Trashed Thursdays

We like Tittie Bar Tuesdays, but for pure debauchery, say hello to it's inbred cousin, Trashed Thursdays. This past episode involved almost getting arrested, mohawks and Hawaiian shirts, passing out, trying to find a kiddy pool at 10pm, and numerous episodes of wanton stupidity with a side of nutpunches.
Before I elaborate on the day's events, I must first set the scene by going back to the night before.
As most of you know, Dirty Ryan is in town from Japan with his girlfriend, who can barely speak a lick of English. They drive into Phoenix Weds afternoon and we hang for a bit before I head into work that night. I convince them to come on up to my bar to see the fear factor show we host. They show up about 1015pm, and Ryan's girlfriend is in a full kimono with her hair in a topknot. Wow...she looked nice, but I was afraid I'd have to whoop some ass if someone teased my bro's girl about it. I guess they don't drink much there in the land of the rising sun because after 1/2 a drink and a weak shot, she had to be pretty much carried out of the bar. Dirty Ryan isn't exactly up to par on drinking 101 also, 2 drinks and a shot and he was faced also. That's what he gets for talking smack about my drinks being too weak. It's amazing how one can disguise the taste of 151 rum.
I get home at 4am anticipating them to be sleeping and resting for a full day of events planned on Thursday. They are missing! I get a note on the counter saying that they went back to San Diego before his girl flew back to Japan on Friday. Cool, whatever, I'll meet him in SD when Doug and I head there on Saturday. I was just upset that they chose to drive there after drinking that hard. That's Ryan for you.
So, we were supposed to go to the river that morning to go tubing with them. They are out of the equation, so that leaves Chris, Striker,myself and anyone else who we can recruit to go in the morning. I get a call from Striker at 915am saying that after doing after hours at work and then hitting up the 6am bar after that, that Rebecca is passed the hell out and can't go with us. That means that Striker didn't have a ride either. I tell him that I'll get ready and get him picked up.
10 minutes later, out of the shower, he calls back and says and I quote..."dude! I'm getting arrested! *get off me* They are trying to arrest me right no...get the fuck off me!" Click...
WTF????
I head out and head up Striker's way. He calls back and tells me to come get him at home, which as he was calling me, the ceiling in his kitchen had just collapsed from a water leak.
WTF!!!!??
I get there, go inside and Striker pushes me out the door holding 2 bottles of tequila and a bag of steaks. "We gotta get the fuck out of here..."
We leave, and he tells me as we drive back to my safehouse away from this insanity that after Rebecca passed out that he went to the grocery store to get supplies for the river trip...food, beer, whatever. The clerk didn't believe that his ID was his, nor his signature was his so she summoned the wannabe Fry's rent-a-cops to "detain" him until the authorities get there. He wrestles away from the poorly trained "officers" gets in Becca's jeep and peels out of the parking lot only to get home to find himself under a collapsing kitchen ceiling after the place's A/C unit busts and leaks into the roof. All this before 10am.
That brings things up to speed. I'm thinking, "this fool is currently a walking disaster area, do I want to be around this boy?"
We make it to the safety of my house and start day drinking at 1030am. Chillin, boozing, Chris joins us for a day party at my house since the river trip got cancelled.
We booze all freggin day. Striker gets a good nut punch to Chris' left nut, tries twice with me, but misses both times. After a half game of drunken horseshoes, we find Striker crawling on the floor with my dog Jenny and then passed out in the living room chair. We take full advantage of the situation with good photo and video evidence, saving the really incriminating pictures for blackmail and private viewing.
Crystal and Mike show up around 7 to join in. Andrea and my neighbor Arron come later, floowed by 'Drea's friend Lauren. At some point in the early evening, I make the suggestion that we really need a pool to party in, so some of us head across the way to Walmart to shop for a kiddy pool to sit in. Don't ask, we were presently wasted.
We came back empty handed.
We wake Striker up from his drunken coma, and restart the party up at night.
Chris makes his infamous cheese log and we wolf most of it down.
Striker makes an announcement that he wants a mohawk...NOW!
Bust out the clippers and the camera, and we now have an authentic Mad Max beyond thunderdome Erik Striker. Poor boy is gonna wake up with a helluva hangover and a haircut.
12 hours of drinking catches up with me, and I form a mid-party migrane. This thing was so viscous that I could barely keep my eyes open. Sucks too because I got my second wind and was sobering up and more functional now. I couldn't kill it. I popped 2 advil, 2 steins of water and it still didn't go away. I retreated to the bedroom to relax and ended up passing out.
The girls left, and the boys passed out in various places in the house in various poses.
I try to get up today, clean up the warzone, recover and get ready for a roadtrip and a new party in San Diego in the morning. Here I was thinking the worst was over. I get the feeling its just starting.
Say aloha to trashed Thursdays.
Seacrest out, see you in a few days fresh from Cali.

Iz pardy-tyme mang!

In honor of Dirty Ryan's return to the Trizan here in Phoenix, I think its time to resurrect a tradition we used to have that we have seemed to have long lost forgotten. It's time to throw another party. I'll look on next week's schedule to see what day I will have off, but if my usual schedule remains, it will more than likely be on Thursday the 20th. I am purchasing a shit-ton of booze for the bar this week in lieu of upcoming shenanigans, as well as trying to get things ready around the house for Dirty Ryan himself.
BTW, Ryan is going to be in town this Weds night and we are tentatively scheduled to head out to the river on this Thursday to go tubing again, and to party our asses off afterwards. The more the merrier, so get your suits on and your liver ready if you wanna party with us on Thurs.
I was trying to see if there was a baseball game to go to this Thursday, but the Dbacks are off that day and there are absolutely NO social events or concerts going on at night, so that night is completely open for ideas. As it stands now, if we go tubing in the day, it'll be early, around 10 or 11 am, get back in the late afternoon, take a disco nap, and then head out to party around town. We might head up to Sandbar and Dirty Dogg in North Scottsdale, head south to downtown Scottsdale, and maybe finish off in Tempe before doing afterhours at Casa Demelo. That is, if people can hang partying that long and hard. Oh, yeah, there may be a strip club involved, yay POLE TRIX!!!!

Shopping

Taking advantages in opening up your own business can come in various forms. I have my buddy Chris that has signed on to the project if I should chose to have a partner in crime, help from my current bosses (for which I am greatly thankful for) and assistance and materials from various city agencies.
But it still will be a long way til my place opens up, a very long time. Hopefully within the next few years. Why? Location, location,location.
There is nothing worthwhile for sale anywhere in the valley. So, in the meantime, one can always work on their business plan and ideas, and shop for random shit so that once I get keys to a place, I can get in and set up quicker.
That said, the old Club Rio (back in the day), a.k.a Tempe Beach Club has been closed since the end of last semester and is slated for demo in the next month or so to make way for Tempe's riverfront project and a ton of luxury condos. That means that the owners are trying to liquidate as much crap as possible for cash before the wrecking ball comes through.
I scored a shit ton of plates (good commercial grade china), flatware, pans, kitchenware, some furniture, cups and paper products and what nots for under about $220. Not bad considering all that stuff would sell in retail for almost $1000 or more. So now the shit is in storage in my garage. Some of it will double as my own personal stuff when I host parties at Casa Demelo.
Capt. Mike and my other boss Greg scored bigtime with big items like dishwashers and preptables and stools, but they helped out in me getting a decent deal on things, so I owe them some thanks too.

Idiots!

I think I would have rather had a slow night at work making zero cash than have to had dealt with the plethora of idiots last night. Calling them idiots would be a vast understatement. We did get busy eventually last night and got our asses ran around dealing with people using their credit card to pay for one or two drinks at a time instead of running a bar tab, 3 fights that cleared out the front of the bar, 2 separate groups of people that ordered like $30 in drinks and then tipped me a quarter (seriously...fifty cents one time, and then a quarter the next group) and then a paper spindle FULL of wheel spin drinks for which us bartenders thanked the wheel bitch and doormen for putting that burden on our shoulders with no tips for us.
We cut a bartender early when it was slow, so when we got nailed, we really got worked. I figured that at least with all the people in the bar, that we'd at least see one set of titties to make our night not seem so long, but no, all prudes, including the drunk bachelorettes.
Left work in a pissy mood last night, but at least we didn't get out too late. Passed out in bed at 430 am.
Seacrest out!

Dirty

6 more days. Are you prepared? You have 6 more days to muster up the courage to withstand the oddity that is Dirty Ryan. Think of all the different facets of the term "dirty". Physical dirty, mental dirty, sexually dirty, emotionally dirty, hygenically dirty, financially dirty, a 10 dollar mango stealing skanky ass Van Buren prostitute dirty....and then there's Dirty Ryan dirty...which is a combo of all of the previous dirtynesses and himself, which is an indescribable kind of dirty.
He's on the radar screen now as I speak. Back in the USA, in California somewhere visiting old haunts, family, and warming up to return to Phoenix in how many days? That's right, 6 days. You've been officially warned.

What is my liguistics profile

Your Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

15% Upper Midwestern

10% Dixie

5% Yankee

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

dreamin

I had a very strange, but compelling dream last night. First off, let me set the tone for last night. I didn't go out, I stayed in and watched TV and played some games solo. A nature special on PBS channel 8 was on called Condition Black. I was about the storm system that nailed Hawaii's north shore of Oahu in January of 98 producing waves of upwards of 40 - 80 feet and some of the surfers who were brave (or insane) enough to attempt to surf them.
Anyways, I crash out around 4am. I dreamt that I was back home in California, but it really wasn't home-home in real life, just for my dream's sake it was. I was driving around near a downtown area where there was a mix of storefronts and apartments. Some people were having a impromptu yard sale out front and I stopped to check it out because there was a couple of surfboards for sale out there. There was one that I really wanted, about 8 ft, custom paint job, which looked like a mix between a longboard and a small shredder- think of a longboard with a pointed nose. Dude wanted $750 for it used. Somehow I was able to get it, but don't remember giving him money for it.
I hustled down to the waterfront and got in. I was sitting on this board waiting for a set to roll in and while I waited, I was able to look down into the water and see everything swimming by. The water was so clear. Fishes, sea lions, dolphins, even this big old walrus swam by and brushed up against my feet a few times.
Eventually I paddled out to try and catch a few, got a small wave, like really small...like 2 ft. I was disappointed. Then, out of nowhere this 12 foot wave surprizes me! I paddled hard and got in front of it and struggled to get up. I rode fast and hard down the face of this wave and then the wave broke right on my backside forcing me to fall down on the front of the board. The impact cracked and broke off 2 of the 3 fins in the back and shattered a section out of the front making it unrideable and possibly unfixable.
I dragged this thing back to the storefront where I bought it from and told the guy the story. He was amazed that this happened so fast. I asked for directions to a surf shop for possible repairs and he gave me advice the best that he could, but more than likely I was out of luck and would have to get a new board.
In that dream I felt the full spectrum of my emotions from the onsetting curiosity and discovery, to the wonder, thrill and excitement of the ride and finally to the utter depression and sadness at the end. I almost woke up emotionally drained. Which is why I went back to sleep and woke up at 1 pm!
Seacrest out!

Casa Demelo

Casa Demelo was open last Thursday night for a small gathering of friends.
A grand total of six souls graced my home with their somewhat drunken presence. Everyone else was either working, had other plans, or in one case pussed out...you know who you are girl!
Anyways, the dinner menu consisted a variable smorgasborg of continental wares (the following should be motivation enough for all the rest of the naysayers who never make it to come out at least once to party)..Appetizers alone were a buffet style meal in itself-shrimp cocktail, a healthy veggie, cheese and fruit platter, homemade fruit salsa (the recipe is secret, I've killed for less), fresh guacamole (thanks Laura), and of course your standard fare chippers and nibblers.
All huddled around the kitchen, Chris, Laura and Crystal traded vices, stories, work-related bitch fests and water-cooler topics while I heated up the grill and started cooking the main fares...Jamaican jerk chicken, NY strip steaks and rosemary garlic lamb shanks.
Liquor started flowing more easily, shots were infused with the plethora of foodstuffs floating in our bellies, and games of "I never" were started. Never a dull moment with "I never" in the house for we soon found out who has used assorted vegetables as a prophilactic device, who's watched their siblings have sex, and who hasn't made sweet teen lovin in the backseat of a car.
Turns out while I was cooking I somewhat fooled myself. The herbs and allspice the lamb was marinating and cooking in let off an intoxicating aroma of nothing less than freshly baking glazed doughnuts. It's bad enough that I haven't allowed myself to have a doughnut in months, but that just whet my appetite even more. To my disappointment, the lamb did NOT taste of the same breakfast food it smelled like. It was delicious in its own right though, just somewhat of a let-down in the end.
We all move inside for a trivial pursuit rematch from a month ago. The reigning champion Mike attempted to hold his championship intact, but with the host team dominating the board, his dreams of a repeat were soon dashed. And so was mine with a surprize dark-horse coming from behind and snatching the victory from me with what has to have been the easiest for the win question ever..."name the female pop star who married athlete Lance Armstrong." Sorry, but unless you have lived under a rock at the bottom of the ocean for the past 5 years, you shouldn't miss that one.
We all left or passed out drunk by 3am to have to get up and suffer our own personal hells of hangover land the following day, as well as inform eachother of the things we said or did for which we didn't remember. Thank god for digital cameras...for now I have blackmail photos to at least counter-act the naughty ones people took of yours truly!
Expect another Casa Demelo gathering when Dirty Ryan gets here in 2 weeks!
Seacrest out!