Thai Angel!!! THAI ANGEL!!!!


Racially abused, crocked from a dodgy, sickening soccer injury, and a magnificent red wine hangover to deal with, it has been a tough 24 hours. I am feeling very tender, sore and both physically and mentally abused writing this post. At least I got to go to a place called Thai Angel, which is great fun to say while drunk. And party with strippers, which is also great fun to do while drunk.

First, I’ll deal with the emotional distress I was caused. The first pub I went to last night was fairly horrific. I have been there twice before with Andy and Colin, so seeing as I would be going with actual people this time, I thought it might possibly be better or have nicer women at least. It wasn’t and it didn’t. Thankfully the next bar was brilliant, purely because I got schooled in music by a very tasty and funky looking Danish heavy metal MTV presenter. When she asked what I did, DJ in a gym, I think, she seemed a bit interested. When I told her the only two genres of music I did not really like or have a clue about were country and heavy metal, her interest was gone. Seeing as they were her favourite two. How convenient and of course they would be, you should have said before I opened my mouth. I was then given a passionate lecture on the music of Lamb of God and some other bands I had no clue about. Weirdly, this Lamb of God lecture would benefit me later.

That pub finished up at 2, Danish girl left with her boyfriend, the job, and I headed to an after hours bar with guys on my soccer team. Thai Angel, this seedy bar in a dodgy neighborhood was the venue. I had never been but decided the night was too young to finish this soon. Thai Angel was brilliant, in a one time experience place, plus I was getting free drink from the bar maid, THAI ANGEL ON!!! For some reason, it was also great fun, to me at least, saying Thai Angel while drunk, in my best Chinese accent while in Thai Angel. I have yet to perfect my Thai accent so had to be my Chinese one, ha, ape. Anyways, this stupid way I was saying Thai Angel, THAI ANGEL, sparked up some conversation with a group of girls in there, the only group of girls in there, it seemed everyone was else was a dude in some cheesy suit eating Thai food. Irish this, Merrick that, rar diddy rar, want to come back to a party, I surely do. 

I head to the party with the 4 girls I just met, and one other dude, one of their friends, I presumed. Never presume really. Moving on, I get back to the house, bottles and bottles of red wine lined up, there are a few more girls back there, they are half watching some weird horror movie on t.v, how bad, finally, finally, things are looking good for me at a party. It had been a while.

My accent is going down well, the red wine is flowing, 5 of the 7 girls are hot, the night was getting better and better. How do ye all know each other girls, oh, ye work together, cool. Where do ye work? Never heard of it, what kind of place is that? A bikini bar? Like a beach bar or something? A dance bar? What do you mean a dancing bar? Oh, ye’re all strippers? Oh. Oh yes. Well 5 oh yes and 2 oh no thank you.

The hottest girl there was the spitting image of the lead singer in the Pussycat Dolls, she was funbelievable! However, she was the only one not to laugh at any of my stupid jokes. And decided I wasn’t even worth facing, so continued on watching the nuts horror movie after I first walked in. So, I obviously liked her the most. And wasted the majority of my time trying to make her crack. However, no joy at the inn, of course. As I am re-topping my wine to the brim, another girl comes up and asks what music I am into. 9 times out of 10 I would have been delighted to chat with her, she is tasty, but her stubborn friend has me distracted. I answer her with a question “Does your friend have a boyfriend or what’s the story?” “Who, Erica? No, she just has a thing against men, she’s not into them at all, she’s a lesbian. I saw you waste your time with her earlier.” Personally, I would never say time spent trying to chat up a ridiculously hot lesbian stripper was time wasted, but I could see her point now I had the bigger picture.

Time to talk music it seemed! She tells me she’s trying to get away from the only other dude who is at the party, keeps talking crap and wrecking her head. She better look for someone else to talk to then besides me, ha, this stupid joke goes down well, in like flynn! And the type of music she likes… heavy metal, favourite band… ha, Lamb of God! No way, I tell her, I like them too, and rattle off bits and pieces from the lecture I had received earlier. She is highly impressed, I didn’t look like I would be a fan of theirs. Who me? I’ve liked them for years! 

Things are going well, until the other dude comes over, looking annoyed at me for being able to talk crap and wreck the girl’s head better than he was. The guy looked and dressed like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Stupid looking cardigan over his shoulders, stuck-up, pompous fool. The most annoying thing was that when he was yapping on about crap, he would blink and leave his eyes shut for about ten seconds, as if this made his crap point more interesting or valid. He tries to join in talking about music, spoofing on about David Bowie and The Clash, making completely made up facts and stories. Luckily my buddy Bob from home has me well educated in The Clash and Bowie, so I was able to catch him every time he made up stupid spoof to the girl e.g seeing Joe Strummer in concert last summer here in L.A. Must’ve been weird seeing him, with him being dead a few years now and all.

This really annoys him, so starts to turn on me. Comes out with the statement that rocked the boat “Look, everyone knows that all Irish are criminals, or descendants of criminals, so I don’t really think you can try to educate me on music” What the funk was that, what did you just say? Then, for some odd reason, he validates his comment with this “Its okay, I’m a screenwriter, I can say this sort of stuff” Well, buddy, I write a blog and you are a funking gimp. The girl is shocked by the other dude, and starts freaking out, about the racism. I get a bit freaked that something I have said to him was racist (did I call him Carlton?) but the girls have turned on him and his racism towards me, ha. Commotion ensues, who knows him anyways, who brought this guy. Turns out nobody knew him, or invited him. He just snaked along from Thai Angel after overhearing the address. Everyone presumed he was someone else’s friend there.

To my delight, and with my help, he is phunted out of the party “Go f**k yourself you racist pig, we don’t tolerate that s**t here” is screamed at him by the girl who owned the house. Poor Carlton, did they not know he was a screenwriter so he could say what he wanted. Back inside at the party, I am surrounded by sympathy, rage and disgust that I had to deal with that kind of stuff, a guest in their country, so so sorry, please don’t think we’re all racist like him. Yeah, that was tough to deal with, I could do with a hug, group hug girls. Sure, it would cheer me up to go listen to Lamb of God on your laptop with you. My favourite song? How could  I pick just one, I love them all!

I would play a Lamb of God song but I had to endure a few last night and still not a fan. Here’s a Bowie one instead which is always good to strip, I mean, dance to… Rebel Rebel, eye patch on!!!


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I am trying to decide whether I will start my roommate’s fun filled blog today instead of mine or tell you about my ape like story? Ape, I hear you say? Ape it is. 

Big day yesterday. A very nervous day for me. First day of my new job, remember, the one that doesn’t pay me any money. Big day for a chump like me. Seeing I was on at 12, had no mixing equipment, or mixing ability that I know of (yet), I got up at 11 to prepare for work. I hooked up a 3 hour playlist, where every song ended with a similar sounding beat the to start of the next one, mixaruu on! All I needed to do was stand there with my headphones, pretend to be mixing, and I was a born again DJ.

Having re-read my spoof DJ cue cards with all my lingo, found my best DJ-esque t-shirt and equipped with my laptop and cable, I was good to go. The sun was shining, L.A was buzzing, the walk up to the gym had me pumped. In I get, and go to the front desk, informing the girl I was here to DJ, wuu, get ready to be pumped. She gives me an inquisitive look, oook, let me just check, I was never told anything about that and the manager has just left. Ooook, I’ll just go get a Red Bull to wake me up. So I go over to the little shop part, Red Bull it up, ah shur would you look who it is, my old buddy Common has come to join me for a beverage. 

While he is waiting for a shake of some sort to be made, he seems to remember me and sparks up some conversation (my achievements have taken a beating lately, so at this stage, the fact that someone remembers who I am is pleasing, how the standards have dropped!). “What up Irish, are you in working out?” Not today my common man, I am DJ’ing in a minute. “In the gym? How did you get that gig? Funds your drinking at least man!” I choose not to tell him that I won’t be getting paid money for the gig, just great publicity and all that crap, ha. I realize that Common has now a new found respect for me it seems, he has gotten the impression that I am in the music business as well. I forget as well to inform him that I am actually not, who was I to burst his bubble.

While we are talking music, and as Common gives me one of his demos to see if I will play it sometime, ha, spoof, I notice that the guy with the fairly bulbous head next to us is trying to edge into the conversation. Back off buddy, I am letting Common sell me the concept of his demo, give the man a chance. At a second glance, I see that its Craig David (I think anyways, looked like him, English accent, sounded like him, I am presuming it was him). I didn’t really want him to give me a demo of his to play as well, so I ignore his efforts to join in. Around this time the girl from the front desk comes back over, and ruins it all.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt, you’re actually not DJ’ing at all today.” I look at Common, and see the respect drain from his face. He thinks I am a spoofing ape, tuts at me, shakes his head, then says he’ll be off, must go work-out. As he goes up the stairs, he turns around taking one last look, a look of disgust, and shakes his head, how could that Irish guy have led me on! I swivel to the girl working there, you ruined it all woman, how could you do that, you gymp!!! “Yeah, Jim said you were going to come in on Monday at 12? Not today” I told Jim yesterday I would start tomorrow, as in today. “Oh yeah, that probably meant come in on Monday” Oh right, that makes plenty of sense. I am being turned away from my new job that I won’t get paid for, this is a great feeling.

She tells me that she could ring the manager again and see if I could do it maybe for an hour now. The pity vote. However, I get the feeling she might not know much about setting up the sound system, so I inquire if she does first before she goes back and rings the manager. “No, I wouldn’t have a clue, you should be able to figure it out though, right, it should be easy for you.” Ha, do I look like a DJ or something to you? I’ll hold off until Monday, I don’t want to risk feeling even stupider by struggling to set up my equipment, i.e plug my cable into the correct slot, rocket science really.

The dejection and gimp feeling on the walk home was tremendous. Just when I thought things could stoop no lower or become more comical, lower they go. To save myself looking like a complete fool, as opposed to just a gimp, I decide to buy mixing software so that when I do go up on Monday I can at least have that up on screen and pretend to be using it if anyone walks by. It only cost me $50. Which was great. So far it has cost me only about $68 ($18 cable that I’m still not sure is going to be the right one) to not work at a place that wont pay me anyways if I do every end up working there. Great work if you can get it, lucky me!!!

At least I have a plan to spruce up the gig on Monday if it does actually go ahead. I am mulling over having the dude from Bros’s song at hand if he happens to be in working out. About time someone else is embarrassed in that gym besides just me. Song of the day was needed to chill me out on the way home… Paper Aeroplane by Angus & Julia Stone