I just got out of Marvel's The Avengers (or if you're from Europe Marvel's Avengers Assemble) and I will get to my opinion of the film, but in light of the things that
Here are the facts:
I went to beverages and more and ran into my friend Simon Estrada. He is a talented artist. I then bought a Tsing Tao and a bottle of Cutty Sark.
I got a burrito, ate that burrito, filled my flask up, and watched half of Community (sorry, I will check it out on Hulu).
I went and watched Marvel's The Avengers (because I refuse to not spell out its stupid, stupid title).
Afterwards I went to the adjacent Yard House and got a Guinness.I thought about getting two, but then again I drained that Sark flask and had to get home to a dog and a cat and hell.
I chatted with a couple.
That is always precious. Talk to people. That is why I hate clubs and trendy bars. It casts off basic humanity. Nobody should or would or could talk to anybody there. That is why I talked to this couple.
Damnit. We are none of us misanthropes.
Side note: Is friendship necessarily a thing? Must it be?
We move on.
After befriending said couple and chatting about sports (they agree that the Yankees are Hitler youth and the Red Soxes are from Boston) the bar hit last call and I gave them a tour of Old Town Pasadena and ended up at Barney's Beanery. We talked. We touched hands. He went to the bathroom.
And that is when I was informed that I was leading him on. Suddenly one or two stray comments made sense. As it turned out we were due for a threeway. I was the catalyst for the threeway. Alright. I let the lady know that, sorry, that was not my scene, hon. I was, unfortunately, straight. The fellow returned. Then I went to the bathroom.
Holy crap, dude, I am in a bathroom. I do the bathroom thing and finish up and walk back up the stairs. There is a local looking dude. I appraise him. "Hey, man, I don't know. That sounds like a situation." I know, right. "Yeah!" Yup.
I am in a situation. It is official.
I rejoin with said couple.The guy pays the bill and we head out and I decide to guide them to their hotel, them being out-of-towners to varying degrees. There is no way I'm letting people tell their neighbors that LA (Pasadena) is full of assholes. Never that. Also, hey, if Israel can find peace so can we. I am no ideologue.
We part ways.
I call up my friend Alex and talk to him about this. We do. Then we talk about other things. That goes on for some time.
I decide to write about this.
And here we are. Afterwards, I write about this and then decide to write a worthwhile version of this story in addition to a short story based on this experience because, man, what the fuck vibe is it I am giving off?
Apparently not a vibe, but A Vibe. The Vibe, even, something that makes Chaos Theory a doctorate.
It's weird.I don't even get carded anymore. And that preclude the Ralph's on Colorado. They know my ass by now, shamefully. They know me for my dad too. But bars I have never been to don't even card me> The hell? And first of all, what hell?
I realize this comes hot on the heels of a woman my mom's age (but not looking like it) propositioning a situation where she might teach me things that younger women do not know. This happened at the Rancho. This is a fact. There is more to this. I'd tell you what but it'd get in the way.
My life amounts to something 19 year old me would have begged for. It is madness and I am grateful that he never ran into these things.I could never make up this shit and as I get older and less creative the only things I can truly put to paper are the mistakes that I remember not making, because, seriously, this might as well be the Gomorrah that killed Lot's wife. And she had not tales to tell.
It'd be a curse if it wasn't so silly.