Hobos and Gypsies

Last night my friend and I went on an adventure in which the whole goal was to contract hepetitis C. Seriously, there is nothing more compelling then the thought of getting a disease that doesn't have a cure, destroys your liver and turns your eyes yellow. Imagine that, yellow eyes for crying out loud! I hear that all the girls in Asia love a guy with yellow eyes. So last night's goal was really just to get ourselves looking hot for the asian nation. Three words, Rush Hour 3!!! That actually turned out to be two words and one number. Snap. Speaking of Asian's we also located the restaurant "China China" which has evaded me for years. Now I feel much better because they have the best seasame-seed chicken. I almost said that they have the best orange chicken but that would be a dirty lie. Panda Express has the best orange chicken. Not the best bathrooms, but for sure the best orange chicken. The Farm Grill has the best bathrooms. Stop by to take a dump sometime. Anywho back to the pursuit to destroy our immune system, the local light rail seemed like a good place to start so we hopped on and rode downtown being very careful to touch all of the hand rails and to sit in all the seats. There are no seat belts in the light rail. And basically zero supervision. Next time we're briging a laptop to watch a movie. A laptop and a pizza. Why not, I like laptops and I defininetly like pizza. I do not particularly like the homeless. Hmmm, something tells me the pizza might make the homeless curious. Ok scratch the pizza we'll just bring the laptop, and a gun. Well my friend thought it would be a good idea to strike up a conversation with a nice old man who was also waiting for the train. A nice old man that liked to talk and talk and talk. Mostly about prostitutes and bong hits. Apparently the kind man had recently taken no less than 13 bong hits and then promptly died. That's right, he was back from the dead. Luckily for us his grandson who was also apparently getting lit with his grand pappy at the time, had the frame of mind to take action and punched the old man in the chest and revived him from his "hydro" overload. I apoloigze half-heartedly for the poor poor grammar used in that last sentence. I've actually never heard of anyone dying from weed. High speed accidents, yes, cancer, yes, shark attack, yes. Too many hits from the bong... No. And that was where the senior citizen lost his credibility with me.

Sun N' Sands Motel (Huntington Beach, CA)

I just got back from I think my third year in a row of 4th of July Huntington style. I was planning on staying in town this year, (probably because I wrecked on my long board last week and hit my globe which caused me to momentarily not want to do anything fun, don't worry, I'm cured now) but luckily my friend Mark sent me a text while I was sitting at my desk bored out of my mind and so I jumped at the opportunity to pack a car full of dudes and head for the waves. That's right, no ladies on this trip, I like to mange my operations with a BYOG (bring your own girls) policy but this time we threw up a hail mary and made a run for it sans the estrogen. We stayed at a lovely hole in the wall motel right on the PCH just a few blocks north or the pier in Huntington. Here are the first three reviews you'll find of the motel if you take a gander on the world wide web:

1.We had our most horrible hotel-motel experience in our life in this place. The lady at the front desk had an attitude from the moment we walked in. The non-smoking room we got have been heavily smoked in, the rooms were dirty and roach-infested. Will never go back even at gunpoint.

2.My friend recently stayed at this hotel and was robbed at gunpoint opening the door to his room. (Speaking of gunpoint haha!)

3.It is a gorgeous spot right across from the beach, but rooms are small and worn, there is NO A/C (I missed that in other reviews) and even our ceiling fan didn't work well. Paper thin walls mean it's a gamble if you have kids or want to sleep (No joke, there was no AC, the water from the shower was nice and cold though so that helped in the cooling process)

Anyways despite the rough reviews the place really was great and we had no problems with the lack of AC. I saw zero roaches. I did however see the next door neighbor in her underwear. Twice. Of course in classic style this was not a neighbor that you wanted to see in her undies so lets not get excited. And no I didn't snap any pictures so don't ask to see them.
Rolling 5 dudes deep might seem a little risky but I can honestly say that we had a great time with no casualties and no evident c-blocking. I even slept pretty comfortably even after Kenny filled my head with ideas of what liquids the bed cover might have on it.

I learned some things about myself this weekend. First I realized to my dismay that I might be the only person in the world without a six-pack. I mean goodness, don't people have anything better to do with their time than sit-ups? My abs are not chiseled. I need to work on that. I also learned that if you wreck (noticing a pattern here?) on your long board in front of a bunch of people, the easiest way to play it off is to pretend that you're intoxicated. Last but not least I've decided that even though the Mormon beach scene is full of tools, if you can't beat 'em join 'em. I look forward to continuing this tradition for as long as I remain single. And a tool.

Chicken Biters

That's right. Chickens are biters. At least my chickens are. This morning when I fed my chickens one walked right up and instead of looking at me sideways or saying hello it just bit my hand.

I feel like maybe I've been a bad parent. I'm really the only one around to teach these chickens how things work and biting the hand that feeds you is just not something to teach your chickens. Did I somehow teach them that? The only real problem here is that if I try to teach them a life lesson and not feed them they won't learn, they'll just die. Or "croak" as my grandma says. Maybe she meant to say "crow"? I'm not sure but I have no roosters so there is no crowing, except from Kent my roommate. He's a cock. He crows. Not really but he is sick with what he calls a stomach flu. I think he needs to man up and just admit that he has the bird flu. That or maybe AIDS. Monkey handler. I think we should put him out with the chickens and other barnyard animals. Kent will be quarantined to the coop. Don't worry Kent, I'll feed you every morning and if you're smart you'll keep an eye on the chickens when they are by the water dish so they don't poop in it because those chickens have no problem dropping deuces in the very water they drink. I really do need to get back to basics with those chickens, they have clearly been raised wrong.

Dry Cleaning

What is the definition of crazy? If crazy is driving half way across town to drop off your dry cleaning when there are probably a dozen closer cleaners then go ahead and put my name up on the crazy board. If the boards listing those individuals who are inneficient and wasters of gas/time are close by and it's not too much trouble, then go ahead and chalk my name on those boards as well. As I was saying, I drive a good distance for good dry cleaning. I'm not sure why, maybe it's just my cross to bear but I have gone through all of my adult, dry cleaning applicable life without even once being pleased with the results of laundered clothing. Until now. I'm not quite sure what the difference is, all the normal factors are in place: Located in a strip mall, check, asian owned, check, mexican operated, check. Everything checks out just the same as any other cleaners I've been to but this one is different. For once I don't have double creased pants. If I wanted double creases I'd do it myself. I'm pretty sure I could even double crease my pants while blindfolded. Many thanks to my new exlusive dry cleaner. I don't care if I move to Thatcher, I'm bringing my dress pants to him. Now that's brand loyalty.

Wilderness Survival

I'm pretty sure I've enjoyed camping for as long as I've been able to breathe. That's right, immediately after leaving the womb I grabbed a leatherman, cut the umbilical cord and promptly pitched a tent. I mean set up a tent. This weekend I rounded up my favorite red headed camping co-pilot and headed down a pavement road to a dirt road to a camp site underneath some power lines. I'm not really sure where we were but I'm pretty sure that everyone else was there too. I don't love busy camping areas. I prefer to be in complete solitude. Lessons learned while camping, if they look fake, they are. If you're with a marathon runner, don't ask him about it. If you're not invited, don't show up. Right before dinner. With nothing to offer other than a push up bra. Ok so maybe that would be adequate but lose 40lbs first. Don't drink and fish. If you drink and fish, don't fall in the lake. If you do drink, fish, and fall in the lake, take in a few lungs full of water and check out. If you plan on camping in a tent, it will rain. Water is bad for dutch ovens. Very very bad. It's hard to wash your hands after using the bathroom. If you're a girl it's hard to use the bathroom period. If you're a girl on your period, don't go camping. Period.

I'm going, going back, back to Cali, Cali

Ok so I'm not really going back to Cali, but I did go back last weekend and now I've returned. I wonder if I could go 24 hours expressing myself just by using lyrics from Notorious B.I.G's hip-hop tick-tock? That's worth a try some day when I'm feeling especially gangster. And especially annoying. I don't know what it is but something about getting in the truck and driving west till I hit the coast just does it for me. Not so much the scenery in between, heaven knows Blythe is no diamond in the rough, but once you get past the windmill farm in Quartsite things really start to look up. One more comment or should I say question, what in the world is the allure of Palm Springs? From the freeway it looks like a big trailer park in the middle of the desert. A really crappy part of the desert. A big trailer park with low end trailers and sick palm trees. Something tells me they have a petting zoo there. And a flee market. And an abortion clinic. One day my curiosity will get the best of me and I'll check it out. Something tells me I'm going to be disappointed. Or just not surprised at the lameness. Anyways at some point I arrived at my destination with a little help from my GPS and a little more help from my 44 oz Big Gulp of Mt. Dew. Thankfully my prostate is in good working order (I guess) so I didn't have to stop for a million pee breaks like my dear father. Heaven help me when that day comes. Anyways, getting sidetracked with the problems of a 50 year old man was not really my purpose of this post so lets get on with it. Cali was great. Beautiful weather, good friends, good music, good beach, and good food. I plan most of my trips around where I'm going to eat. One of the biggest disappointments of the trip was when we cruised up to the local T.K. Burger in Huntington 2 minutes too late. Granted I wasn't even slightly hungry but I hate having traditions interrupted. Blast. Luckily my friend Becca had two spec-freaking-tacular Mexican food places to take me to which blew my boots off. I dare say the carne asada was better than anything I've found even in Arizona. And probably even better than anything I've found in Mexico. Sorry Mexico, sometimes it seems like we do everything better in America, even Mexican. Lo siento. So, even though I got pink eye, which I'm pretty sure I haven't gotten since I was three weeks past my second birthday, the trip was a great success. Special thanks to Becca and Ra Ra. No thanks to Lisa who could possibly be the most obnoxiously annoying person I've ever met. No really, I think I will bill her for the years of schooling that she may have cost me. I'm pretty sure my IQ suffered and it's a miracle I can go for more than three words without saying "like". I'm pretty sure she beat that word into my head. I'm not a fan of the valley girl. Go back to the valley. Just not this valley. Thank you.

Rough em Up, Cuff em Up

So yesterday I went on a ride-a-long with a friend from the local police department. That's right, I'm thinking about joining the league of bad A's. Pigs, Porks, Bacon, the fuzz. Just seems like a club I'd like to be a part of. Why not? I enjoy driving around like a meth crazed teen as much as the next guy and for once I'd be justified. First call of the day, some little burrito shop for a breakfast burrito. Classic. Second call, a tripped residential alarm in a nice neighborhood but shady part of town. My buddy tells me to stay close and keep my eyes open. We approach an open door that goes into what seems like might be a garage. That's when I notice a huge doggy bowl. Forget about a lurking mexican, I'm now worried about a dog. Freak, dogs have teeth, mexicans do too I suppose but when's the last time you knocked the teeth out of a dog? My point exactly. Anyways, false alarm on both counts, no mexican, and no dog. That pretty much set the stage for the rest of the day. Unfortunantely police work seems to entail a lot of following up on cold leads and looking for things/people who are no longer there. Dang them. Luckily police work also seems to involve a lot of BS'ing with the other officers and harrasing the homeless. The homeless are creepy, but sign me up for the BS'ing. When it comes to BS, I give myself an A+