I went to LA this weekend to watch the Rocks play the Doyers. I anticipated a great game, as Ubaldo was pitching and I would be meeting up with several friends to watch the game. I also figured I might have some fun following the game and the next day. The trip didn't disappoint:
-Usually I try to time my trips up to LA in the wee early morning hours (like 2-4 AM). Sadly, on this occasion I had to leave at 2PM. Not terrible, but I determined that taking road sodas would be a bad idea (no Braylon Edwards).
-I met up with my boy Jon at his work. He lets me know that he bought 15 tickets for the game that night and we have a place to stay down in Hollywood to party following the game.
He is one of the few people that I will concede is a bigger asshole than I, which is really saying something. If I am the second (or possibly third during this trip) biggest asshole of a group we are in for a delightfully frightful time.
-It takes us about an hour and a half to go from Jon's work to our pregaming spot, including a way too long pitstop for beer at the world's slowest grocery store. Fortunetly I am able to begin drinking cold, watery Coors Light. Gotta taste the Rockies before seeing the Rocks.
-We arrive at our pregaming location and slowly but surely all 20-ish people stream into a the 2-bedroom apartment. It becomes pretty clear everyone who was promised a place to stay will not be able to fit. (Foreshadowing). I don't care, because I am about 5 beers deep and set for blackout-ville.
-The hosts have alphabet letters on their fridge (and a CU magnet, so fuck them) so we spell out "Doyers & Puzies." These are the goals for the night
-At about 6:45 we begin driving to Dodger Stadium. It is 4.5 miles away and my GPS says it should take about 7 minutes to arrive. Gametime is at 7. All right.
Except this is LA, so it takes about an hour to go the 4.5 miles. What a lovely city, who doesn't want to live here? (And why can't they put in some sort of mass transit? Why does everyone just concede that traffic has to be horrible?)
-During the entire time driving everyone in the car (except the Azn, the only girl, ironically) has to take a piss. As soon as the car parked, LA saw it's first significant moisture in months. A lack of bladder control became another trend for this trip.
-The Rocks are up 2-1, as Tulo yakked another one. I am pissed that I missed this, but generally confused why Ubaldo has given up a run. As I wait to get my two beers, the Doyers score again. This is not going according to plan.
-We get to our seats and are literally the only Rockies fans in our section. We are also, by far, the most vocal group of fans in the stadium. One would think this is a recipe for disaster, but fortunately LA fans are so downtrodden they really don't give a shit.
-At some point I trade my (pink) sunglasses and blue Rocks hat to R Kelly, one of the girls in the group, for her fedora. I think this is the oldest flirting trick in the book.
Everytime I pass someone the rest of the night I tip my hat. Gotta keep it classy.
-As the Rockies lead 7-4 in the 7th & 8th inning, the Doyer fans start chanting "Rockies suck." Which leads us to respond "19 games back." It is actually only like 10 games, but a little hyperbole is necessary to reach these douchers.
-The Rocks hold on after Huston Street makes is interesting, letting me walk out of Doyer Stadium with pride (and no stab wounds). My record at Rockies games for the season at .500.
-Our plan is to hit up Hollywood, but our ex-hosts decide that they no longer want to host anyone. Which kind of blows.
I don't really blame them, as I wouldn't want to host about 15 drunkards. But to freeze us out at 12:30 is kinda fucked up.
It is now like 12:30, so half the group heads back to the beaches where they live, but there won't be any time to party. About 7 of us stay behind, determined to do the Hollywood thing.
-In an effort to make room for one of our group to park his jeep, Jon, The Naked Black Man and I literally pick up a Carolla and move it. Then we might have accidentally ripped off the bumper a little. LOOK AT THAT STRENGTH! (That is why cars shouldn't be made of plastic, Toyota.)
-We take a cab straight to Hollywood and Vine, deciding to go to the first place that doesn't have a line. We settle on a place called Dublin Square. It is feaux-Irish and has relatively cheap drinks, so everyone is happy. We do our best to get as much drinking done in the next hour as possible.
-It is suddenly 1:30 and we have lost the seventh member of our group, who apparently likes to ghost himself home without telling anyone. I'm not too concerned, because the ratio just to 3 girls and 3 guys after starting the night at like 14-6.
-As we are kicked out of the bar, someone grabs me and yells "What the fuck?" or something inherently similar. Turns out, it is The Actor, my ex-hallmate and prominent X-Games enthusiast. Yup, out of 13 million people who reside in LA (and not counting the millions of illegals/weekend visitors), I run into him.
We catch up real quick, while getting hassled by bouncers (bouncers are so gay) to leave. In case anyone is interested, he is doing fast-food commercials and appears to have the beginnings of an entourage (one of them told me "That happens a lot, you get used to it," when The Actor stopped to talk to a girl. Good to know. None of my friends ever talk to girls).
-We catch a cab, force it to make a detour to a liquor store for a bottle of vodka, before taking us to the closest hotel. We end up at the Dunne's Inn or something, a place that I am sure is where hookers go to die. The giant, full-length mirror by the bed really gives the place some atmosphere.
-We take pulls of vodka into the wee hours of the morning until everything becomes blurry and no one really recalls what happened. I am awakened at some random time by R Kelly, the girl next to me, alerting me that she just got peed on. I am dry, but the Naked Black Man is soaked. Apparently this is a reoccurring problem for him.
There is only one option in this case, as her and I now have to sleep on the floor of the Dead-Hooker Hotel.
-We wake up the next morning to Naked Black Man wrapped in just a towel, after showering off and planning on taking his clothes to a laundromat. He is also asking if anyone can loan him some clothes.
We begin pulling shots, but after one I have to retire. The footlong Subway and burrito that I ate at 2:30AM are not settling too well. We have a long talk about sex, love and why most girls can't have orgasms from dick alone, all while the naked black man struts around in a towel, or less, for far too long.
At one point one of the girls catches a long glimpse of his man-region and determines that she "...just saw the whole thing- it looks like Africa."
-At about noon the front desk calls to demand that we leave. Jon asks the attendant "About how many hookers come here?"
The response, "Too many."
-We finally catch a cab, with a very confused and dickish driver. He refuses to turn on the AC, refuses to speak any English and to even understand where we are going. It doesn't help that Jon is in a pissed off mood and mocking him at every turn, while Naked Black Man is in the front seat making awkward conversation.
Eventually though, the driver loosens up and begins yelling that Naked Black Man is asian, because he has slanty eyes and glasses. Or something. They actually begin polling random people on the street. Like a racist version of cash cab.
-We finally get back to our ex-hosts place (one of the girls we were with was the sister of a host, making everything especially awkward, since he had booted her and friends the previous night). As the girls pack up there stuff, Jon and I stay out the ex-hosts way.
Naked Black Man, not so much. Wearing just a pair of athletic shorts that left nothing to the imagination, he plops down on the couch next to them and tries to strike up a conversation.
On the uncomfortable scale, I have to think that waking up for a late brunch and some football on a Saturday, only to be joined randomly by a naked black man has to be up there.
-The only thing that could really up the awkwardness? Jon picking up a copy of "The Vagina Monologues" and reciting poetry about his "angry vagina."
-We finally escaped, I got back to my car and drove home to San Diego. A 24 hour trip to LA that seemed to take weeks.
I capped the weekend with another taxi cab ride that featured a story of bean-burrito salad-tossing (Never ask taxi drivers for their craziest story, it is always super disturbing) and free tickets to see the "Last Comic Standing Tour."
Yeah, it was pretty damn eventful weekend.
Also; CSU finally scored a touchdown, the Broncos looked pretty good and the Rocks blew a golden chance.
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