i can't think of anything interesting to write about or share with you so here's what's been shaking in my hood for the past few days...
thursday nite marked dave's return to los angeles after a year at law school. he flew in from nyc to spend the summer out here, living in venice and splitting time between jobs in downtown and malibu. ravenous for the best sushi in los angeles, the first thing dave did was to make a reservation at sasabune in santa monica and call me at the gym demanding that i get my ass west and eat sushi with him. i bolted out the door of my gym and we feasted on whatever kusuhara-san (the sushi chef) placed in front of us. kusuhara-san has a reputation for being a bit of a sushi nazi but his temper can be soothed if he knows you're enjoying the prime cuts of toro, hamachi, or amaebi that he gives you. raising your cup of chilled sake with a hearty "kanpai!" never hurt either.
dave's arrival in los angeles was well timed because i got invited that nite to a party at the garden of eden hosted by one of the adult companies i work with. the garden is one of those typical gucci/exclusive LA hotspots where people somehow tolerate standing around for hours waiting to get in... positively not the type of venue that i frequent. however the lure of a VIP hook-up and an open vodka bar for me and a friend was more than enough to pique my interest and convince dave to be my road dog for the evening.
the line outside the joint was fuckin ridiculous. it took a bunch of wiggling and elbow jabs before i could work my way to the front and get the guy with "the list" to let me and my friend in. and thank god we got in because i was choking on all the fuckin cologne that some of those motherfuckers wore. i bet they were wondering why two fools with jeans and sneakers on were able to get in ahead of them when they're flossin in prada and armani. it's beyond my scope of comprehension why people routinely wait in lines for hours on end just to get the chance to pay $10 for a mixed drink and listen to top 40's hip-hop and r&b. as disillusioned as i am with the whole scene, it was hard not to be amazed at the number of really hot females that were work-work-workin it up in the club.
free drinks in hand, dave and i ventured onto the dance floor where we were quickly laid down a groove challenge to all pretenders and suckas on the dance floor. despite all the money and all the honey that was representin, none of that could mask the fact that most of the fools out there can't dance for shit. and that's ok, they can stay in these pricey uberclubs and i still be lurking in the underground, dirt under my fingernails and all. and to the ladies out there, grabbing my ass may get my attention but you'll have to be more creative if you want to get what's in my pants. i can't believe how many times females grabbed my ass when i was on the dance floor. i thought i'd have good ass groping karma after shutting down some fools the other nite [see previous entry] but there be some bold hussies out in hollywood.
i spent most of friday nite chilling at the crib with shifty, vaporizing until my boy bryan got down to la from vegas. we were roused from our vapor-induced stupor when we heard a lot of screeching and several loud crashes. some fool tried to flee from the cops in his car. probably not the wisest thing to do on a friday nite in central hollywood when the streets are jammed with party people. there were all kinds of fucked up cars on the street outside my apartment and the road was closed off for hours. luckily, nobody got hurt but it made for quite the spectacle.
bryan and i went to play paintball on saturday. we kicked some serious ass although i'm paying the price today. i'm sore as hell after spending most of the day running, diving, ducking, and crouching. don't mistake my hobbled gait for a strut, my thighs hurt like hell and walking sucks hairy nuts. at one point, we were playing with a bunch of professional players and some guys on the stoned assasins team, including b-real from cypress hill. i holla'd at b when i recognized him at the shooting range and had a chance to blast his ass when we were playing on the field. the only problem was my paintballs bounced off his tubby ass while his broke on my goggles. but my boy bryan had my back and regulated b seconds after i was eliminated.
we're making a point of going after b for some retribution when we play again. looks like i best get back to work. but before i go...
happy birthday wishes to donatien alphonse francoise de sade, also known as the marquis de sade, born on this day, in the year 1740.
thursday nite marked dave's return to los angeles after a year at law school. he flew in from nyc to spend the summer out here, living in venice and splitting time between jobs in downtown and malibu. ravenous for the best sushi in los angeles, the first thing dave did was to make a reservation at sasabune in santa monica and call me at the gym demanding that i get my ass west and eat sushi with him. i bolted out the door of my gym and we feasted on whatever kusuhara-san (the sushi chef) placed in front of us. kusuhara-san has a reputation for being a bit of a sushi nazi but his temper can be soothed if he knows you're enjoying the prime cuts of toro, hamachi, or amaebi that he gives you. raising your cup of chilled sake with a hearty "kanpai!" never hurt either.
dave's arrival in los angeles was well timed because i got invited that nite to a party at the garden of eden hosted by one of the adult companies i work with. the garden is one of those typical gucci/exclusive LA hotspots where people somehow tolerate standing around for hours waiting to get in... positively not the type of venue that i frequent. however the lure of a VIP hook-up and an open vodka bar for me and a friend was more than enough to pique my interest and convince dave to be my road dog for the evening.
the line outside the joint was fuckin ridiculous. it took a bunch of wiggling and elbow jabs before i could work my way to the front and get the guy with "the list" to let me and my friend in. and thank god we got in because i was choking on all the fuckin cologne that some of those motherfuckers wore. i bet they were wondering why two fools with jeans and sneakers on were able to get in ahead of them when they're flossin in prada and armani. it's beyond my scope of comprehension why people routinely wait in lines for hours on end just to get the chance to pay $10 for a mixed drink and listen to top 40's hip-hop and r&b. as disillusioned as i am with the whole scene, it was hard not to be amazed at the number of really hot females that were work-work-workin it up in the club.
free drinks in hand, dave and i ventured onto the dance floor where we were quickly laid down a groove challenge to all pretenders and suckas on the dance floor. despite all the money and all the honey that was representin, none of that could mask the fact that most of the fools out there can't dance for shit. and that's ok, they can stay in these pricey uberclubs and i still be lurking in the underground, dirt under my fingernails and all. and to the ladies out there, grabbing my ass may get my attention but you'll have to be more creative if you want to get what's in my pants. i can't believe how many times females grabbed my ass when i was on the dance floor. i thought i'd have good ass groping karma after shutting down some fools the other nite [see previous entry] but there be some bold hussies out in hollywood.
i spent most of friday nite chilling at the crib with shifty, vaporizing until my boy bryan got down to la from vegas. we were roused from our vapor-induced stupor when we heard a lot of screeching and several loud crashes. some fool tried to flee from the cops in his car. probably not the wisest thing to do on a friday nite in central hollywood when the streets are jammed with party people. there were all kinds of fucked up cars on the street outside my apartment and the road was closed off for hours. luckily, nobody got hurt but it made for quite the spectacle.
bryan and i went to play paintball on saturday. we kicked some serious ass although i'm paying the price today. i'm sore as hell after spending most of the day running, diving, ducking, and crouching. don't mistake my hobbled gait for a strut, my thighs hurt like hell and walking sucks hairy nuts. at one point, we were playing with a bunch of professional players and some guys on the stoned assasins team, including b-real from cypress hill. i holla'd at b when i recognized him at the shooting range and had a chance to blast his ass when we were playing on the field. the only problem was my paintballs bounced off his tubby ass while his broke on my goggles. but my boy bryan had my back and regulated b seconds after i was eliminated.
we're making a point of going after b for some retribution when we play again. looks like i best get back to work. but before i go...
happy birthday wishes to donatien alphonse francoise de sade, also known as the marquis de sade, born on this day, in the year 1740.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
wendy1:
I need a recipe.
ratgirl:
he he. you said "hairy nuts"