First Impressions: Portland

Where do I begin? I guess it would have to be with the word vagine, pronounced, vajeen. I was greeted at the airport by rain and 80 degree weather, a combination I had yet to experience in life, and I had to say, it was good. I met the green one at around 8:00 pm and went directly to a hole called Ole Ole, and had the best fuckin taco ive had in my life and was greeted by two other friends, Old and Kesia. So far so good, as I ate my taco I could see Green plotting on what kind of touristic fairy adventure he was going to take me on next, the rose garden....no, too late. One of the 78 bridges that occupy Portland.....no, he knew I wouldnt go for that. So he took me to a place he knew I would love...a bar. This wasnt no ordinary bar, at least not one im accostomed to, no this bar was wierd, not wierd in a bad way not at all, but almost....too good to be true and heres why: We didnt get arrested, and get this, we didnt even get kicked out!!!! Let me explain why this doesnt make sence. Old called out 4 girls to fight me like he was fuckin Don King and I was Tyson, it didnt happen but by the looks on the girls' faces and the speed at which they left, they well knew that it could have. 45 minutes later I made an executive decision to break a beer bottle on someones hotel door, 25 yards away, it had to be done. 30 minutes after that I tried my darndest to convince K.C. to throw one at a girls head, all in honor of the word of the week, Vagine. Shortly after, I remember, vaguely, throwing a girl to the floor to test her wrestling skills, she was nothing, as I crushed her easily, then realized she didnt even work with Green, and she just wanted to get man-handled. As you could imagine, I was promptly cut off from the bar service.....now here is where it gets wierd, we didnt even drink that much. Now, I know what your thinking "that much"? I have been known to consume more alcohol than the average and have a knack for getting those around me drunk. Here is what was on the manifest: 2 shots of whiskey, 2 jagermeister, 1 homosexual concoction, and about 5 beers....are you fuckin kidding me????? I usually drink that much on the way to the bar just to wet the ol' whistle, but I was acting like a drunken nutcase and that usually calls for at least a fifth of something. I woke the next day with questions, green & Old had no explanation, they threw up profusely the night before so I know they felt my confusion, but seemed not to question it as much. Was it the altitude? Something in the drinks? Borat? What gives? This was beautifull, I saved at least $300 that night as opposed to Bay Area drinking, and had Old not fucked with the POS system at the bar to "check his e-mails" we might not have been cut-off and experienced a near death alcoholic experience, ( I love those ) with only a handfull of drinks....????!!!!! Where was I? It seems The Lord created a perfect little city up there. Day two was uneventfull and not worth discussing, exept of course for Ethiopian food, a contradiction in itself, but rather yummy, and as for day three, well, Im going to have to pass the mike to the mick and let him tell his side because my side was, to say the least, blurred. All in all, I had a blast and want to thank the natives for showing a Bay Area boy a great time, thanks Green, Old, Kesia, Cassie, K.C. ( doesnt that get confusing?) Ill see you guys soon enough. Out.
posted by anto # 12:22 PM

You guys are pansies.

OUT.

Whats done is done

Well, day 10. One wouldnt think ten days would have ups, downs, and allarounds, but if one thought that one would be wrong. Eventfull? to say the least. Thursday night was my personal favorite..whenever you see my blood and my testicles all in one night its sure to be a good one. We drank. I must say I am a bit dissapointed in myself for not going ten days in a row drunken, but its the price you pay for being a successfull business man in 2006. Im a whore for success, it wasnt always like this, jusk ask the 90's. Falling short of my own expectations these 10 days however did not stop me from having a blast most of the time, alcohol gets the credit for the good nights. The boys were together, although short-lived, these ten days were a reminder, a time capsule re-opened, even if for just a second, just long enough to take a peek into the lunch box burried in a hole called life. And now its time to re-burry the fuckin thing, for a little while at least. Untill next time old friends, Ill miss you, I really will, my heart hurts, my eyes water....oh well, Ill always have Ophir, and that makes me smile. 10 Days 10 Nights. End transmission.

Fuck the blog...

I just asked Anto to update the blog. He said, "Fuck the blog, let's take some shots."
Take some shots we did.
To be continued....

Oaktown and backdown

Here we are, Matt, Tony, Ophir, Shant, and I, deep into a forty each, plus a few shots of Ophir's concoction. The buzz is good, the music is better. What's more, the sun is shining bright over Oakland and Lake Merrit is poppin'. Armenian's are ruling the roost, but the Jews and Irsih Catholics are representing, too. Matt's putting it down for the Italians, as well. It's a microcosm of Oakland, except for the fact that none of us are black. That's beside the point, though. We're having a good time. Mobb Deep is telling us how "there's no such things as half-way crooks," and Celly Cell is telling us "it's going down tonight."
And going down tonight it is. It's my second to last night in the Yay Area, and I've got to soak it all in. As it is now, all I'm soaking in is malt liquor and gangster rap, but there is so much more to the Bay. We'll touch on that in another post. Hopefully someone other than myself will "blog."

It's On

On Thursday, April 13, 2005, the crew will once again become one. Location: I don't know. Time: I don't know. Alcohol: one shot too many. Clear your schedules, ladies. Why ladies? Because you are all the closest thing I get to pussy in my not too hectic life. By the way, I've jumped ship. I'm blogging elsewhere. The blog may be offensive if you're any of the following: black, white, Mexican, Christian , Muslim, or G-d fearing in general. Don't worry, I'll get the Jews too. That I'm blogging at all, by the way, should be viewed as proof that I don't get ass (until Thursday).

What does H-block mean to you?

On to things of great import...you have inquired as to the meaning of H-block; here's what's really real: H-block is the birthplace of youngster ruckus and nicknames that last a lifetime i.e. Mixle, Lucky Green, AK, & Tweeter. H-block is water fights, tree tag, football in the street, and eggings for no good reason- far removed from holloween. H-block is a red Mustang, pink Isuzo, and a stunt bike reserved for doubling one's brothers. It is a gang that commits no crimes, fights no one, and is for all intents and purposes a figure-head for adolescent masterbation. H-block is a small park, and an endless sewer of dreams. Yes my friend, H-block is many things, thus entirely enigmatic and necessarily a mystery to all but those it has taken into its sweet pillowy bosom.

Ballpark revisited

10 Days & Nights
As I mentioned previously, Giants baseball is a huge passion of mine. I couldn't just make one game; a second was a must. Fortunately for me, my dad scored some tickets for Friday night's game through a work-related fundraising event. The event consisted of a charity lunch in the afternoon, followed by a Giants game in the evening.
When I awoke in the morning, I looked forward to a sober day. I assumed a day with my father would be an easy way to avoid drinking. It would be easy: go to lunch/dinner, catch a game in the evening, and get an early night at my dad's house. The plan failed at step one, as the charity lunch included an open bar. This made it too easy to drink, or, shall I say, too hard not to drink. And what I managed to forget, was that my dad likes to drink, and this only compounded the problem. So, as it turned out, day four saw more alcohol consumption.
Anyway, on with the story. I wasn't as lucky with the weather as I was at the first game. The sky was grey and the clouds were dumping. It was real wet. I was positive the game would be called. However, about 30 minutes prior to the first pitch, the rain stopped. My dad and I walked to the park in hopes we'd be able to see the Giants beat the Braves again. When we got there, the tarp was still on the field. The grounds crew were prepping the field and getting ready to take the tarp off, though, so we decided to wait out the delay. When the game finally started, it was one hour and 45 minutes past the scheduled first pitch. After an uneventful first four innings, my dad decided to go home. Apparently he was tired, cold, and not too interested in hanging out at the park past 10:30 PM. Lucky for me, I ran into Matt and Mara, who live close to my dad. They said they would give me a ride home if I wanted to stay. "Perfect," I said, and stayed I did.
The game got interesting quick. The Giants came from behind and took the lead in the sixth inning. In the seventh, the Braves scored seven times before making an out. Giants fans were outraged. At one point, a group of Braves fan, who apparently thought they were tough, started talking shit to some Giants fan. This did not sit well with the proud Giants fans. Before too long, punches were being thrown and the cops showed up. It was a good distraction from the pitiful performance on the field. It was pretty entertaining. Not only did the Braves fans get beat up (not that I'm condoning fighting), but they were kicked out for inciting violence.
Despite the Giants losing, it was still good to get out to the ballpark. The weather sucked, and the game itself turned out poorly, but I still had fun.
The best part of the night, though, was that I was going to be sleeping in a bed. For the last few nights I've been sleeping on Tony's hardwood floor, amongst cat poop, beer puddles, and food crumbs. Sleeping in a bed would be comfort beyond all that I knew in a while.

In Memory Of...

LYNOTT, JEFF 1979-2006. Jeff “Lucky Green” Lynott was born in Sucka Free, Califor., Dec. 6th, 1979, to Tony Lynott, and the Pork, the youngest of two children. Jeff lived in various cities throughout his short life, including the hippie communes of San Francisco, Petaluma, Arcata, Denver, and Portland, working for social agencies that serve poop smears, corporate bookstores, illicit drug manufacturers, and gay-owned restaurants. Jeff enjoyed frolicking in the outdoors, illegally copying music, absorbing the written word, repeatedly watching City Slickers, and consuming ungodly amounts of alcohol, the latter of which largely contributed to his poignant and untimely death. He is survived by his family, and his dear friends. A celebration of his life will be from 7 to 11 p.m. Saturday, April 8th, at his good friend Anto’s residence in the Yay Area. Appetizers and hyphy varietals of music provided, BYOB. Donations to honor his memory can be made out to the "Jeff Loves the Kids Foundation", and sent to Oldie, P.O. Box 1234, Portland, OR, 97222.

At the ol' ballpark

10 Days & Nights
What could be better than a day at the ballpark, watching the home team win, while eating a hot dog and drinking a beer? Well, waking up in the morning without a hangover and the stench of stale, stinky dude smell would be a better start, but some things are just out of your control. Yes, I began the morning with a hangover, as we drank late into the night at Ophir's. However, the hangover quickly wore off and I was soon able to take joy in one of my biggest passions: Giants baseball. Yes, today had nothing to do with binge drinking (although I did consume some) and belligerent behavior (and there was some of that, too). It's all about a sport that takes you back to your youth. It's about innocence and green grass. The crack of the bat. Peanuts and hotdogs. Singing, "Take Me Out To The Ball Game." Harassing the hell out of the opposing team and their fans. It's joyous.

I met Steve, Lee, Nate and Dan-Dave (I'm not sure if he has two first names, or if he has some sort of weird nickname, or what...but his name is Dan-Dave) in the Pac Bell Park parking lot (I think it's called AT&T now). We managed to catch up a little bit, drink a couple of beers, harass some Braves fans, and listen to some music before the game. If we had a BBQ, I suppose it would have been a tailgate party. Anyway, we eventually made it into the park with standing-room-only tickets and a couple of coke bottles, perfectly mixed with Captain Morgan's. We all managed to find some seats and watch the game. It was a beautiful day in The City. The sun was shining and the home team was ready to do it's fans proud. The Giants beat the Braves 6-4. Nice.

Things to note:
-Most fans cheered for Bonds. However, he did receive a portion of boos, too.
-I wish I understood Dan-Dave's name
-Steve talked on his cell phone more than he actually watched the game. To say the least, I was disappointed. It was, though, a girl that he likes, so I won't fault him too much.
-Nate's a good Giants fan.
-Lee is still a maniac, although no specific incidents stand out.
-I think I saw my dad at the game.
-It's all about getting hyphy in the parking lot before the game...and then getting hyphy again after the game.
-I do believe the Giants are good.
-I drank, but not excessively. This was a welcome change.

Day Three

I heard somewhere that a wet sponge absorbs more liquid than a dry one. This was my motivation to drink nights before this whole alcoholic adventure. My liver is now soaked with malt liquor and cheap vodka. As I woke this morning I realized a realization: If I drink this much in the evening, two evenings in a row, I am still drunk all day the next day, and I like it. Ophir and I consumed about 2 gallons of malted hops and about 9 shots of vodka, now, ive drank more, dont get me wrong, I have been a savage beast as far back as I can remember, but its never been as systematic as this ordeal. I feel some of the liquor is fogging my thoughts now...almost 19 hours since my last drink. I cant keep a thought for more than a couple of minutes and all that remains constant is "The Goat". I must rest now, for Green is probably on his way back to my home now drunken and inspired, and that can only mean one thing...Day Three.

The Morning After

Getting up this morning was a difficult process, though the collective stench of stale beer and man ass was motivation enough. I learned several things last night:
*Mixle's ass is hard as a rock
*Green has super soft, kissable skin
*Anto likes girls
*I'm gay
The point, however, is not that last night was a learning experience, but rather last night was about 4 men innocently embarking on a journey of self-discovery that led to the transformation of my studio apartment into a sausage factory. Just to clarify, "Sausage factory" is a subtle reference to the enterprise of penis.
I should also mention that Oregon has turned Green into a superman of alcohol consumption. After but one night of drinking, I'm ready to throw in the towel. Green, on the other hand, is currently in attendance at a Giants game, consuming alcoholic beverages yet again. As an aspiring alcoholic, I am duly impressed by Green's ambition. Indeed, his dedication to the glorious art of alcoholism should be rewarded. I will therefore be erecting something in his honor later today. Just to clarify, "something" is a subtle reference to my penis.

Binge Drinking

I haven't wanted to get so smashed in a long time. As my friends above have mentioned, one lucky Irishman is back in the bay. This calls for a Major Celebration. It appears that I have already missed 2 nights of drunkeness, and that does not make me very happy. Not to mention Anto hasn't groped me since my bachelor party... We'll get into that another time.
Anyway, I'm kind of worried I may not be able to live up to Green's expectations. Green seems like he's all about 40's blunts and bitches these days since he blew up in Portland. How am I going to be able to keep up? What if he laugh's at me if I buy something other than OE? All these things going on through my head, (Don't forget the Anto Groping), with a Giants Homeopener to attend Tomorrow. I guess that Irishman will have to show me the ropes tomorrow. Break the rookie in. Because tomorrow, I expect nothing less than Green wasted on yet another day. And if I have to be right there by his side, drinking what he may be drinking, Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I will.