Home Defense While On The Road

My fine place of work sent me and Mr. Jayson Consensual Sodomy Khademi (funny cause it rhymes and funny cause sodomy is hilarious) out to San Francisco again. This time with the big dogs, #1 and #2 of our establishment that puts the grub on the table. Jayson and I now are veterans at work trips, we've mastered the art of balancing hand shakes and vice-abuse issues very well. The beauty of San Francisco is that Substance Abuse Addled Folk are not only welcome but they are family. There have been trips to San Francisco involving crack heads and songs, crack heads and bands, crack heads and recording studios, crack heads and garage doors, crack heads and Golden Gate Bridges, and crack heads with harmonicas. Drunks and road cones, drunks and sushi bars, drunks and men playing with naughty man parts, drunks and drunk old friends, and drunks with a bottle of cranberry juice and Kettle One Potatoe Wine. ALSO Pot Heads with-- well friends. Every great pot head always has friends in every major city and this trip had some friends.

Night #1 - Had a few drinks and ate the best sushi in America. I haven't eaten enough sushi across planet US but those Chinamen wielding small knives on raw sealings, rice, and seaweed-lings in SF can't be wrong and will probably take the ole Pepsi challenge on any implant at NYC. Thus my accolade of 'In America'- someone prove me wrong! - and if anyone emails me regarding some KMart sushi BS I will crap in their father's throats and post how they told me it tasted. Sushi is like Crack to me now...just much much much more pricey. Crack is going for $5 for a hit 'round the Valley...
We went to bed after some PSP action and the eve closed. Not sure if two men laying in beds in their boxers next to each other is gay or not but I swear there was no sausage play.

Night #2 - Cab ride from hell NUMBER ONE. SF is mired in scenic hilly and windy roads. When you give a cabbie a map and orders to get our crew to Oakland you expect to avoid going 65 mph over these stupid hills. 259 27th St. OAKLAND. I watch the Bay bridge (rte 88) go by and say nothing. I'm an idiot and say nothing. I KNOW HOW TO GET TO OAKLAND AND I SAY NOTHING!! I thought maybe - (a pro (?)) a driver in SF knew a magical tunnel underwater to Oakland? I am in a backseat with #1 and #2, Jay's terrorist skinny 160 lb ass is in the front. I am no longer the punk rock skinny bastard I once was, #2 has the shoulders of Michael Phelps, and #1 has the body of an extra from Roadhouse.

I am sitting bitch.

We go to 259 27th St. SF. Wrong town. Wrong area. And 4x farther away. Jerry Garcia has a better compass than this. The cabbie is pissed and guns it over those delicious hills at ---65mph, over the bay bridge, and into Oakland. 259 27th St. OAKLAND.
I am seasick. As well as #2 to my left. After an hour + cab ride we get dropped off (and we shorted that son of a bitch cabbie by $30) in Oakland. Every thing you've ever heard about Oakland is true. If America were to fuck up a city in need...why Baghdad? There is much work needed in our homeland. Trenton has more promise than this desolate burnt out drug addled wasted crummy broken town. Citizens were FIXING THEIR TRUCKS WHILE TYING OFF where we were dropped off at. As a trade we got to hang out with Green Day and chill at a beautiful and historic recording facility in the barrio. The ride back was much nicer.

MUCH NICER- Great dinner. More sushi. Shanghai 1930 was the depot and Katie, our waitress, had the inkling that our crew and friends enjoyed the rocks in our glasses. Chivalry died early on and racism ran rampant- embarassing to me but fulfilling when your higher up yells "Prease ching-chong-bing-bong-I'm-out of scrotch-prease!" at the good ole Kate.
Time for us young Vets to party and the old haven't-been-their-in-a-while higher ups to hit the sack. WRONG-O. The #1's and #2's want to party too. BRING IT! ZEITGEIST WE GO, the finest bar in the entire city. Punk rock\party\hippie\gay\under-an-overpass\party bar, there is no way these fuddy-duddies will survive. AND THE POT FAIRY ARRIVES.
In the form of 12 bags, 11 different flavors, and 1 bag of crushed pure THC, Vikes, and Pixie Stix. Go ahead and read that again.

Our crew, dig on these numbers, baker's dozen:

4 Employees, you know 'em, #1, #2, Jay and me.

2 Friends of mine that live in SF.

1 Grad and studio owner, Andy of A & D Studios in Sunnyvale CA (plug!!)

1 Grad, live sound dude for multiple very famous touring acts

2 recent grads of the school

2 CURRENT STUDENTS

--Whatever job you have I'm sure you can understand that these people range from the high, low, famed, and otherwise and YOU and YOUR COMPANY are responsible. I don't smoke the Greenwich of Beelzebub frequently, but I am aware of the consequences. After drinking. A lot. After drinkg a lot a lot a lot. Well that foe wins frequently, and won this eve. #1 (he was the ching-chong-bing-bong-needacocktailaroonie fella) was being the out of gas drunkard. #2 however...fell to the foe. MODERATION is the key when you are asked to take out clients and students and grads and famers and the like. After enjoying 12 + Grey Goose Rocks, you can potentially survive a bowl of Jesus Fur. Two and you are partying in TV Land. Three and you're Indiana Jones. Four and you're the village idiot. Five and you're in a Michael Bay flick wondering if the money's worth it. Six...SIX...well SIX and you are only a story for others to tell. Back to back to back to back to back to back these fellas smoked. Gnite #2, sweet dreams...at the bar...underneath an overpass. Now I was no angel, but I do remember one of the help coming by and asking us how our 'buddy' was. We told him he was OK, just sleeping. And that was fine in SF, GOD BLESS THAT TOWN. 45 minutes later though, when he threw up all over himself...We got kicked out. Out of a Punk rock\party\hippie\gay\under-an-overpass\party bar in the City By The Gay.

Pix were taken outside the shamed bar, laughs had, now it's time to get back to the hotel. Small feat to be had and there should be NO STORY HERE. The hotel is 3 miles away. Taxi = 9 minutes. Train = 13 minutes with the walk to the station. My cohorts are idiots and opt to get in a car with one of the drunks from the bar. I could have gone with one of the more intelligent plans...but the beer asked me to stick with my pals. Thanks beer.

I am in a backseat with #1 and vomitous #2, Jay's terrorist skinny 160 lb ass is in the front. I am no longer the punk rock skinny bastard I once was, #2 has the shoulders of Michael Phelps, and #1 has the body of an extra from Roadhouse.

I am sitting bitch.

I tell our drunk graduate to go up one block and West 3. Our co-pilot in the front seat disagrees. He points the opposite direction of yours truly and off we go. At 2AM we got to see Fisherman's Warf, Golden Gate, Giant's Stadium, and the Tenderloin District. All while #2 was vomiting on our graduate's vehicle. Classy. Line of the night? #2 after vomiting on our grad's car- "I think I left my heart in San Francisco!" - while vomit was dripping off his finger onto my leg. Thanks pal. I gave our graduate $20 and told him to wash his car on the way out. Jay and I walked to the nearest bar and did a shot of warm tequila to nod the night away and we went back to the hotel. Where we laid in our boxers playing PSP until we nodded off...and there was nothing gay about it I swear!

THE WAY BACK TO THE DESERT, Cab ride of interest NUMBER #2

I was thrilled that we asked for a town car not a cab to get us to the airport. It's a solid 20min + ride from downtown SF. We load up and...

I am in a backseat with #1 and #2, Jay's terrorist skinny 160 lb ass is in the front. I am no longer the punk rock skinny bastard I once was, #2 has the shoulders of Michael Phelps, and #1 has the body of an extra from Roadhouse.

I am sitting bitch.

But it's a town car and all is well! When you get into a town car you expect a kind fella in a suit to ask you what you need or are you in a hurry. Probably 50-60 years of age and a worldly dude that can talk about A1 Sauce or the economy. Comfprt. The last memories of SF 08 was a driver...22...Red Bull in hand...asked if we were in a hurry. We said no.

"Well good to hear guys because being in a rush you'll leave this town car in a pile of burning metal and no one will recogonize you! - Have you ever seen that before because I have!!"

High on meth and pounding Red Bull he took us on a 25 minute 'Scare Tactics' worthy scenario. He told us that he just got back from Iraq. He says he saw his friend get shot in the face, he killed a lot of those "towel headed worthless mother fuckers" and that no one appreciated him. Every other sentence was "Sorry guys I hope it's OK if I talk about this, I appreciate you listening sirs." We did everything but sing some Francis Scott Key to this swerving uppers-crazy bastard. We actually may HAVE sung the anthem, I was too scared to remember. I told him from the bitch seat that I appreciated his service and he TURNED AROUND COMPLETELY DOING 75mph to thank me for my appreciation. I spoke no more during our trip of 'dear Jesus get us there safe.' Jayson made small talk and our fine driver wanted to show him pictures from Iraq. So he dug in his pocket with BOTH HANDS and found his iPhone. He found the pictures of some crazy satellite shots and explained them to Jay...while we swerved thru three lanes. Awesome. He told us his Dad had given him the gig when he came home because he couldn't get any other work. I am thankful that I am here today but seriously...Darwin are you not paying attention?

Safe and Sound in the desert where I belong...cheers all!