Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Nightcaps
I had three parties to hit one December night. Maybe the stores were taking a hit from the bad economy, but it wasn’t cutting down on the number of people partying.
I went to a “pajama jam” in P.B., where I had to wear PJs, they said. After the party we’d be walking to a club. They told me I could wear Christmas clothing if I didn’t want to wear PJs, but I found a pajama top and wore it with black sweatpants. I brought a shirt to change into for the later parties.
I tried buzzing the apartment several times before walking around the outside to where I’d heard crowd noise. I climbed through bushes and asked the people on the patio for Kim.
Another guy showed up carrying a Captain Morgan bottle and wearing a nightcap on his head, and Kim walked us in.
Some of the girls were dressed in sexy outfits that didn’t look like pajamas. But who was I to complain?
I talked to Brittany, a makeup artist who, I believe, told me she worked under the name Elle Leary. She told me stories about working for a dance studio and doing makeup in L.A. I asked if she ever worked with famous people. “I put makeup on Pat Sajak. He’s the best. He’s such a cute older man. And he’s really nice. I also worked with Q-Tip.”
When she said that, I assumed it was a rapper, not that she worked with Q-tips.
Kim came over to say, “There’s food over there. I know you write about lame parties sometimes that don’t have any food. What can I get you to drink?”
She brought me a Red Bull and vodka, which was really strong. Kim later told me an interesting story about a Pearl Harbor survivor that she brought on KUSI for an interview. She said he lived in Hawaii and was 102 and had kids that were around 80. Since I’d just gotten back from visiting the USS Arizona, we talked a bit about that.
As I chatted with a schoolteacher, I thought it was funny that these girls were all P.B. party chicks but that you could also have interesting conversations with them.
They asked me to do shots with them in the kitchen. We all did a few, and one lady, a dental assistant, noticed the toothbrush sticking out of my pajama pocket. She grabbed it as I was explaining that I thought it added to the outfit.
When I started to take pictures of the group, she did a few nasty things with my toothbrush. When I downloaded the photos, my girlfriend said, “If you use that toothbrush, you can forget about ever kissing me again.”
One girl told me that she had a personalized license plate that said “Crazy Alo.” I asked what it meant, and she laughed as she explained: “I have a big ass, like JLo. But my name starts with an A, not a J.”
Kim came over and handed me a third drink. I still wasn’t done with the second. She mentioned her dad’s birthday and her brother having a birthday the day after. I think she also said her birthday was in December and that they used to have one big party. This Christmas party was for four of her closest friends.
I was getting really buzzed when I saw a group of guys walk into the party. I asked them why they weren’t wearing pajamas. One guy said, “I sleep in the nude.” Another guy said, “This is their second annual party. And last year, there weren’t as many in pajamas. I didn’t think it was necessary.”
I met a woman named Annie who’s a local fashion designer. She started telling me about her company, Eclectic Couture, and Kim laughed and said, “I do PR for these people.” I told her that I was so drunk that I doubted my notes would be legible enough to get them a shout-out in the column.
I grabbed a few tortilla chips because I needed something other than alcohol in my system.
I started talking to a cute brunette who told me that she was a dental assistant. Since I was eating tortilla chips, I remembered a time someone I worked with gave me $100 to go into my dentist appointment after eating Doritos and Oreos. I asked her what gross things she’s seen. “Kids are the worst. Their mouths can be so bad...I sometimes wonder if they even wipe their butts.” I said, “Now, you all wear masks. When I was a kid, they didn’t.”
Someone came over, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Ah, the good ole days. It’s like my grandfather... He said when he was a kid, they’d pull out your teeth without Novocain, just a quick shot of whiskey.”
Kim said, “Speaking of shots, let’s do another.” And we went into the kitchen for another.
She said she wanted to get the last one in before they headed over to the tavern they were going to. I asked if they’d be allowed in dressed like that, and she said that they’d already talked to management.
As I was leaving to hit the next party, I thought about the letters I’d received from readers who complained that when I go to parties I just eat chocolate, play basketball, or smoke cigars, that I don’t usually get drunk. I figured this column would satisfy them.
My girlfriend only had one drink, so she drove. I said, “Instead of trying to find this other party, which is 30 minutes away, let’s just go see a movie. I don’t want to show up to a party this drunk.”
We ended up in La Jolla, and I could barely stand as I handed the credit card over to the cashier for two tickets to Role Models. It was a movie that looked bad, but Roger Ebert liked it, as did my racquetball partner.
We were 30 minutes early, so my girlfriend went to play a video game. It seemed as if she’d been gone a while, so I called her cell. She played my drunken ranting for me the next day and complained about it keeping her from getting a high score.
In the movie, she handed me some popcorn. I found that more of it was landing on my lap and chest than in my mouth. I realized I was still holding the bag of Tostitos I took from the party.
When I had to go to the bathroom, I could barely walk. The usher cleaning the hallway looked at me as if I was one of those dizzy people who barfed during The Blair Witch Project.
The movie was horrible.
I remembered Howard Stern saying he saw 2001 while on acid, and he thought the computer was talking to him. I would think that being drunk would make a silly comedy like this funnier. The opposite happened.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Nightcaps
Nightcaps
I had three parties to hit one December night. Maybe the stores were taking a hit from the bad economy, but it wasn’t cutting down on the number of people partying.
I went to a “pajama jam” in P.B., where I had to wear PJs, they said. After the party we’d be walking to a club. They told me I could wear Christmas clothing if I didn’t want to wear PJs, but I found a pajama top and wore it with black sweatpants. I brought a shirt to change into for the later parties.
I tried buzzing the apartment several times before walking around the outside to where I’d heard crowd noise. I climbed through bushes and asked the people on the patio for Kim.
Another guy showed up carrying a Captain Morgan bottle and wearing a nightcap on his head, and Kim walked us in.
Some of the girls were dressed in sexy outfits that didn’t look like pajamas. But who was I to complain?
I talked to Brittany, a makeup artist who, I believe, told me she worked under the name Elle Leary. She told me stories about working for a dance studio and doing makeup in L.A. I asked if she ever worked with famous people. “I put makeup on Pat Sajak. He’s the best. He’s such a cute older man. And he’s really nice. I also worked with Q-Tip.”
When she said that, I assumed it was a rapper, not that she worked with Q-tips.
Kim came over to say, “There’s food over there. I know you write about lame parties sometimes that don’t have any food. What can I get you to drink?”
She brought me a Red Bull and vodka, which was really strong. Kim later told me an interesting story about a Pearl Harbor survivor that she brought on KUSI for an interview. She said he lived in Hawaii and was 102 and had kids that were around 80. Since I’d just gotten back from visiting the USS Arizona, we talked a bit about that.
As I chatted with a schoolteacher, I thought it was funny that these girls were all P.B. party chicks but that you could also have interesting conversations with them.
They asked me to do shots with them in the kitchen. We all did a few, and one lady, a dental assistant, noticed the toothbrush sticking out of my pajama pocket. She grabbed it as I was explaining that I thought it added to the outfit.
When I started to take pictures of the group, she did a few nasty things with my toothbrush. When I downloaded the photos, my girlfriend said, “If you use that toothbrush, you can forget about ever kissing me again.”
One girl told me that she had a personalized license plate that said “Crazy Alo.” I asked what it meant, and she laughed as she explained: “I have a big ass, like JLo. But my name starts with an A, not a J.”
Kim came over and handed me a third drink. I still wasn’t done with the second. She mentioned her dad’s birthday and her brother having a birthday the day after. I think she also said her birthday was in December and that they used to have one big party. This Christmas party was for four of her closest friends.
I was getting really buzzed when I saw a group of guys walk into the party. I asked them why they weren’t wearing pajamas. One guy said, “I sleep in the nude.” Another guy said, “This is their second annual party. And last year, there weren’t as many in pajamas. I didn’t think it was necessary.”
I met a woman named Annie who’s a local fashion designer. She started telling me about her company, Eclectic Couture, and Kim laughed and said, “I do PR for these people.” I told her that I was so drunk that I doubted my notes would be legible enough to get them a shout-out in the column.
I grabbed a few tortilla chips because I needed something other than alcohol in my system.
I started talking to a cute brunette who told me that she was a dental assistant. Since I was eating tortilla chips, I remembered a time someone I worked with gave me $100 to go into my dentist appointment after eating Doritos and Oreos. I asked her what gross things she’s seen. “Kids are the worst. Their mouths can be so bad...I sometimes wonder if they even wipe their butts.” I said, “Now, you all wear masks. When I was a kid, they didn’t.”
Someone came over, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Ah, the good ole days. It’s like my grandfather... He said when he was a kid, they’d pull out your teeth without Novocain, just a quick shot of whiskey.”
Kim said, “Speaking of shots, let’s do another.” And we went into the kitchen for another.
She said she wanted to get the last one in before they headed over to the tavern they were going to. I asked if they’d be allowed in dressed like that, and she said that they’d already talked to management.
As I was leaving to hit the next party, I thought about the letters I’d received from readers who complained that when I go to parties I just eat chocolate, play basketball, or smoke cigars, that I don’t usually get drunk. I figured this column would satisfy them.
My girlfriend only had one drink, so she drove. I said, “Instead of trying to find this other party, which is 30 minutes away, let’s just go see a movie. I don’t want to show up to a party this drunk.”
We ended up in La Jolla, and I could barely stand as I handed the credit card over to the cashier for two tickets to Role Models. It was a movie that looked bad, but Roger Ebert liked it, as did my racquetball partner.
We were 30 minutes early, so my girlfriend went to play a video game. It seemed as if she’d been gone a while, so I called her cell. She played my drunken ranting for me the next day and complained about it keeping her from getting a high score.
In the movie, she handed me some popcorn. I found that more of it was landing on my lap and chest than in my mouth. I realized I was still holding the bag of Tostitos I took from the party.
When I had to go to the bathroom, I could barely walk. The usher cleaning the hallway looked at me as if I was one of those dizzy people who barfed during The Blair Witch Project.
The movie was horrible.
I remembered Howard Stern saying he saw 2001 while on acid, and he thought the computer was talking to him. I would think that being drunk would make a silly comedy like this funnier. The opposite happened.