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You are overwhelmingly enchanted by my long flowing mop, aggressive cul-de-sacs, and baby blue peepers. You are under my spell. You will paypal me enough money to go buy a Mickey 40 and some bagel bites.
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From one of the many wild nights spent aboard a party bus. I’ve cooled down on the shitshow lately and while my body feels better for it, I still kinda miss it. I changed my approach from a short-term plan to a long-term one, and it’s going pretty well so far :)
You can’t really plan on dying by 28 once you’ve already got there and still have the wanderlust monkey inside you, wanting to adventure more and keep rocking in the free world. The hangovers though, they really start getting bad. Benders have to be much more meticulously planned, with naps and hydration and vegetables thrown in there to ensure optimal performance.
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Writerz Blok 1/7/13 - Rebecca and I painted yesterday for a little bit (two hours) and had some fun. I did the face and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out, though eyelashes are harder than I thought.
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Had my first night bouncing at the Daley Double Saloon last night, and boy do I have a lot to say about it. As SanDiegoClubs.com describes it:
“The Saloon, as properly entitled, is a western-tinged dive with grimy black leather booths, a long bar with sparse stools, and an oversized throw-back mirror facing eager Encinitas locals eagerly awaiting domestic bottles on the double. Amenities are clearly not the draw-however a line braces the Saloon’s exterior every weekend, especially Thursday nights.”
Well Thursday night, Eve of the End of the World, was pretty fun. Started out quite slow, but picked up to a raucous party quite quickly. Saloon is a bastion for the surf/sk8, 70’s style, facial-haired, tattooed hipster-ish type who somehow never needs to grow up. My people. Oh, and ridiculously gorgeous California girls. The average sexiness would destroy most of the best bars in all other 49 states, sorry guys. San Diego reps hard in that category.
I took the gig after being approached last week while drinking there, to do security for their Holiday party. I figured I’ve given so much money to this establishment, it’s time I do my penance and earn some of my integrity and funds back. It was my local bar for four years, I need to pay my dues.
Until last night I didn’t know how I got the gig, though, which I guess is the funniest part. The bar manager, Leon, introduced me to the owner and explained the weirdest way I’ve ever received a job as of yet. The abridged version:
There was a fight that broke out on the street between two guys. My friend, Anson, and I ran over to break it up (we were just walking from another bar). Anson took the aggressor and pushed him off the other dude. The bar manager told me the reason the guy was getting attacked, it was because he’s a confirmed sexual assaulter who’s jumped in the back of cabs with several of his regular patrons and tried to grope and take advantage of them. Essentially a late-night rapey-type who abuses drunk, solo girls on their way home.
This turned the switch in my head. I went up to confront him and tell him to get home, he’s not welcome in my town. I must have been filled with the spirit of the 80-year-old saloon, because I became a protagonist from a Louis L’Amour dime novel. “You’re not welcome here, get the fuck out.” haha. Well he got in my face, yelling, and shoved me hard. Apparently my next step was I to take him and slam him like a rag doll onto the hood of a Taxi. His skull hit hard and he slid down into the gutter and laid there.
We didn’t wait for him to get up. Leon said I turned to him and the crowd outside, smiled, and Anson and I gaily skipped off to the next bar. Skipped. That’s not a embellishment. That’s just how we roll.
Considering we were drunk at the time and it was over a year ago, hearing this story retold last night made me laugh. Bizarre street justice will be dealt.
Last night was my first time bouncing and it’s not a bad gig, all the staff are rad and the family feel is strong. The Saloon is a legit establishment and I think I’m going to spend a few nights a week helping it be a peaceful, fun-loving place to drink four too many whiskey cokes.
Sorry for the long story :)
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Becca and I joined Tom and Kyle for a big paint session at Writerz Blok. We had a lot of fun, Becca is really getting the hang of it. Her’s is left, mine on the right.
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Here’s a photo from this recent awesome swell that’s rolling in. The surf spot is called Swami’s because it’s next to a famous self-realization retreat. Very famous and very realizy. Ironic due to the lack of zen in the water.
As far as the surfing, I can’t believe we’re reduced to this. The race really isn’t worth it. No matter how good the wave is, having to fight 50 of your fellow surfers to get it really ruins the romance. I used to think surfing was a natural, beautiful thing until I got into the lineup (surfing term for that clusterfuck). Even those who commune with the infinite beast, the ocean, are still as big of assholes as anyone fighting on the freeway.
I love San Diego I just hate how developers and other hypercapitalists have destroyed exactly what they’re trying to sell. This town was beautiful until they turned every canyon into a housing tract with the homes close enough to one another you can pass your neighbor toilet paper when they run out. Fuck that. Fuck all of this. The houses are exactly the same. Million dollar caves. Caves with no backyard, no front yard, no originality, nothing worth noting.
Wow, guess I have some things buried inside, this isn’t even the tip of the tip of the iceberg. Fuck all these cookie-cutter bitches, fuck them in their stupid conformist mouth holes.
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