Ladies, have you ever found yourself enjoying the sandy beaches of Venice, CA and wishing to tan certain areas more evenly but totally couldn’t for fear of indecent exposure tickets? Have you ever looked over at that shirtless guy sunbathing next to you and decried the unfair double standards? How come HE gets to do that and I don’t?

Well, the people at GoTopless have decided they’re mad as hell and they’re not going to take it anymore. According to the organization, Venice USED to be a nude beach in the good old days of the 70s until CERTAIN members of the moral police decided women’s bare breasts are simply unacceptable in public.

You can support their fight for women’s equal rights this Sunday, August 22. Protesters will march topless to make a statement against laws that allow men to parade around shirtless but require women to cover up. Women, follow the wise words of Alanis Morissette and use your body as an instrument. In this case, use them to demand your rights to Go Topless. You can “take off your tops and hide your indecent nipples with latex nipple covers…that look EXACTLY like nipples!” (These will be handed out on the beach) Men, join the cause and cover your chests with bikini tops or other choice items.

The group meets at 2pm on Ocean Front Walk at Navy St. March starts at 2.30 PM towards Windward circle for their speech and entertainment at 3.30 PM. They start marching at the beat of the drum circles.

See you there!

In celebration of a Pre-Pre-Thanksgiving, we’re going to be at Bleu tonight. Why a Pre-Pre and not just a Pre? Well let’s face it, when the day ends Wednesday, everyone’s going to be in a mad rush to get home in a furious cavalcade for the Thanksgiving finish. So why not take our sweet ass merry ol’ time and enjoy tonight for what it is.

Tuesday.

C’mon like we really need a reason to go out on a Tuesday?

Bring your drinking shoes and singing souls. We’ll feast our minds and hearts on good times.

My tongue keeps running over the serrated edges of my newly chipped tooth from last night. It’s not so bad, you can’t really see it when I talk or smile, but if you look closely, you’ll see a tiny snag. My tongue swears it’s the size of a Giza pyramid hanging upside down geofront style. Like I could sink my teeth into a piece of meat and great white the mother fucker off it’s hook. I have to keep telling myself it’s tiny. My tongue keeps running across it. Why do we hate ourselves so much that we keep picking at the things that hurt?

I was trying to tell a story about something when I made an attempt to bite into my mug – for effect – and it wasn’t a tiny frosty mug, it was a liter. Add a few spikes and it’s a fuckin deadly weapon by ATF standards. So in my horribly coordinated state, instead of successfully biting into the mug to demonstrate the silliness of my story, I ended up colliding with the rim of the glass resulting in a very uncomfortable stun. I’m actually lucky I didn’t knock my tooth out or give myself an un-cosmetic chip. It’s bad enough I break out into whistling Pete at random times.

After downing two liters of Alaskan Amber, a few fries, a chicken strip, 3 peanuts and 3 lollipop chick cigs at Heroes, we made our way to Stubrick’s to cap the night. Stubrick’s by the way is right next to Slide Bar where the infamous too drunk to care to get her number story took place. Idiots.

Some guys who were playing pool gave us their game to finish so my friend and I went against Sketch by his lonesome. Keep in mind, all of us were pretty toasty at the time so we can pretty much sum up the game as the “longest pool game ever with 3 balls.” Luckily for us Sketch scratched and we won by default. Usually I hate winning like that, but victory is victory.

I could sprinkle in all the reasons why we initially went from West LA to downtown Fullerton, but it’s irrelevant. The important thing was that we showed moral support, we made a statement about people and friendship and the support system that we need as human beings.

I mean shit, fuck the drive, I chipped my gawd damn tooth!

My face was firmly planted in the couch. I moved my eyes as far as I could to peer at the clock and saw that it was almost 10:15 pm. Sketch said he’d be popping by at that time to go to a fundraiser involving playboy bunnies and karaoke. You’d think I’d be excited about that prospect alone, two quintessential things coming together to form a robotic tour de force of mechanical lion sweetness.

Nope.

I was happy on the couch.

I’ve been suffering from mild fatigue so I’ve been sluggish and the couch had me in its warm embrace.

Sketch showed up and since I committed to the event, I peeled my face off the couch and we drove down to a ghost town of a street. There was hardly any traffic, all the shops were closed – it was very eerie. I expected zombies to come trudging out from behind the corner and me with no weapon; we would have been brain flambe. The only sounds came from the bar we were headed to and once we got inside we were greeted by platinum blonds, tiny skirts and sake shots. Admittedly, we totally did sake a bad deal and tossed them down like bad whiskey, but in all fairness, two did the trick to get me primed to sing a song when the lights came on.

It was time to go home. Vanessa, our French Canadian server was a doll and humored us so we pulled in one more round just for her and then stepped out into the quiet to find out what our next destination was. Our friend at Maloney’s wasn’t working and due to an intense craving for Ariza’s we called up our Silver Lake resident and with a little nudge and her brokering out of a glass of wine she agreed to meet up with us at El Prado to indulge in more beer and then ultimately, Ariza’s.

The night almost took a nose dive when we walked out of El Prado and turned the corner only to find the street normally vacated by the Ariza’s Taco trailer empty. At first I thought I was seeing things. Not seeing the trailer there, well I’ve never not seen the trailer there, was heartbreaking. Sketch has been witness to its great escapes before, but for me, it was like removing the top off a girl and not being greeted by her mammarian friends. We stood there stunned. It wasn’t even go time and they definitely went a go. Luckily for us, our Echo Park guide took us to the next best thing. Taco Zone.

Don’t be fooled by the name. It’s the real deal. Their creamy green sauce, which really wasn’t your standard fair verde, made for an extra kick of flavor that made my medley of lengua on tortilla a delight. I’m not kidding, there was no regret on my end for missing Ariza’s truck. But then again, I was pretty buzzed and day old taco bell would have been divine.

We realize it’s Wednesday, but Adventure Tuesday typically ends on Wednesday morning. Sometimes spontaneous and random things happen on Tuesday night. There’s also a good chance that nothing happens. So last night?

My roommate has put together the mother of all entertainment systems. The newest addition to the system being a PC outfitted with Windows 7 Media Center. I was streaming songs off my laptop into the Windows 7 PC which is connected to the main entertainment system of power, when my other roommate was wandering around the house in a hungry stupor. She wanted to eat but wasn’t sure if she wanted to eat given that I call her fat all the time and thus have created a complex, just kidding, truth is I was hungry too. So she brought up Pho but our usual joint was closed when she mentioned the magic words, 24 hour pho. I then remembered my other friend telling me about such a mythical place on the Westside that was 24 hours.

Turns out it’s Pho Citi, the same 24 hour joint that’s in Burbank too, so it was familiar. It’s not the best Pho, but it’s not the worst either. My roommate thought she could be cool and order our usual by using its name, but when the person on the phone returned question marks I said to her, number 19, arbitrarily picking a random number which turned out to be the correct combo number. Maybe it wasn’t arbitrary. Maybe it was the unified system of pho combo numbering, or maybe I remembered Saturday night’s dinner. Either way, at the time it was hilarious that Pho with brisket was #19. On a side note, my roommate says brisket like it’s a British word. Brisk-ette’. There seems to be an odd trend with Asian girls developing wonky anglo-saxon accents.

The price was decent. Considering that it’s 24 hours, the extra buck you pay – you can get the same deal, that tastes better at Pho Show for a dollar less – is worth the convenience of being able to have Pho, whenever.

They did skimp on the fixings and trimmings and didn’t pack hoisin sauce, chili sauce or the standard Sriracha. Luckily, my fridge is stocked with spices so I wasn’t too bummed. But the lack of shrubbery did leave my bowl of finesse much ado about nothing.

However, it being close to midnight, having hot pho on a cold and windy evening, backed with sake and pirated movies, wasn’t bad at all. Besides I got to flex my art muscles and get s’more confidence in my penciling. Zomg, not a euphemism.

This week has been a bit nutty and will continue to be, so much that we had an email thread going around to list and prioritize what events were going on with which ones to take and which ones to ditch. Social event triage if you will.

I lucked out and had a friend go to USC to pick up race packets for me instead of cutting out at work to fight through the nightmare trek I heard it was in getting over there so I’m really grateful that I didn’t have to go. Nike+ is tonight and even though I know I’m going to have fun, this race has proven to be very inconvenient in all sorts of ways.

It was my friend’s birthday yesterday at the Melting Pot in Pasadena and although she really wanted me to go, I didn’t want to. Her social circle is so broken and blasted that even handling that crowd is a nightmare. To put it simply, she’s a really cool girl who happens to be ridiculously cute. She was recruited by the hot girl group AKA bitches from hell and got sucked into their life draining drama shit show. Her “friends” are simply obligatory social status totems carried around big events; they’re the hot girl group all the guys wanna fuck at the party or club, but they’re no where near good friends and would soon rather scratch each others’ eyes out and fake friend it up than actually be there for each other. It’s sick. Throw in my history with her and you have a recipe for some mother fuckin disaster. So I did what I had to do. I called in a big gun arm candy to play leverage. I know this all sounds cryptic and I apologize. Long story short: I called in my good looking female friend to play the “is-she-the-girlfriend-card” and toil mysterious magicks, while playing nice with the others so that I can be removed from the drama, have an alibi and escape plan and wean any thoughts of ulterior motives of me showing up alone. It’s all politics. I know, way too much drama and micromanaging for social circles, I swear to pieces I’ll explain these tidbits in detail one day in a book. But for now, just know that I have some really, complex people in my life.

Luckily for me, my recruitment is top notch and my right hand woman did it up so well she had the men up in full swoon and the girls asking questions about my relationship with her. She’s so perfect at this, “Oh, I dunno, we don’t talk about it much, but, ya know, it is what it is.” Beautiful. We used the El Rey and a showtime to ditch the party and ended up at Arizas. It was an awesome detour, we were hungry and could definitely eat. She snagged an al pastor quesadilla and I picked up an al pastor taco and a lengua taco – divine!

We met up with Sketch at The Room where I had just missed SoSuperSam spinning. Literally by like a minute according to Sketch. It was that damned parking, we must have spent 20 minutes looking for parking, I busted a seemingly illegal U right in front of a cop, totally thought I was toast as I looked right at him, but he just drove away – score! Then I spent some more time regretting not taking a spot that I thought wasn’t a spot but upon closer inspection, totally was a spot.

The Room – Hollywood
1626 N Cahuenga Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90189
(323) 462-7196
theroom-hollywood.com

The venue is small but nice. The prices are stiff, but the pour is deep. The event we attended goes on once a month and according to the bartender, it’s usually dead on the weekdays. It’s located on Cahuenga two doors south from the Beauty Bar. The music last night was hip hop, urban funk/soul and the crowd was the same accordingly.

We ended the evening at the “Western” Denny’s. Jess joined us and we discussed meat eaters, Paranormal Activity and weird dreams to the backdrop of giant trannies, and boy-men who insisted on eating in nothing but their underoos. I didn’t crawl into bed until 4:30 this morning. Surprisingly, I’m ok – but ask me again in 3 hours.

We realize it’s Wednesday, but Adventure Tuesday typically ends on Wednesday morning. Sometimes spontaneous and random things happen on Tuesday night. There’s also a good chance that nothing happens. So last night?

A tear came to Emosweater’s eye when we decided we’d finally hit up Burbank for some fun. He insists that there’s plenty to do over there, we strongly disagree (I’m totally kidding). Our friend works out there so we all decided to watch Paranormal Activity at the AMC theaters in downtown Burbank since he wanted to watch it and we decided that trickling down to Arizas at the end is enough to warrant a trip out there.

All cards on the table, I’m a big bitch when it comes to scary movies. I did not want to watch this movie, but when the guys spoke of Ariza, I sacked up and told myself it was worth the food. Sketch came by to pick me up from my place on the Westside and we made our way to Burbank. Initially we were going to go to the Blue Room to snag $3 Bud Lights and maybe some cheap well scotch to wash down this tingle in my throat, but we were running a bit behind and we had already told our friend that we were gonna meet him at Barney’s, which is right next to the theater. Oh Blue Room, I’ll drink in your divey savvy another day.

Katie our lovely server who we scoffed at for dropping her serving tray – I know we’re such assholes, was a total sweetheart for putting up with our antics. After two pints and a shot of Bushmill’s we were toasty and headed to the movie.

Paranormal Activity

For a movie that was hyped up to be frightening and myself admittedly looking forward to the hype despite my cringing and face covering – the movie, well, let me put it this way: it was like having really shitty sex with what you thought was a hot girl. You’re thinking fuck yeah this girl is smoking hot, you’re turned on, it’s starting off a little slow, but it builds speed, she’s getting into it, you’re getting into it, she’s telling you she’s about to come and you’re all about it, you’re ready to meet her half way when you realize, she’s already done. You think, “WTF? That’s it?” Then you look down at her face and you realize, she’s not so hot anymore. That’s what the movie was like.

It was scary when it was scary, but the scary was too far and a few between with an ending leaving you abruptly wanting more.

After sitting and staring at the blank screen waiting for something to happen, we conceded that the movie was in fact over and laughed our way disappointingly back to our cars. We weren’t the only ones who felt that way, I’d say the whole theater was laughing along with us.

Thankfully the movie wasn’t the end of the evening. We drove down to Ariza for the best Mexican food this side of LA and indulged our irritated movie shakes away. We mingled with drunk hipster chicks, discussed the intricacies of the animal kingdom and I was one shoe throw away from knocking an ugly hipster chick in the head for her antagonistic dry laugh – although admittedly, she was warranted because I was being a smarty pants. I should have gotten that lengua taco.

We realize it’s Wednesday, but Adventure Tuesday typically ends on Wednesday morning. Sometimes spontaneous and random things happen on Tuesday night. There’s also a good chance that nothing happens. So last night?

The alarm was set to 2:30 am. My friend Jim said he’d be in town at around 3:30 am so I wanted to be ready to take off the moment he was in town. Given that it was early in the morning, I figured it wouldn’t take too long to get around town, CBS studios is by the Grove and the Grove is quite literally two streets from the house. We were going to get tickets for the Price is Right.

He didn’t show up until much later, so I wasn’t in line until about 6 in the morning. That left me with broken sleep throughout the night with my alarm going off in 20 minute intervals. We managed to get tickets and go through the entire process right up until actually going into the studio when I had to leave. Jim had to go deal with business and my keys were in his car and once I leave the premises, there’s no coming back. So much for rockin Plinko and winning the showcase.

I spent the day napping and working on projects when my Underage Girl text me. She’s not really underage, but it’s a very long story. She wanted to hang out and drink so when the evening struck she came over with a bottle of Makers, correction, a very fuckin large bottle of Makers, straight up Costco style and thought it would be a hoot to shoot down shots and shoot the shit.

Sketch filled me in on a birthday celebration going down at Rush Street so we hopped in the car 4 shots in and drove down to Downtown Culver City. I’m a man who understands his assets and my assets are my girls. Using their powers of seduction I send them out to flirt and skirt where we can score drinks and make nice. In the end, I get the girl, grab the money and run. Case in point, I didn’t pay for a thing last night.

It was raining in appropriate drama fashion and with her all stumbly and fumbly, I opted not to go to Bigfoot West where the others headed. Instead, we ended up in a McDonald’s parking lot.

Time couldn’t have been any slower than it was yesterday. Watching the time tick at what seemed like half the pace of slower than slow was torturous. That uneasy, antsy, nervous energy that makes you shake your leg in unimpeded pedi-strokes makes the trek through the time shift of forever feel forlorn in unforgotten futility.

Fast Forward. Emosweater was standing by his car as mine pulled up, I lucked out and sniped a parking spot in the wonky plaza where Good Microbrew & Grill sat. All he had to do was make mention of $3 beers and flash me a photo of a burger with a halo of crispy fried cheese singing praises of wonderment to make me strong arm through that nasty 10/110/101 orgy of fat traffic and see for myself. My stomach was whimpering its fugliness that feeding time was due hours ago so there was high priority in me kicking its face in with a good old fashioned burger.

We were two of five and the hostess, who refused to seat us because the rest of the party wasn’t present suggested we romp a tiny table and musical chairs our way up and play table tango until the rest of the team arrived. The five of us were finally there to combine our lionbots and have a Voltron of a time.

Four rounds of mystery beers and an Exorcism Burger later we time lapsed the night time streets to El Prado where we indulged in playing guessing games with the bartender, let the ladies ladle wine and lounge in leisure while the men decided crafty beers and clinky cheers were standard fair for our nightly affairs.

With Ariza sitting in our stomachs and sobering up in parking lot parties the night time ne’rdowells did nothing but needfully bring time to its knees. Emosweater literally got shit on his pants from prancing too close to porta potties and a decision came my way that peeing between two cars is cover enough to make me go camouflage.

Congratulations this is our 100th post.

We realize it’s Wednesday, but Adventure Tuesday typically ends on Wednesday morning. Sometimes spontaneous and random things happen on Tuesday night. There’s also a good chance that nothing happens. So last night?

Things have been more of an inner adventure. I found myself discovering a missing piece to a puzzle that I’ve been trying to put together lately. Not literally a puzzle, but, you’d think that you were prepared for something, only to find out you weren’t prepared at all. So it’s a good thing I discovered this missing piece, or I’d be farther behind than I thought.

Imagine my surprise, waking up this morning to an email sent at 2:56 am from Sketch that he’s staying an extra day in Vegas. He’s supposed to be flying back tonight, but he said he booked another flight back to Vegas after being in San Francisco to stay another night with a super hot DJ friend of his so he can indulge in more free table service, pool parties with bikini clad go go dancers, music, mayhem, lights, camera and mother fuckin action.

My eyes are barely open, I’m reading this email with one eye open – I guess reading with both eyes is just too much to ask for in the wee morning hours – and I’m thinking to myself, this mother fucker! Anger? No not at all, just total and complete peanut butter and jealousy.

I don’t get jealous. Ask my ex-girlwhatevers, I don’t get jealous. But Mr. Sketch, to thee I say, I am fuckin stomp my feet and whine like a little school girl jealous.