Rick. Are You A Bit Of A Pri…

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Lately, I have realised that besides food and drink, all the items I am looking into buying or have bought, are simply replacement purchases. Camera broke. Must buy a new one. Microwave needed. Must buy a new one. Microwave broke. Must buy a new one. George Foreman went missing. Must buy a new one. T-shirt ripped. Must buy a new one. Even though I don’t really like that t-shirt or wear it often. And have at least four of similar cut, style and colour. Still, must buy a new one. For peace of mind. Can’t have my mind at war over a t-shirt. Hark back to the scissors incident. Speaking of which, another replacement. Forgot my scissors. Must buy a new one. After last night, a new item has made it’s way onto the list. This is how I became a phoneless bum.

Under Dressed. Over Drank.

Until last night, I haven’t gone out yet in San Fran. Well, besides the three hour trip for three drinks in Walnut Creek. But no nights out in downtown San Francisco yet. Invited along to a party with my cousins. An engagement party for one of my cousins to be exact. Which I thought was a party. As in a party. Then en route I was informed it was a dinner party. Sit-down meal, kind of affair. Caterer serving food. Good to find out after stuffing myself with a few chicken breasts before I left the house. Also good to hear seeing as I was dressed casually to say the least. Aren’t dinner parties shirt wearing affairs? To compensate, crates of booze were purchased. Under-dressed. And eh, over-drank. Brutal.

Needless to say, I was fine. Arrived with my cousin and a buddy, and quickly saw they were either wrong, or lying to me the whole time. A normal party. Social shindig. No sit-down affair. No meal. Finger food. Booze on. Mingle. Chit. Chat. Good. Laugh. Two random enough things happened at the party. Firstly, as we were approaching the apartment, we realized that there was a bike lying on the ground outside the front door. And the heap lying next to the bike making weird groaning noises was an old man. Who seemed to have fallen off the bike. Didn’t look drunk. Couldn’t see a logical way of how he might have fallen off the bike. And ended up in the corner of the doorway. Flat path. No bumps. No one else around. It was odd.

As we stood and waited to be buzzed in, we asked if he was ok. He was fine. Just going to lie there a minute. Groan. Moan. Grunt. Fair enough. C’mon, buzz us in, not too sure what this dude is up to. Are you sure you’re ok though? Yeah. Just going to lie here for a minute. That was sore. What was sore? How did you fall? Was what I wanted to ask. But before I could, he slowly jumped up, and told us he was just going to lie down at home instead. Ok. Kind of weird. Kind of suspicious. Kind of not a good story. Too late now.

The second odd thing was slightly better. For me at least. Talking to the host. Who had meant to tell my cousin all this information before. The information that Dan Brown was a friend of the family. Plays golf with him. He put his friend in touch with him before. His friend now has a 3 book book-deal with the same publishing house as Dan Brown. If I want I could talk to him and get some advice or contacts with regards to a manager or maybe someone in the same publishing house. Good to talk to at least. Initially thought he meant Dan Brown. Figured he probably meant his friend who got the lucrative book-deal. Still though, another handy contact to get. Out of nowhere. Random enough. Random House is actually the name of the publisher. Could be something. Might be nothing. A spark at least.

I’ve realised as well that actually having a book deal is kind of good. Apparently the hardest part. Foot in the door. I prefer not to think if these things might be big, small or normal. More often or not it comes down to the fact that I don’t really know what’s going on, so say less and hear more, is my philosophy. After speaking to the host last night though, who seemed to know what he was on about, he highlighted the fact that it was good that I managed to get a book deal, before the book was written. Basically like getting a painting commissioned after a few doodles on a napkin. Or, to break it down even more, like getting a book deal after writing a blog full of gibberish. I like to break down the most basic situations into even more basic comparisons to full grasp the concept. Never works.

Andy! Colin! Meet Rick

Looking back, I probably should’ve went home after that. Night had gone well so far. Got a new contact. Good party. Everyone went to a pub nearby at about ten o’clock. Should’ve stayed there with them. Should’ve said good night to going downtown. If only. Even though I couldn’t convince anyone else to come with me. Not too bothered, I always had Andy and Colin Todd. Headed to a bar/club to meet a girl I know from a few years back. Flagged down a cab, made a new buddy. Rick. Cowboy hat. Beast of a man. Long hippy hair. Sound guy. Although he did tell the most brutally pointless stories ever. Rambling. Far worse than mine. Like the one about Woodstock. But he didn’t make it. He was hiking through a desert at the time. Or how he and his buddy went to Ireland. But it was really just a cliff in California. And how he doesn’t talk to that buddy anymore. Not telling me why. Chopping and changing. Pausing for chunks just before he made his point. Never making a point. Catching me out when I was meant to laugh. Or not. Which I kept doing. Just to make sure he didn’t take me on the long route to the club. High five! Cheers Rick! You are the man. (Although maybe he did take me on a circle once or twice?)

Get into the club. Meet the girl. And her table of buddies. Mostly dudes. Looking at me, wondering, who’s this chump on his own. Anyone want a drink? No. Good. Off to the bar I go, be right back. One thing I’ve noticed (and which might be one of the reasons why I prefer L.A to San Fran) is that the Irish accent up here is nowhere near as unique or beneficial. Not even close. Fortunately, this was not the case with the bar lady who served me. Offered to buy me a shot because of my accent. Why thank you. What do I want? Anything but tequila. What did she give me? A big, chunky tequila. She either misheard me. Or else heard me when I said that tequila is the one drink that will get me pretty drunk, pretty quick. Go on shur, I’ll have one with you. She lashed out three to me in quick succession. She wasn’t really my type before the first shot. Somehow, she looked kind of hotter after the third tequila kicked in. Must’ve been the lighting or something.

Just as I was declining her offer of one more, the guy next to me asked where I’m from. Ireland. He just flew back from England! Oh my God! That’s amazing. You do know they’re different countries? Only got off the plane an hour ago. Oh my God! That’s amazing. So did I! (Not too sure why I told him that to be honest). Let’s celebrate with a shot! Should say no. Can’t say no. Sounds good. What am I having? Anything but tequila. What did I get… At this point I was loving the tequila. Dumb me. Bought him one back. And I got the feeling that I was drunk. Pre-tty drunk to be true.

Went back to the girl and her buddies. Sat down. Realised that the tequila was having the usual affect. Now I remembered why I don’t drink it. Added to the rest of the booze that had already been consumed, it was not a good call. Survival mode kicked in. I’m going home. I’m kind of drunk. Great seeing you again. Your friends seem sound by the way. Thumbs up to the lads. And I was off. And she was not happy. But I was too drunk to care or really notice. Out the door. No taxis around. Walked up a couple of blocks. Busy street. Lots of cabs flying by. Finally flagged one down. Hop in the back. I know that cowboy hat. I know that hippy hair! What?! No way! Rick. It’s you Rick!!! I never thought I’d see you again man!!! Take me home Srick, shake meee shoome.

Oh Ya. Oh Ya! 

Here on in is where it got a bit hazy. I woke up with my socks on. Not a good sign. Plus my jacket. I think that I fell into bed. Well, by the angle and the manner in which I woke up, perhaps I just fell, and was lucky that the bed was where it was. Woke up far too early. Passport. Check. Wallet. Check. Phone. No. Noooo. I think this may be the reason why I no longer have an urge to get an iPhone. Losing a phone is bad. If I lost my iPod as well at the same time I think I might cry. Throw in a camera on top, and the world would tumble down. Anyways, lost phone. Slowly but surely flashbacks started to trickle in. I remember texting the girl in the cab. Or trying at least. Cab pulled up outside the apartment. I was still trying to write the same text. Took out my wallet. Placed my phone on the seat next to me. Paid Rick. Got out. Went inside. Left the phone in the cab.

Remembered all that. Tried to ring the phone. Ask Rick to drop it back. Come on Rick, answer. Straight to answering machine. Weird. Why would it be off? Battery is the best thing about that phone. Charged to the brim. Definitely didn’t die. Hang on, flashback is a coming. I actually did realise as I got out of the cab that I left my phone on the seat. I tried to open the cab door to get it. Rick had locked the door. Rick had driven away. Surely not. Rick was sound. Flashback gets even clearer. I think I was wrong. I think, I think that Rick, was a little bit of a prick. Took off. Even though he knew I left it there. I think I may have been calling him that as he kept on driving while I chased the cab. Maybe I’m wrong. Tequila was involved. Maybe. My own fault really. Can’t really blame Rick. Or the tequila. I blame Thierry Henry. Because now, I am a phoneless bum.

Songs on. First one for Rick. Second song is for Andy and Colin.

Pleasant Experience – Small Black

We Don’t Need Nobody Else – Whipping Boy

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2 thoughts on “Rick. Are You A Bit Of A Pri…

  1. Now This, was a great tale. Sorry your Irish isn’t so cool to those damn hippies in SF. But what you have to realize is that SF is a major hang out for you Irish types. There a dime a dozen over there. Get your ass back to LA. and have a shot of Tequila on me.

    • Dime a dozen indeed. Big few days of writing, then back to Crazy Town. No more tequila. At least not until I forget about my rule not to drink it. Then… tequila on!

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