I am sure when you are being bitten and held you have no fear for your life that the dog was trained properly and will not take it to the next level. Like pouring over 100 bullets into a pickup truck because a 70 year old Hispanic grandmother was fitting the description of a 250lb black man. It's all about quality training.
Met with a friend at Cappy's. Huge ass giant big wait. The old Greek dude who owns the joint is finally giving us some love after years of going there. He gave us a booth with only a 10 minute wait. He made a big deal of it like, "Shhh...don't tell nobody." Split a stack of pancakes. It was off today. Shoulda gone with the egg whites.
Went to my friends house and hopped on the bikes, just the two of us. It was pretty early but the boardwalk was already packed. You think that a bikini or whatever the hell they're called these days has run out of ways to show off more skin. But the new style is to have the material rise up off the ass, revealing more cheek then ever before. It looks uncomfortable, but ever since Clinton got a smoker in the Oval Office, all bets are off. Chicks seem to want to out-sexualize each other.
This is a sample of what most drunken 17-25 year old chicks were wearing on the boardwalk and Seashore Drive today. And yes, I felt semi-pervy taking the photo, hence the comfortable distance.
I grew up on Seashore Drive and as is often the case in life, I wish I woulda known then what I know now. I would've had a lot more fun and might have even had some luck with the ladies.
The police were in full affect as you can imagine. I have to hand it to them; they let the drunks get away with a lot and allow a fair amount of revelry. It's healthy to let society blow off steam now and again...we deserve it.
One thing that wasn't cool is that some law enforcement were on horseback. And it seems that no one thought to have a little guy following around the horsies to clean up their dung like a midget does at Circus Vargas. As if the smell of spilt beer and puke weren't enough, now there's collasal piles of horse shit on the freshly re-paved road.
Ever seen a couple of horses next to a Corvette? (I didn't look close enough, but I would put 20 bucks on the Corvette driver having a moustache.)
We biked to the River Jetty and stopped at Mario's (formerly Gina's Pizza) on the return. As predicted, it was crowded. I destroyed a slice of pizza and a salad. Ya know what I like about Mario's/Gina's? They have a salad with pasta. It was an 'invention' of surfers years ago here. When I was in high school, I remember friends asking them to put in some pasta in their salads. They needed to grind. Reggae was in vogue at the time and somehow, the salad was added to the menu and called the 'Rasta salad.' It's still on the menu at both Mario's and Gina's.
I biked back to my friends and he had to split back to L.A. because his on/off girlfriend decided to have a party. He was bummed and wanted me to go with him. The 405 at 3pm on the 4th sounded like hell so I stayed back.
I used my shortcuts on the way home and ran some errands. One upside of being single on days like this is you can do whatever the hell you want. I got gas and went to Trader Joe's: mints, frozen chicken tikka masala (because I'm single) and egg whites to maintain my 18% BMI.
My cat was getting freaked out as people were already lighting off their fireworks. I felt bad for the cat so I closed most of the windows despite it being summer.
My wife loved the 4th of July and that ol' antsy feeling set in. I had to go out again despite my cat guilting me. So, I hopped on my bike and headed to my mom's house. As I biked, I imagined the people heading the opposite direction - from the beach, that is - as battle hardened warriors who were tired, worn and bloodied (hungover/drunk) from their day at the beach. The walking and biking wounded.
Biking along PCH, a group of four 18 year olds stopped me. "Will you go out with our friend?" I asked them how old they were. "I'm 28," said the spokeswoman for the group. Isn't it amazing that every clique of friends has its roles sorted out? Men and women, girls and boys. Mother and nature.
"You look too young for me, but I'm sure you're a cool chick," I told the girl they were trying to find a boyfriend for. Of course, they really weren't interested in me. They were tipsy and looking for some shenanigans. Boy, did they stop the right biker.
The girls are from Irvine and were in Newport all day. They were intrigued with me being solo and biking to my mom's. I asked if they had a designated driver and she called herself out. She looked okay to get behind the wheel, not that they would have listened to me. I wouldn't have given a toss a few years ago, but we've all heard the awful stories about drunks getting behind the wheel; or maybe I just see a little of my wife in these chicks and I feel a duty to throw out a token inquiry.
We had a good chat and both wanted to get on our ways. That was fun. Communication. It fuels us.
There was a lot of heat on Seashore. I don't miss partying there. Too old and too much bad news waiting to happen. I saw the po-po arresting some drunks. They'd probably smarted off with an open container. Bad combo if you don't know the drill in this neck of the woods. Alot of the summer renters had set-up shop in their garages, sitting there with their folding chairs and portable stereos. One had a sign: Free jello shots for chicks. Another garage had a sign that said "Free hugs." That one's played out.
I got to my mom's and hung for a bit. Had 1.5 hot dogs. Fresh and good.
After a couple of hours I got back on the bike and headed home. The line at Chronic Tacos was about twenty people out the door. My favorite donut shop with that beautiful chocolate dipped old fashioned wasn't nearly as crowded but that's to be expected with all the drunks about.
People were stumbling like drunken sailors as I made my way. I literally had to dodge them.
Back home, it was getting near dark and the fireworks activity had really picked up. Elsie the cat was wiggin' out. I gave her some tuna to calm her cat nerves. Dave the Dentist texted me: He was at a party a few blocks away, so I biked over there. The cat must think I'm crazy. I probably am.
Dave bait-and-switched me. The party was a few angry married couples with their kids running about, while an ogre lit fireworks in the street. Of course, Dave was controlling tunes from his Zune and we carried on with the umpteenth conversation about Gary Tibbs' bass work for Roxy Music. I soon biked home after pounding a red velvet cupcake. I repeat: red velvet cupcakes are a bluff. No real flavor. Just gimme the damn chocolate and keep the trendy.
Back home, the cat was hiding. I comforted her. My neighbors across the street and next door were going apeshit with both the Red Devil kind of firework and the Tijuana pyrotechnics. I decided to pause the Angel game and stand in the driveway, cowering in the dark, and watch for a bit.
I thought of my wife's first 4th of July at our then new home. She was so excited, playing patriotic music, waiting for some fireworks or some kind of festivities. Man, I regret not doing more and making things more fun when I could have. Coulda woulda shoulda.
The fireworks from Newport Dunes were going off. I looked across the driveway to where my wife and I sat that 4th of July and watched our new life burst with color in the night sky. Earlier in the day, I turned the photo I keep of her in the guest room so that it was facing out, towards the outdoors so she could 'see' the fireworks later. I teared up, thinking about her and how cool it was that she appreciated simple things like that. Free fireworks on the front lawn. No expectation for me to weezil my way into a fancy 4th party or do something spectacular. It was enough to be together and enjoy a summer night.
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