LONG BEACH IS PRETTY FUCKING AWESOME

I have a friend from Italy in town. Yesterday I took her around Long Beach because she wants to move to Los Angeles. I told her she should forget LA and move here instead. I think she now agrees. Although I love it here, I've been kinda burned on Iowa by the Sea for a while now. Seeing the same things, going to the same places, driving the same streets, golfing on the same courses -- it's been getting boring. Being a tour guide can change that. She's into rockabilly and there is none of that in Italy. Needless to say, she was blown away by Fourth Street. We hit the dollar pile at La Bomba, browsed Siren and got coffee at Portfolio -- very Long Beach of us. Later we got an afternoon drink at Alex's and another at House of Hayden, where booze was free, that's right FREE, yesterday afternoon thanks to some creepy old guy with long white hair. He was sitting alone in a corner and opened a tab for all six people in the bar. I got a cold PBR on tap and I hate to say it, but it wasn't as good as it should have been. A free beer, my favorite kind, on a lazy Saturday afternoon...German beer has spoiled me. I came home to get work done, but my computer was broke. I called Verizon and that's another story for another day. Later we went to the V Room for some beers. More PBRs, these were better. Lots of fun, but pretty uneventful, other than someone playing mass amounts of the Descendents on the jukebox. I love when people pick songs that I woulda picked. I'm too cheap to ever put money into one of those machines, but I'll gladly listen along if it's something I dig. Lights came on and it was time to go. Offers of going across the street to a friend's apartment for after-hours booze loomed. But burritos were needed. Thank God for Hole Mole. Even if it wasn't the only place open on Fourth after 2 a.m., I'd still go there. It's even sweeter that the only open restaurant is something I really enjoy eating. We're standing in line and a fight breaks out behind us. Big dude getting whooped on by a much smaller guy and much smaller guy's girl. They got at it for a few minutes and when the big dude got up, he had a glazed look on his face like he was too drunk to understand he just got into a fight. The aftermath was pretty hilarious. Food EVERYWHERE on the floor. Shit, there's still some on my right shoe. Tortillas, chips, salsa, salad, soda, beans...it was like the kitchen exploded in the dining room. The really cute Mexican girl who works the cash register (and who looks way too young for me to be calling her cute) called the pigs and of course, they showed up. Nothing went down as far as I could tell. Hole Mole booted everyone out except for me and Chris, partially because we were too drunk/dumb to realize we needed to leave. So it's us, the cute girl and the cooks. While I'm eating, Chris' phone rings. Friends at the apartment want to know where we are. I say I'm about a quarter of the way from home and I'm flaking. I'm handed the phone and turns out my presence is requested. So I go. On the way back toward the V, Chris and I get hollered at (not in the hip-hop way) from across the street. Three girls and a guy. It's the guy/girl from the fight and their two friends. We shoot the shit for a minute. They're looking for more booze. I tell 'em we're going to a mini-party. Can't officially invite them, but there's nothing stopping them from following us, wink wink nudge nudge. Besides, if party hosts were bummed, I decided to tell them he threatened to beat us up too. Dude tells us about the fight. He was drunk and got the wrong plate of food. This is where I got confused. Booze from the storyteller and the audience will do that. Some words were exchanged and big guy swung at little guy, missed and hit little guy's woman in the mouth. So he pounced. I'm no fighter, never been in a fight (sucker-punched in ninth grade, but that doesn't count), but if someone hit my girl, I'd have to beat a fool down too. We get to the party. The other two girls made friends with three people in the alley and they came up. So our presence accounted for seven more people showing up. Let it be known that Jim Hall is a motherfucking party on wheels (or, more specifically, legs). Wine's a'flowing and everyone is cool. No fists, just some good convo about God knows what. Met a deejay named Ryan who said he hated everyone named Brian because of the name confusion. Then I introduced him to my friend Brian, boyfriend of party co-host. Again, no fists, just smiles. Like how it should be. More drinks and all of a sudden, it's time to call the Yellow Cab. My man shows up in less than three minutes. I bum $12 off Chris cuz I still got the post-Euro money blues. I try to be quiet getting into bed. Girlfriend wakes up and says "It's four in the morning." Then she tosses and falls back asleep. Minutes later I'm dreaming about a nasty Vince Carter dunk (ironic cuz last night was the NBA dunk contest) and some cats stuck in a tree. And now it's 2:19 p.m. I'm flaking on a bar-hopping bike ride cuz I just got up. I love Long Beach.

Note to Robert Glen Fogarty...I don't think you are a stalker. You seem to be the only one reading, so please feel free to comment as much as you like. Without you, I'd be wasting my time. Blogging is much more fun than telling all these pointless stories to my cats.