Playing It Safe
June 25th, 2006(01:17:41) ****: have a nice weekend
(01:17:45) ****: be safe
(01:17:53) fat dick: what’s that supposed to mean?
(01:18:02) ****: im just saying have a safe weekend
(01:18:17) fat dick: your mom had a safe weekend
Above is an excerpt from a conversation that I had online with an old friend on Thursday night/Friday morning. Right now it’s about 7am on Sunday morning, and, thinking back on the last two days, I can’t seem to come up with any activities that I took part in which could be even remotely considered ’safe.’ Should I have taken her advice? Perhaps, but ’safe’ activities don’t generate blog posts.
Friday was kind of a bust. I went to Erotica LA for most of the day and looked at some naked chicks while trying to do business. I was wasted by about 4pm before I rolled into the convention, so interactions went pretty smoothly. My problem with Erotica LA is that it doesn’t quite know what it wants to be. Is it a convention for industry people who want to network and get ahead, or is it a convention for hornballs who want to pay thirty bucks to watch strippers compete and hopefully get in on an industry party afterwards. Your guess is as good as mine. I was trying to network and talk to a couple fairly large adult companies regarding upcoming projects, but our talks kept getting cut off by sleazy dudes wanting free porn DVDs.
I attempted to make up for my weaksauce afternoon by heading out to what was billed as an ‘industry party’ on Friday night. I am always a little hesitant about going to parties with pornstars connected to them in order to help promote, but I decided to head out to this party because I still had lingering business to do which had carried over from the convention and I really did not want to brave the convention floor on Saturday afternoon. I also wanted to go to an afterhours event at my friend’s house afterwards.
When I showed up, there were way too many dudes who were completely unconnected with the industry hanging outside of the tiny bar where this party was being held. It took me about half an hour to locate the VIP guestlist and then explain to the mildly retarted dude working it who I was and that I was, in fact, a big deal. Once inside, I had a few drinks, did some business, and was out. I was completely over the party because of all of the sleazy non-industry cheeseballs in shitty dress shirts trying to get laid by pornstars.
Naturally, I went back to my place and copped a twelve pack of Corona and some limes on the way. There was a small get together going on at my place and I decided to keep the buzz going by beginning yet another round of heavy drinking. Around three in the morning, I realized that I had killed the entire twelve pack, and decided to take a few beerbongs before having a lengthy argument with my roommate over the differences between an escort and a prostitute. I also got into a lengthy standoff with another roommate who challenged me to call in an escort to fuck in front of him. My condition was that he throw a hundred bucks into the mix. He did not, thus no escort. I passed out around five in the morning.
Saturday afternoon was about as exciting as seeing titties at Erotica LA. I had a lot of work to do for clients, and I also worked on a couple new sites I am about to unveil. I’ll put it this way: before the end of the summer, you are only going to be masturbating to Fat Dick internet real estate. There will be no need to go anywhere else.
After a long day of work, I went out to Zanzibar with friends. I have always heard that Zanzibar was a happening spot on Saturday nights, but the crowd would beg to differ. I have never encountered a higher concentration of fat chicks at any establishment in Los Angeles. You name you race: Black, Asian, Hispanic, White. There are fat chicks for you at Zanzibar. Tons of them. And you better believe they are drunk as hell looking for someone to fuck. Oh yeah, the service is quite slow at Zanzibar and they attempt to block off areas of the club for use as VIP areas but no one buys bottle service because they are too busy hitting on fat chicks.
I basically drank my crew under the table at Zanzibar starting with three rounds of Jager Bombs. An unnamed member of the group ended up puking outside and then several more times out the window of the cab on the way home after I closed my hefty Zanzibar tab. But the night wasn’t over for me.
Our group split because I wasn’t drunk enough, and another chick who was with us was singing the same song. We went to another bar where I proceeded to listen to really bad live hip hop while demonstrating how much more I could drink than my female companion. We hit Red Bull and Vodkas like it was our job, and she had difficulties walking out of the bar. My work was done.
The problems started once I finally got this chick back to her place. Immediately upon entering her apartment, she got sick and spent about forty-five minutes in her bathroom while I watched Animal Planet in the living room and played with her cat. Animal Planet had a pretty interesting show about Mountain Sheep on, so I didn’t mind.
After she emerged from the bathroom, I decided to be the good friend and supervise her slumber to make sure that she didn’t die. The last thing I need is another murder accusation at this point in my life.
I tried to pass out on her couch, but Mountain Sheep were running around in my head, and I was craving my own bed. Also, I realized that I was completely sober, and the eighteen pack of Heineken in my refrigerator was calling me, so I bounced out of the apartment and started the walk back to my place.
On the way, I saw a creepy dude drinking a Corona (without lime) and smoking a cigarette on the street. When I passed he was like ‘Hey what’s up,’ so I thought he wanted to get in my pants because I looked really hot. I was like ‘Not too much.’ Then he was like ‘Yeah, man. I’m coked out.’ Hearing this made me stop in my tracks. I looked at my cellphone which read 4:23am, but I decided that I was completely over my no blow after four o’clock rule. Naturally, I inquired as to exactly what he had going on at his place and if he cared to combine supplies to keep the party going. We worked the deal out pretty quickly, and, after he finished his cigarette, we took the elevator up to his place. I had no clue who this guy was, and he kept telling me there were ladies at his place, but I was pretty sure that he was just going to rape me by himself or murder me in the elevator.
Lucky for me, I wasn’t raped or murdered, but I encountered a room full of people who looked like they were about to die. Drugs were being used left and right, and when I say drugs, I mean all types of drugs. Some drugs were being used that I had never even seen being used before. There were a couple hotties in the place, but they were so trashed that I was actually worried about their health. This dude had a massive store of blow and it was clear that no one in the place was going to sleep before it was out.
I started hitting the rails really heavily with these strangers on the glass coffee table of an apartment I had never been to. People were pretty nice when I could understand what they were saying, but the atmosphere was getting more and more strange as I stayed, and when I saw the sun a little bit before six, I thanked everyone for their hospitality and bounced out. I think I told some pretty sweet stories while at that apartment, but I’m never really sure what comes out of my mouth when I hit the rails that heavily. Also, I think one chick was trying to have sex with me because she kept saying ‘Coke makes me so horny!’ and grabbing my leg, but she was so messed up that she couldn’t really move her whole body over to me to do anything about it.
I guess that brings us to right now. I am pretty sure that I once again came extremely close to death due to the heavy drinking and drug use that went on this weekend, but maybe I will take the old friend’s advice and have a safe weekend next weekend. Maybe the weekend after. Fuck it, I don’t think I am going to have a safe weekend anytime soon, so maybe I should just concentrate on having safe weekdays. After all, the weekend is really only about twenty-nine percent of the week, so it would be much more effective to concentrate on having a safe Monday through Friday. Statistically, I would be much more likely to stay alive that way.