and by the time we got back to homebase, we barely had time to crack a beer apiece.

I needed Jack once again once I got to Lenny's. A mistake. Deerhunter wasn't blissing me out, the hipster chicks weren't checking for me, and I was getting bored. Then I ran into minga number 2(having already had a previous roundabout with number 1) and I tried to get her to understand my story. She and a co patriot, used to my company, but unaware of my slumming, were totally digging my scene. I was drunk enough to actually sling to salami to minga number 2, who actually is a pretty cool girl, but I've always sort of wanted the copatriot.

But I was saved by the bell when a call from Betsy came in and alerted me that I didn't have to go down the road to darkness. I called a cab, but Betsy came and got me before I made anymore mistakes. Well, except two more.

The first was that I broke into my own home by smashing the window with a tire iron, after waving to my neighbor with the tire iron. But the second was way erogenous.

Before I made my hasty retreat, I had invited this fine specimen Brooke to the domicile. I actually passed out on the couch before her crew made it, but I didn't even respond to them when they were there.

In the morning, I had a wrap up: no girls because of choice or unconsciousness, a broken window, and an announcement on Myspace that Deerhunter had gotten robbed right outside of Lenny's. A night of so much promise squandered on booze.

Pizza and a Crisis

Saturday, July 21st, 11-2:30am



I had a crisis hot line situation with my friend Betsy, so I knew I was being drafted into the alcoholic brigade. I reported to Slice on Northside promptly at 1100 hour, or as promptly as public transportation allowed. It didn't seem to be a particularly noteworthy evening, with the evening being based around a crisis hot line situation, but I toted my camera along, just in case. Enough alcohol makes anything noteworthy.

I was met at the door by Betsy's tough love enforcer, Nicole (an sweet sort of sergeant, by my estimation) three sheets to the fucking wind on the patio. She was with some guy, K, who was playing the waiting game.

Nicole is a charming drunk, one that always good for a dance, but this was a crisis hot line time. This wasn't a time for a celebratory drunk, but a hunkering fog of alcohol. Betsy had abandoned the open air patio for the claustrophobic confines of the bar. Elbows up on the wood, chin poked down, Betsy was hunkering down for a real booze. I needed a catchup, although I usually would drink beer in these type of situations, yet I still asked the barkeep for a vodka and bull. Unfortunately I have some sort of ID snafu I really would rather not get into now, I can't drink in some places because of lack of identification. This led directly to me being rejected for drinking rights. The night seemed to be heading for a wash.

Betsy left to handle the biz in the ladies' room. So I had time to reflect on something I had seen on the porch. Boobs: I had met some somewhere, somewhere on the porch. Yeah, Nicole had introduced me to boobs on the patio, but I was too focused on a friend in need. The boobs were remarkable, the had an amazing wobble on top that seemed like the collapse of a jello dome. Now the rest of this human with boobs attached was aight, you know nice smile, but I was ready to do the do anyways. She was towing an anchor, but I was going business casual about my approach so I figured I would be ok.

Betsy returned and we got down to the gritty business of her crisis. It was gruesome, but that's none of your business what was transacted. But during this idle, we were joined by Nicole and K. Miraculously, through the miracle of social networking through the notorious Nicole, the barkeep saw fit to outfit me with refreshment. Now I kicked it into overdrive. Me and Betsy went all Reflection Eternal over the sauce and the good barkeep saw to it that my glass never hit empty. It was all so let the good times roll. But Nicole was finally succumbing to the liquors joys and needed a drunk's nap. An expeditious exit was on the horizon, but when the exit was attempted, Nicole had drinker's regret and returned to the bar for another drink.

I was now obligated by the Guy Handbook to hit on Booby Mcgee. I approach her about taking a picture after trying blurrier to take serendipitous pics, but the anchor called me a creep for even asking such a question. I have to admit it may be a creepy request, but I know better about myself. The Jello Wall was obviously amused by my request, but the Cold War still continued. I walked away. The situation just didn't call for the effort.

Now was the time to leave. We had Heather waiting anyways. But before we could collect Nicole, Officer Jello demanded tribute of a drink. I acquiesced because truly there were no hard feelings: just another day on the job for Officer Jello. Also, she was on the edge of my fucking index and she was giving me way too much attention for me to be a creep.

But her thinly fell apart after the giving of tribute, because she was trying to flirt through trial and error. This was really distracting me away from what this night was about, which was supporting my ace. I tried to excuse myself, but the anchor was now on my leg, whipping me with quips. My masculinity was being Caviezelized. I actually enjoyed the night. I enjoyed Slice. I enjoyed the quips. But it was time to leave.

The rest of the night was quiet....we picked up Heather, deposited Nicole, and shared an unenthused pitcher at the Righteous Room. By the way, why can't that place get its act together? The crowd tries way to hard for it's own good, in everything from the clientele, decor, and staff. You just don't get it.

Question to readers: I thought about including a glossary of terms, yea or no way.