My Crazy Saturday.

Saturday afternoon, we Smiling Tyrants had a jam at Dave's in the interest of initiating our new trumpet player, Tim, to the band. Beer came out. We jammed. My ADHD was in full effect. We took some time to check this shit out. More beer came out. Then I had to go to work. To train a new hire. About 30 minutes into our shift, I (apparently) took a long time to get a drink to the table, and one of the girls at the table decided to give me a hard time:

Her: Geez, I hope that martini's good. It took 20 minutes to come out.
Me: No it didn't. It was five, maybe.
Her: Why'd it take so long? Did you stir it with your penis? (she really said "penis")
Me: Miss, please. I like working here. I like serving, I've been here a long time, and I don't intend on leaving. I like this job too much to jeopardize it by doing that... It was just my balls.

At some point in the shift, this chick I work with told me about this dude who was singing at some bar in Long Beach, and she invited me out. I said I'd go. I had no idea what I was in for. The place was called Alex's Bar. I felt out of place not inked up, and it took me waving my money for 5 minutes to get a beer. But they had 24 oz. of Tecate in the can. How could I resist? The place was fucking packed, too. I had know idea what the big deal about this singer was. All I wanted to do was meet up with my coworkers, have one beer, and maybe break out. Little did I know how much fun I would have that night. The act was a guy named Phil Shane, The One Man Legend***. At first, I didn't even look at the stage. I just heard some old covers. Some shit our parents and their black counterparts used to listen to. I come to find out that he's a lounge singer with a HUGE following between LA, OC, & Vegas. Apparently my friend Jessica who invited me out is (was) Phil Shane's fan club president. I wasn't into it at first, but the more I listened (and drank), the more I dug it (and the more I sang along). 3 Tecate later, we were all out of there at 115a, looking for some late night food.

The only place worth eating at when the bars close in Long Beach is the Shorehouse Cafe. We got there at 130a, and received possibly the worst service ever given in the western world. There were 3 meals altogether, and they arrived 20 minutes apart. One person's grilled cheese came 20 minutes before my cheeseburger, which came 20 minutes 20 before a scrambled eggwhites. We weren't out until 3a. We had a good time shooting the shit, but the poor service brought us down. We were all passing out at the booth, when someone was cool enough to offer their place for everyone to crash. I was passed out on a cool couch by 4a. Unfortunately, cool doesn't mean comfortable. I was up at 8a, with a stiff neck. I read a little and was back asleep by 930a, and up again by 10a. We all were kinda up, so we argued about who was gonna make pancakes, then we all fought over bedspace and passed out for another hour or so. I think I left the apartment at 1145a, when I got a callback on a second interview at the restaurant I'm applying. I got home, had 3-4 beers during the first 1/2 of the Super Bowl, and slept through the rest. I think I woke up at 8p.

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