NOW I remember why I moved…
…to California in the first place! You strip away the traffic, the smog, the pathetic cardboard cutout "actors" and "models" and "agents" with their mind-numbing arrogance and smug sense of entitlement, the shitty coffee, the doubly shitty pizza, the Bloods, the Crips, the 19-year old Asian princesses who can't quite see over the steering wheel of their new Escalade, the Monday Morning BO-hawks, the former-Laker-fans-now-Spurs-fans-soon-to-be-Pistons-fans, the Rally Monkey, P-Hilt & LoHo, the Governator and those pesky earthquakes...this place ain't so bad.
Goddamn, but the weather was unbelievably nice this weekend. H & I took full advantage by hitting the beach not once but twice in two days. As a matter of fact, Miss Unemployed took another trip there today. Not to sound vindictive, but I hope she got a raging sunburn on the bottoms of her feet and seagulls stole her cell phone. But I digress.
Saturday we joined Grant et al. at a spot he found near his old place in Marina del Rey. Fantastic spot, quiet and uncrowded. Not totally desolate, but private enough that I’m not gonna tell you where it is. Not that I don’t trust you, dear reader, I just want to spare you the sight of me slathering my blindingly white naked torso with cocoa butter. You’re welcome.
Anyway, we played some volleyball (and won 3-out-of-5, thanks in no part to me but ever so much to the finely honed beach volleyball skillz of Grant and Stacey—not to mention a few mistimed “head sets” by Campo), drank some beers (memo to Coors Light: “Taste the Cold” may be the worst ad tagline I’ve ever heard…and yes, I bought a 12-pack), got tossed around by the ocean for a little while--
(seriously, my neck is friggin’ killin’ me. I think I have whiplash. I mean, I’ve never had whiplash before, or if I did I never knew it, but this is pretty much what I imagine it’d be like. It’s like the tendons in my neck just…don’t wanna work. Like the tendons are all swollen and the muscles around them are all swollen so now it hurts when I turn my head or lift my shoulders. And so now everytime I turn my head now, I think of that Brady Bunch episode where Carol gets into the car accident in the parking lot and the guy that she hit/hit her is in court in a neckbrace and Carol’s about to get found guilty when Mike throws the briefcase and the noise makes the guy with the neckbrace turn his head real suddenly and then everyone knows that he’s lying about his whiplash. So I’m like that guy. Except I don’t have a neckbrace. And everytime I turn my head, it fuggin kills and I wanna rip my damn head off. Man I hate that show.)
--all in all, it was a great time. Then yesterday, Seth & Melissa & Mueller ventured far enough away from their Valley stronghold to join us for another day at the beach. We didn’t get out to the Marina until about 3:30 or so, but the sun was still beatin’ down pretty hard. I noted that fact as I stood in my flip-flops, face pressed against Mueller’s car window after he locked his damn keys in the backseat.
Sigh.
Long story short: AAA, Bacci Ball, sunburn, baba ganoush, $120 almonds.
Great weather. Great food. Great company. Not much more you can ask for in a weekend.
Ooops, almost forgot! Sox took 2-of-3 from the Pirates to wrap up a 5-1 homestand against the bastard children of the NL Central, winning 8-1 Sunday behind the golden right arm of Matt Clement. Looks like Tito’s not gonna have a choice but to select Mr. AutoMattic (Thanks to DirtDogs for the Cringe-o-rific nickname) for the All-Star team in a few weeks.
Goddamn, but the weather was unbelievably nice this weekend. H & I took full advantage by hitting the beach not once but twice in two days. As a matter of fact, Miss Unemployed took another trip there today. Not to sound vindictive, but I hope she got a raging sunburn on the bottoms of her feet and seagulls stole her cell phone. But I digress.
Saturday we joined Grant et al. at a spot he found near his old place in Marina del Rey. Fantastic spot, quiet and uncrowded. Not totally desolate, but private enough that I’m not gonna tell you where it is. Not that I don’t trust you, dear reader, I just want to spare you the sight of me slathering my blindingly white naked torso with cocoa butter. You’re welcome.
Anyway, we played some volleyball (and won 3-out-of-5, thanks in no part to me but ever so much to the finely honed beach volleyball skillz of Grant and Stacey—not to mention a few mistimed “head sets” by Campo), drank some beers (memo to Coors Light: “Taste the Cold” may be the worst ad tagline I’ve ever heard…and yes, I bought a 12-pack), got tossed around by the ocean for a little while--
(seriously, my neck is friggin’ killin’ me. I think I have whiplash. I mean, I’ve never had whiplash before, or if I did I never knew it, but this is pretty much what I imagine it’d be like. It’s like the tendons in my neck just…don’t wanna work. Like the tendons are all swollen and the muscles around them are all swollen so now it hurts when I turn my head or lift my shoulders. And so now everytime I turn my head now, I think of that Brady Bunch episode where Carol gets into the car accident in the parking lot and the guy that she hit/hit her is in court in a neckbrace and Carol’s about to get found guilty when Mike throws the briefcase and the noise makes the guy with the neckbrace turn his head real suddenly and then everyone knows that he’s lying about his whiplash. So I’m like that guy. Except I don’t have a neckbrace. And everytime I turn my head, it fuggin kills and I wanna rip my damn head off. Man I hate that show.)
--all in all, it was a great time. Then yesterday, Seth & Melissa & Mueller ventured far enough away from their Valley stronghold to join us for another day at the beach. We didn’t get out to the Marina until about 3:30 or so, but the sun was still beatin’ down pretty hard. I noted that fact as I stood in my flip-flops, face pressed against Mueller’s car window after he locked his damn keys in the backseat.
Sigh.
Long story short: AAA, Bacci Ball, sunburn, baba ganoush, $120 almonds.
Great weather. Great food. Great company. Not much more you can ask for in a weekend.
Ooops, almost forgot! Sox took 2-of-3 from the Pirates to wrap up a 5-1 homestand against the bastard children of the NL Central, winning 8-1 Sunday behind the golden right arm of Matt Clement. Looks like Tito’s not gonna have a choice but to select Mr. AutoMattic (Thanks to DirtDogs for the Cringe-o-rific nickname) for the All-Star team in a few weeks.
posted by bd @ 6/20/2005 06:30:00 PM
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