The weather was gorgeous. Highs in the 70s, blue sky and wisps of white clouds. A nice breeze ruffled my dark curls, and dried the occasional sweaty upper lip. Sunday I kidnapped my friend's dog, Emma, and took her with me to the AIDS walk.
Our group of 4 had 2 dogs, and both of them were borrowed. It is very important to have a dog when you walk with a gazillion strangers. It gives you something to focus on, and you always feel loved. Especially when you are sharing your fries.
Diego really knew how to tongue a bottle. I bet he is totally the best kisser on the block. Emma didn't bother to get to know the front end of Diego. She was more interested in what was under his doorknob of a docked tail. I mean, he was obviously OPEN FOR BUSINESS. Yet, if she had been watching the way he can drink from a bottle, I think she should have been more open about investigating his mouth.
The only low point to the day was how long our dearest gaysian had to wait for his Frito Pie. I'm talking almost an hour for serving up a bag of Frito's, some melted cheese and obviously pre-cooked pulled pork. The best moment came when an employee approached us, went straight for Guamaniac:
Employee: Give me your card. We're really sorry about the wait. It is in the oven now.
G: Ok.
Five minutes later, still no Frito pie.
G: Do you think that guy took my card to refund it?
Grumples: I can't believe you gave your card over without even asking if that is what he was doing.
G: (shrug)
Ten minutes later, STILL NO FUCKING PIE. Othe people who showed up way after us got their food, including that couple with the two yelping mini-dacshunds. Those dogs permanently deafened the higher levels of my hearing register. If I was able to record the ungodly being-raped sounds they were making, I'd totally play it on a never-ending loop when ever someone rang our doorbell. This will surely keep the Mormons from standing their for five minutes ringing and hoping I will finally answer the door and save me from my one-Coke-a-day habit. And living in sin. That too.
We finished our day at the Hope Sandoval and the Warm Inventions show. She has such a magical voice, that I am not going to spend the next hour griping about how horribly organized the show was, and the agonizing wait. Or why her backing band had some long-hair hippie creed. I do wish she had stepped out of the shadows, so I could lust after her more easily; but, I guess, even at 43 she just can't shake those stage-fright blues.
There was a truly drunk couple behind us, who obviously loved Hope and her band, even though they looked better suited for a White Zombie concert. They were so drunk that I'm pretty sure they forgot that they were in a theater with tons of other people. They obviously thought they were on their couch, and couldn't figure out why it was suddenly so damn hard to get to the kitchen to get another beer. They were practically yelling their mundane conversation:
Drunk Girl: But BABY, I WANT another BEEEEEEEE-EEEEER.
Drunk Guy: Sweetie, just a minute.
Drunk Girl: Oh. My. God. It's Hope! She's so BYOOO-TIFUL!
Drunk Guy: I LOVE YOU HO-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE!
Drunk Girl: It's in my BAG. The SECOND BAG. Are you getting more BEEE-EEEER, BAA-BEEE?
Drunk Guy: Oh man, YEAH, but after this SONG. SHIT YES.
(Drunk girl passes out for last 20 minutes of show. I guess waiting for a beer, was too much for her body to handle. Completely had her head buried in the mounds of fat pillows on her chest.)
ENCORE
Drunk Girl: I think I need to go home.
Drunk Guy: Now? I was going to get another beer.
Drunk Girl: NOW! Baaaaaaa-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Much groaning and stumbling. I swore my night was going to end with puke down my neck from those two. The encore was the best song, and the drunks weren't even there to enjoy it. Suckers.
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