Let's do something a bit different today...remember Choose Your Own Adventure books? I made something like that for you here! Fun right?? A little game to spice up your week. You're welcome :)
Whew, I am tired! Yes sir tired, tired, tired. Exhausted. Man, I am just plain beat. Pass me a pillow, I could sleep right here on my keyboard. Oh, I'm sorry did you just ask me why? Well, I didn't really want to go into it, but since you asked. It's because this weekend...
Here is where you choose. Choice A? Or scroll down a bit for Choice B. (Or choose BOTH - you brave, time waster you!)
I went on a PAAAAAAARRRRTY BUUUUUSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That's right. A bus--but not a bus that goes to a party. A bus that IS one (a party). A party that rolls on wheels. And on those wheels is a chassis holding sixty people with crazy party faces. And in those faces' hands is BEER. Real beer. With liquor in it! And you can drink it while you look out at the Hollywood sign through plexiglass from 15 feet above the road.
The plan was simple: get on the bus in a Ralph's parking lot, stop at three bars in three different yet equally hipster-awesome locations, and then end up back where it all began. (No, not the Garden of Eden. I meant Ralph's again.)
The journey to the first bar took us on a stop-and-go jaunt down the 10 East Fwy. During this time, party-goers overcame their claustrophobia and busaccidentphobia by pouring combinations of handle-bottle liquor and mixers into red cups. Due to the setup of the bar, (because, you see, we were on the top deck of a moving bus. As I mentioned before.) these drink combinations were inevitably "too much" of something and "too little" of something else. So the phobias quickly faded. As did the dry, slip proof floor. The introductions and conversations became a bit more lively as people shouted over freeway wind and traffic noise while tripping and splashing themselves and their drinks into friends-of-a-friend.
After an unknown and who-cares amount of time, the bus pulled into Downtown LA - the home of many and the hangout spot of none. We pulled up to our first stop, a haunted hotel. SPOOKY! After accidentally entering an area designated for another private party (which now that I think about it was most likely a birthday party for ghosts), we charged the bar and ordered more drinks. The place was lots of fun; there was a softly lit pool that we could look at but were not able to touch (because it was for registered guests only), a phantom step-down in the middle of the room on which people kept tripping. And a couple of the guys heard a ghost in the bathroom zipping up his fly. But that was as spooky as it got.
We shuffled back out to the waiting bus. And I think now is a good a time as any to mention that both sides of the bus were plastered with ads featuring David Beckham in his H&M undies. Which got us a lot of attention, let me tell you! It even prompted one funny street gentleman/dirty bum to scream out a slurred, "bend it like Beckham MO FOs!" Funny stuff, dirty gentlebum. Everybody's a comedian.
When we pulled into Culver City for our second stop, we were greeted with angry shouts from a sidewalk table. A snip-snappy, sweater around the neck, Hefeweizen-drinking gent (wearing a shirt from
Well after that, the details of the night get knotted up and dipped in a bathtub of dye. There was definitely...a second bar that was cave-dark and had pizza topped with shrimp? There was almost certainly...another ride on the bus involving lap dancing to music that sounded like it was coming out of a speaker from 1967 that had been dipped in water and buried six feet underground? Then there was for sure...more sloppy drink making using the last of the mixers and the last of the liquor resulting in a warm tequila and Dr. Pepper concoction? It was also highly likely...that everyone started stuffing their face with rattlesnake sausages at a place with a German accent mark in the name and a valley girl hostess wearing lederhosen?
Well one thing is absolutely true...at some point some party-goer stole a copper cup from someplace, and the rest of the night the entire group endlessly chanted, "STOLEN CUP, STOLEN CUP, STOLEN CUP!" over and over. At the time that was the funniest thing I had ever heard in my life. It still is.
The bus did in fact make it all the way back to Ralph's. And everyone did survive - defying the Vegas odds that were surely 9 to 1 we would all perish on the excursion. A good "it" was "bent" by all. Even Beckham.
So with heads full of dehydration and the delusion of bliss that goes with a successful night; we packed up, headed home, and went to bed. And we all woke up the next morning ready to trudge through another day, week, month or longer. Hoping the chance for awesomeness would come our way again real soon.
...was the SUUUUUPERRRRR BOOOOOOOWWWWWLLLLL!!
And this year was even more exciting than most because my very favorite NY Giants were up against their bitter rivals The
So, if you are anything like me, Sunday was time to make your Super Bowl preparations! Time to assemble a 7-layer dip that only has 5 layers because you can never ever remember the last two! (beans, sour cream, guac, salsa, cheese. WTF else is supposed to go in that??) Time to cut the legs off mini chickens, dip them in spicy batter and fry them! And then dip them again? But this time in spicy ranch! Time to pick up the Costco Red Pizza Phone and tell whoever is on the other line to, "start making pizzas and don't stop til I'm asleep!" Time to lie to your friends and tell them their Doritos sketch was good enough to be picked to air. Time to put three dollars toward your office football pool and actually pencil the winning amount into your checkbook balance "just in case." Time to get a football cake--just as a decoration though--because the frosting is grainy, hard-edged sugar that is grody-to-the-max and should never be consumed! And time to put on your old t-shirt with a worn image of Lucy from the Peanuts pulling the football out from under Charlie Brown! You know, the one with nacho stains on the front! And back! Time to drive to your parent's house to watch it 'cuz you are boring and antisocial and can't get comfy on anyone's couch but your old home-sweet-home!
And finally it's time to watch the game. Or the first few minutes at least. Until you need to get up to get yourself more dip. Then when you get back, the commercials have started. (Beckham!...so we meet again.) And you get in a discussion with your mom about whether "ads these days are stupid" and "no one is clever anymore." And just like me you probably say; "Aw Mom. Geez. Can't you just sit back and watch without judging?" But you are secretly thinking how dumb the ads are too. Then you leave the room to feed your baby. And answer an email. When you get back there is another pizza that has to go in the oven and plates to clear. Then you doze off for a bit and wake up to your dad saying he doesn't care who wins but he just wants it to be a close game therefore he will switch who he roots for with each new score. Then there is a debate amongst everyone in the room as to whether or not Madonna is "putting on a good show." And you, like me, probably say that there is no way it can be considered a "good show" if she is not "actually singing." End of story.
And then you make yourself a bloody mary and start to drink it, and may doze off again. The next thing you know it is the fourth quarter and the game is close. VERY close. Immediately you are nervous. All of a sudden the Giants prevailing is the most important thing that has ever been on the line in the history of man. You feel your stomach tighten and your toes tickle. You close your eyes. You can't watch.
Then, a thought crosses your mind. The same thought that crosses your mind at the end of every sport you spectate. The same thing you always think in every ninth inning, at every finish line, every last second on the clock, every stick of the landing, every reach for the pool-side, every overtime goalie miss: I will not care about this when I wake up tomorrow. Tomorrow, the whole process starts over again. And whether or not the Giants win; I will still wake up an office manager who only remembers 5 layers of that dip, I will still be feeding the baby and arguing with my mom, I will still use the Red Pizza Phone at Costco and I will still---
And then the Giants win. Celebrate. Gatorade their coach. Put on crisp caps and t-shirts. Hold their trophy high. And party late into the night, filling their bellies with rattlesnake sausage and rubbing elbows with David Beckham. Then with heads full of dehydration and the delusion of bliss that goes with a successful night; they will pack up, head home, and go to bed. And they'll all wake up the next morning ready to trudge through another day, week, month or longer. Hoping the chance for awesomeness will come their way again real soon.
Epilogue (for the young kids)
You are too young to remember such things, but just as the Choose Your Own Adventure series of my youth did, I decided to end both choices with the exact same paragraph. Because, you see, whoever wrote those books was a sneaky, pessimistic, fatalist - who no doubt tried to subliminally teach kids that there was no way out of their predestined kismet no matter which adventure they chose. The end was always the same. (Unless you chose a REALLY stupid option, in which case you were killed by Bigfoot on the very next page. But please, I NEVER fell for that. And you wouldn't have either.)
OLIVES!!! Olives is the 6th layer. I just remembered.