Anatomy of a Bender

I enjoy being on the road via any means of transportation: train, boat, car, bicycle, and airplane. This weekend I decided to employ the automobile and skateboard the get me where I wanted to be as well as serve as my place of rest. Here's how it all went down:

Friday afternoon I spoke to Scott the see what was up for the weekend. I was planning on going to San Clemente to watch some surfing on Saturday and his Huntington Beach residence was the only logical stop in between. It's a mansion party in Orange County, was his reply, and I readily obliged. I got on the road at 3pm to make it down there before the start of weekend traffic and I was quickly immersed in weekend traffic. The forty-five minute drive took me two sweaty hours but I made it in time to sweat a little on Scott's couch just before he got home from work. He arrived in his working man's suit, changed and we got in his coche for the quick ride to the beach. The surf was fun, I was high, and it only lasted a brief time (maybe longer, I was high) so we could get back and make it to said rager in the hills of Orange.

We ground down on some delish Mexican food at a restaurant appropriately run by an obese white woman while enjoying the conversation of a middle-aged man (think chubby Jim Gaffigan) hitting on women with his riveting stories of being unemployed. He actually almost made it seem appealing. I pretended like I wasn't high and we proceeded to get back to Scott's house to make some moves.

The party was as expected for and OC gig - fake tits, drugs, pretension, black shirts and fake tits. We were cross-eyed before we even got inside, but not so much to remember being in line for the shuttle to the top of the hill and the scummy tool box running the party telling me to put my beer down or "I won't let you in the party." Thanks BRO. Down the hatch. The party consisted of being ushered in and out of various rooms, being offered drinks and drugs ("No thanks, I, uhh, have work tomorrow"), looking at fake tits, and finally being kicked out by the 400 lb. Don of the house of 4am.

Scott and I had few options but for me going to the afterparty was not one. I planned on surfing the next day (which it already was and the sun was about to come out) and going to watch a contest and some shredding. We slept in his car from about 5-8am, which equals roughly 13 minutes of bed sleep. We then went to Scott's house, grabbed our boards and got ready to show Newport how one is supposed to surf.

I suck at surfing when I'm sober and when I'm hung over it's a massacre. I fell on every wave and watched some groms ripping. I was jealous of their ripping and thought they would probably be jealous of the party I went to the night before. Advantage them. The session was brief due to the ensuing high tide and stark sea breeze so we were done and still drunk.

We ate, changed clothes and got on the road to San Clemente for the Hurley Pro, the biggest surf event of the year in North America. Parking is always great and this year it was better - we parked miles from the beach. I stopped to ask a cop who was ticketing some cars where it was kosher to park, and he pointed it out. I was still drunk and may have misinterpreted him so I parked 15 feet from a No Parking Any Time sign. We skated to the event site, Scott going fast, myself barely moving.

The contest was pretty fucking boring despite the excellent surfing. Mick Fanning beat Dane Reynolds in the finals and we were right there on the rocks - and epic equation that still managed to bore us. We staying for 6 hours until the finals ended then began the long trek back up the hill and, as I planned it, to make it to LA just in time for the Mason Jennings show at El Rey Theatre. My car had a $70 ticket on it, but it wasn't as bas as how sweaty I was from the beer, skating, lack of sleep, sun and excess of bro hand shakes. On the road again we were.

I dropped Scott's sorry ass off in Huntington Beach and had an hour to make it to meet my friend in Venice. No traffic on a Saturday evening, right? The freeway was closed in Long Beach and I tried unsuccessfully to divert myself around it, saving roughly 0 time and arriving in LA 1:15 later. I avoided a dying cell phone to meet my friend on time to carpool to the El Rey with time to spare and enjoy the show and twas magnificent. Mason's voice is incredible and we stood behind his biggest fan. This guy was chubby, had a shaved red head and would offer a thumbs up on approval and waive to Mason (about 20 feet away) if he though he could be seen. He was nary once acknowledged.

It was midnight when we left, my body was unexplainably sore and I had to get home. I did so to lock into some rest today, though the candle is still delightfully burning at both ends.