men make the world go round. right?

"We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and -- in spite of True Romance magazines -- we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely -- at least, not all the time -- but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness."
— Hunter S. Thompson (The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman 1955-67)

Bam. 

This quote is like whoa like whoa...like WHOA in my life right now. 

Hunter S. Thompson is pretty wicked. He wrote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. If you've seen or heard of it, you know what I'm talking about. 

But despite his uninhibited drug use, he makes an incredible point here. A slap in the face sort of point. Which I don't really need to dive into. I just wanted to share it with you.

Last night was one of those nights that makes up for those white knuckled foreigners that never tip. 

Although it wasn't nearly as busy at Sandybarland as we had anticipated due to it being Alumni Weekend, twas busy enough to get my head spinning a little bit. And I loved it. 

Highlights of said evening include but are not limited to encounters with these 4 1/2 men...

Captain Morgan Man...he'd slip onto the barstool all slow and steady pretending he wasn't 'intoxicated' and order a Captain Morgan and coke. Most people when ordering said beverage leave out the Morgan but not this mister. Every time he'd order, he'd pay with a $20 bill. And every time I'd give him change, he'd leave it all on the bar. That's about $13 bucks a round times 7 or so rounds and you got a tip that far outweighs what those silly foreign women should have left the other night. 

So thank you Captain Morgan. For making my evening. I don't even mind that I could barely see your eyes behind those plump rosy drunk cheeks.

Jimmy J...He's tall. One of those shmoozy sort of fellas, all nonchalant-like. He's a graphic artist that designs labels for everyone and everything in Santa Barbara. If you've been here, you've probably seen one of his stickers. One of his posters. One of his shirts. One of his hats. Jimmy J is omnipresent. As in, his shit is everywhereeeeee. And now it sits on my head. In the 4 1/2 months I've been slinging away at Sandbar, I've been yearning for a Sandy trucker hat. Well Jimmy J, the man, the myth, the legend, was in last night. I bought him a beer. He gave me a hat. It was the most momentous occasion.

So thank you Jimmy J for shitting on my head.

Curtis Lamb...His face hasn't changed a bit in the 16 years since I've seen him. He came to my well and before he even had a chance to order, I said "I know you! Where are you from?" His response, "Riverside." Of course. "What elementary school did you go to?" "Victoria." Of course. One of the plethora of, and by plethora I mean ten or more, graaaade schools I was so fortunate to attend. "Who was your third grade teacher?" "I don't remember." "Mrs. Wayland?" "No". Damn, I thought I'd nailed it. Turns out we were in Mrs. Love's second grade class together learning words like motivation, responsibility, perseverance, and initiative from a woman who couldn't possibly have ever frowned in her life. Her last name is Love, come on.

So thank you Curtis, for keeping that babyface of yours so that I might recognize you and then thanks again for sharing a very polite but rather empty "It's so nice to see you!" I appreciated it nevertheless.

NBA baby man and his little Asian friend...I'm convinced they were gay because they couldn't stop raving about each other, but they bought me a drink and kept gloating over how tall I was. The one who wasn't little nor Asian asked me how tall I was and from there wouldn't stop repeating his desires for NBA children. One can only assume he was inadvertently coming on to me. But then he proceeds to tell me to look at his friend's body and little Asian man lifts up his shirt.

So thank you fairly odd children, for providing the entertainment after the gogo dancer had gone home.

Yes, we have gogo dancers at Sandbar, and yes, she was dancing in my face for a majority of last night. 

Welcome. To the holiest of holies. It's the darkest hole you ever will see. 


Oh, and oh. em. gee. I almost forgot. I got to sit in the presence of David Sedaris for a couple hours last night. Yeah. AWESOME!