It’s Friday morning, Ted Williams died (He was one of the few sports figures who mattered to me. The man was a God with a Bat.), and my ass is at the office.
My ad agency supposedly has a reputation around LA as being a country club, but who’s the only agency open on this day? The majority of my coworkers used their vacation day to skip this one out, but I’m hoarding mine for the Thailand/Cambodia trip later this year. Thus, here I am, sitting in front of my humming Mac, writing this entry. And as soon as I finish this, I’m heading home to mourn the Splendid Splinter. The man was the last of the Legends. Baseball is now officially dead.
The one cool thing about NOT having Friday off is that you get two sets of weekends in one week. Wednesday felt like a Friday. Thursday was like a Saturday/Sunday combo. And then Friday would be, well Friday again. Lordy, my train of thought has just crashed off a bridge into a river.
So Wednesday was the "Yolk" magazine party over at the Highlands. Tommy, the magazine’s co-founder, knows how to throw a good party. Every time I talk to the guy, I always tell him to chuck the highly unprofitable magazine biz and just throw these parties full-time. Then he gets pissed at me, hands me a free copy of "Yolk," and walks off. One of these days, I get the feeling he’ll stop giving me free magazines.
Over in the VIP room, they were giving away free shots of Crown Special Reserve. Within minutes, we cleaned them out. And that would pretty much dictate how the rest of the evening would unfold.
As with all of Tommy’s parties, the crowd was very talent-rich. T was giddy but completely disoriented, like a compass that doesn’t know which way is North and begins to spin around in every single possible direction. At one point, all the guys, single and non-single, formed a huddle and had the following religious discussion…
GUY#1: Mother of God.
GUY#2: Jesus, there are some hot bitches in heeyah!
GUY#3: Oh my Lord, I love L.A. This city kicks!
GUY#4: What the HELL was I thinking bringing a date to this thing?
GUY#5: Great Buns of Buddah.
GUY#6: Praise be to Allah!
There were some celebrities too, but the Asian-American kind, not the straight outta Asia superstars like Mr. Crouching Tiger and Ms. Sleeping Dragon. So I recognized the dude who played Lightning in "Big Trouble in Little China." Then there was the Korean brutha from "That Eighties Show." A Miss Korea (Not sure which one though, there seem to be about three hundred of them out there). And, of course, Kiana Tom. Many a man think she’s hot, but I have this thing about overly tanned chicks with overly fake boobs. Comprenez-vous? The kind of breastage that appear to be bronze shiny melons Super-Glued to the girl’s chest. As my mom once told me, "Son, don’t ever marry a girl with big ol’ fake titties." Or at least that’s the rough English translation.
Speaking of artificial mammaries, friends kept telling me that Sung Hi Lee was in the house. Brie and I went out to look for her. Why? Because we were drunk idiots. Although we came across several of those Asian models that you see nekked on the Internet and semi-nekked at import shows, we failed to find the Queen of them all.
Other than that mild setback, I had an extremely good time. Wish I could tell you what else transpired that wonderful evening, but my brain cells have been reduced to three nucleotides. And I’m not even sure what nucleotides are.
Went to two BBQ’s.
The first was over at the newlyweds’ pad in Marina del Rey. EK and Annie had just returned from their honeymoon a week ago, so this was their first shindig thrown as married folk. They were both disappointed that nobody was drinking any beer, since they’d bought tons of the stuff thinking that’s what guys drank at barbeques. But since most of us were still recovering from the Highlands party, nobody wanted to be even in the same room as alcohol.
The second party was at Steve’s. Steve has thrown a bash at his place every Independence Day for as long as I can remember. And it’s always packed to the point where everybody’s dry humping each other. If you see someone across the room that you haven’t seen in ages, forget about it. All you can do is point at each other, nod, and yell "Long time no see." And if you’re good friends, you give each other a thumb’s up. Because wading through that human peanut butter in less than fifteen minutes was an impossibility. Your best hope was to get dragged along by the party riptide and pray that the person hadn’t suffocated by the time you got there.
But somehow Devon (or "Squiggy" as Licegirl says I used to call him) found me, and Lord knows what I said to him. But the dude bit my nipple. Swear to God. There were all sorts of other drunken madness going on, but my sober self would have nothing to do with it. Because after last night, everything seemed fairly anticlimactic. Sure, there were girls sticking their fingers down each other’s cleavage. Yes, crazy people were doing and saying crazy shit. But I felt as if I’d seen this movie before. Many times. Eventually I got bored and left around midnight.
Friday will absolutely, positively be a Blockbuster night.
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