Sitting on a front porch, watching a chicken.

Los Angeles, CA

 It’s a beautiful Saturday morning.  I am writing this blog post from the front yard of "The Country Club" where JTI lives.  They didn't name it the country club...all the Mexicans in their neighborhood did.  I guess that's what happens when there is one house, atop the hill, with the only 6 Caucasians in the neighborhood.

 

The Country Club

 A Man and His Chicken

 JTI is a character...probably why we get along.  He owns a chicken, Wesley.  Not sure why you would give a chicken a man's name.  Also not sure why you would give a chicken the name of one of your roommates.  All I know is that the fucking bird woke me up this morning with its incessant gurgling…not sure how else to describe the sound it makes.  She's looking at me right now...kind of creeping me out.

 

Evening Recap

The night started out in a pretty standard manner…24 ounce Coors Light cans from the Mexi-bodega across the street.  After that we ventured off in the Jeep Patriot to downtown L.A.  Downtown L.A. is a ghost town at night.  Not too many residents, a few bars, and some of the nation’s finest homeless people.

We hit up a few typical, new, hip bars.  Pretty good music selections.  Pretty good crowds.  Pretty good drinks.

While at one of the bars we met some new friends…Nancy, Geovany, and Abraham.  The first, a 5-foot tall, 200-pound girl.  The latter two, early twenties, homosexual men.  All Mexican.

We told them, of course, that we were in a band.  Technically, that we were forming a new band.  This is key for the band lie.  If someone finds out you’re in a band, they automatically want proof…MySpace, website, etc.  When you say you’re forming a band…a little easier.  Nonetheless, these kids were drunk and would have believed that I was Prime Minister of Israel and that a full-bearded JTI was my wife.

We soon left the bar, with our new friends, and headed to the Mexican gay cowboy bar…seriously.  The place was strange but we managed to dance a little and, of course, I made friends.  Once again…the band story.

I’m pretty sure I could watch Mexican gay cowboys line dance for the rest of my life.  Thoroughly entertaining.

We then left the bar and headed to another where we would end out our night.  At the next bar something happened…I flipped the switch…it was drinking time.  I hammered through cocktails at an alarming rate until cramming onto the shitty, little dance floor was no longer an issue for my neurotic ways.

This is where things get a little fuzzy.  The next events happened sometime after…just not sure when.

·         There was a fan on the dance floor.  JTI got down on his knees and plugged it in.  The next moments were spent singing into the fan, dancing in front of it like a Michael Jackson video, and coercing others to do the same.

·         At bar close we were outside, leaning on a Ford Taurus, and talking to people when the bouncer said we had to go.  Of course, our response was, “What?  This is OUR Ford Taurus”…no dice.

·         We dropped off some fellow party-goers at their car in a parking lot.  Next thing I know, JTI is blocking another car with his and telling the people that his car broke down and he can’t move…blocking them in.  So they all get out and push his car back for him…women included.

 

Final Thoughts

I feel like I’m in Mexico.  I slept on a couch that was about 8 inches too short for comfort.  The new radio station in town, Amp 97.1, is playing its first 10,000 songs without any commercials.  I’m tired.  Heard this song a bunch.

See you guys in San Diego!