Long Nights, Longer Day

My weekend started on Friday night with the Roomie at the long awaited Friday night Giants v. Dodgers game. I say long awaited because when I chose these tickets in May, I thought we’d be in the midst of a play-off push at this point in the season. So much for wishful thinking.

A brief interlude here about how much I hate the Dodgers and their fans. I don’t mind good natured ribbing in the course of a sporting contest, but Dodgers fans seem to always want to bring up “fags,” or deride Giants fans as "gay" because:
a) They're not smart enough to think of any better way to heckle San Francisco fans
b) They're in a state of denial and don't want to realize that they themselves have a very large homosexual population in WeHo
c) have lost too many brain cells due to smog or
d) all of the above.
At any rate, I’m sick of them and their homophobic heckling.

I get to enjoy triumph as the Dodgers tie it in the ninth inning, only to watch Dan Ortmeier crack a walk off home run. The stadium steps on the way out are filled with chants of “Beat LA,” “Dodgers Suck” and heckling surrounding the smog, dirt and surroundings of LA.

I get home, and instead of making it to bed early, which I should, I stay up until 2:30 doing dumb unnecessary shit like watching Futurama, chatting online and sitting on the toilet for 30 minutes reading an ESPN magazine even though I have no desire or intention of actually using the bathroom. Normally, on a Friday night, this kind of senseless, time consuming and ultimately unrewarding behavior would go rewarded simply because I chose to do it. But when you need to wake up at 5:30 the next morning, there’s really just no justification.

And, sure enough, three hours later, I’m up, driving and chaperoning 20 13-17 year olds to an athletic event. A note here on transporting students of this age in a van for two hours….buy a good sedative and administer prior to debarkation. Unfortunately, I can’t even legally give them advil for a headache, so I think Ambian or another sleeping agent might be out of the question.

The event is good. I manage to befriend the Condor mascot, which rekindles my own dreams of one day becoming a mascot…more on this to come later this week.

Then, the real day begins. After the event, we take them to Great America to let them run and roam like the crazy cretin creatures that they are. I win a stuffed snake when I bet Coach that one of the Amazing guesser guys can’t correctly guess my age. He has a two year window, takes a look at my co-coaches (both older) and guesses 29. I wear the snake around my backpack as a source of pride for the rest of the afternoon. While there, I consume chicken strips, fries, apple chips, and a funnel cake. Nothing like amusement park junk food. This excursion leads to many good pictures, included here.

When the park closes at 7, we drive home. I watch with disappointment as Notre Dame squanders a solid first half and loses to Penn State. I briefly consider smothering my roommate (PSU grad) in order to work out my frustrations at the Irish’s lack of offense, but realize that not only was she not personally involved in the outcome of the game, but also that in the long run, she’s probably much more useful to me and my apartment if she’s alive.

So instead, I do what any self-respecting, fun-loving, rodka-guzzling, j-smoking out of his mind 25 year old guy who’s been up for 17 hours on three hours of sleep would do in this situation….I rally.

I get my ass off the couch, try to rouse Roomie who’s “too tired” (for the record, I think she had a secret rendezvous), and head Marina side to help Topher ring in his 25th. The funnel cake and the rodka I drink on the drive up leaves me with a sick, carbonated, unable to burp feeling in the pit of my stomach which doesn’t translate well into drinking more. I decide to enjoy the company, but hit the cruise control and coast out on j’s for the rest of the night, leaving the alcohol to the alkies. A moment of disgust sets in when we reach the back bar of City and it reeks of vomit. Not. Good.

Foster, Allie’s Man, ChengJ, Cammy, Boyle, Sonja and a few random high school friends are all there helping him ring in the 2-5. Allie’s Man takes the prize for most drunk when, in an effort to sober himself, he attempts to chug a glass of water, leaving 90% of the contents of the glass on the front of his shirt. People move on, pick new bars, but not Topher and Sonja, who I drop off at home.

From there, I decide…hell, I’m already running on short sleep and a long day, no sense in stopping now. I head over to North Beach to meet up with DPro at some sort of wedding celebration at a bar on Romolo. If you’re ever in the area, check this bar out…off the main Broadway drag, very nice setting, not too crowded and a great vibe. One of the nicer just bars I’ve been in in a while. We’re there killing spliffs and shooting the shit until they kick us out at 2, at which point I drop him off at home and find my way back to my own. By the time I get there and get to bed (following more senseless time wasting nonsense), I’ve been up for 24. It’s been a while since I played that game. And apparently, it’s a game I can still win.

Up next…Bachelor Party for Pops!

Photos: Swing in motion (sepia), Carousel (b/w), Flowers in reds, Delta Flyer view (b/w/r), coaster in blue, shoe shot, swing at rest (b/w), Topher, Allie's Man and myself at City (Sean's face tells the story of the smell), Coach cheering on as my boat (in green) races his, Coach and Diaz playing House of the Dead, Coach and Diaz on swing (sepia).