Ricky Bobby, We Meet Again…

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Having had such a productive day yesterday, I knew it would be hard to top it today. Started well though, got an email from the girl in the acting school I was at yesterday. She is offering me more classes to audit next week if I like, happy days, I feel bad for the others in there who paid thousands for the classes, I think she has a soft spot for a gibberish Irish accent and a big ball of hair, ha.

Back to being productive, time to start belting into my 19 bullets points of things to do. After the Champions League, obviously. It is tough enough watching matches here at times. I have two options for commentary, English with the American commentators and an imitation Irish guy, Tommy Smyth, or plug for the Mexican channel and not understand the Spanish commentary. There is only so much “Put it in the onion bag” and “The teams are the exact same team, just with different players” that I can bear. It was way better listening to the Goooooooooool when Ronaldo scored anyways. Here’s the only video I could find of Tommy, just to give you inkling to how bad he might be if he wasn’t reading from a script.

Next port of call was the gym, time to sort out when I was to DJ there. Up I hobble, the dodgy knee not taking kindly to the steps up to the gym, or the slight hill on my street, it was a struggle to say the least today for some reason. Rock, paper, scissors, how’s it going with big gay Jim, what was the story with the other day, rar diddy rar, oh I was meant to plough on and just play, cool cool, I know now at least, will I do it tomorrow for a couple of hours? Era shur, I’m a changed man, plough on! So, I broached getting refunded for the amount I had paid for the month in exchange for my immense DJ’ing skills, and a deal was struck. I am getting half of it back, and can pick what ever days I want to play a week (eh, just the one so I’d say Jim), and the gym would be back to being free for me. Nay too shabby. And the elusive, secret, Open Sesame way I now have if anyone questions my membership, is to just say “I DJ here”. Thats it. What a waste of paying for half the month. If anyone is in the neighborhood, I would highly recommend using my secret code to get themselves free gym. Ali Baba on!

With that sorted, I decided to hobble home and get back to my hefty list of things to do. My luck was out with the escalators (broken for about a week now, with the membership us members pay, it is about time they were fixed, ha), so had to hobble back down the steep flight of steps coming out of the gym. Steep steps are proving the biggest killer, if anyone can diagnose what is wrong with my knee from that information alone, please let me know. I eventually get down outside the gym and Sunset complex, at a big junction between my house and the gym, the green man is flashing to cross and the countdown is on. I have faith, I can make it across the road in 10 seconds, here I go.

And go I went, as fast as my knee would let me. It was killing me though so I was dragging my leg across the road. A car on the other side of the road got impatient and tried to cut across me and drive on but as they turned their option was to either hit me and drive on, or wait patiently and block the oncoming traffic. I was pottering along as fast as I could, but the car starts honking its horn at me. So, I slow down and look at the ape in the car. A blonde girl is driving the car and giving me a come-on-to-funk look, cross the road you hobbling ape. But she is not the one beeping. The dude in the passenger seat is beeping and also giving me a come-on-to-funk look, but more, if I was driving I would have drove over you at this stage. 

Obviously, I make sure to slow down, the horn is being beeped continuously by the guy, loud enough as well, so I put my hand to my ear and shrug my shoulders as if I can’t understand what the horn means or what he wants me to do. Cross what? Who? The road? Pardon me, I’m Irish, we don’t have these big roads at home. The other cars are now freaking at them now for blocking the road, the guy starts to give me the finger as I begin to hobble on again. I oblige and return the favour, thumbs up buddy, bending down slightly and leaning in towards the windscreen to make sure he sees. It is then when I notice it is my old buddy, old pal from the Hills, Ricky Bobby!!!

The fact that he had a hood on over his head meant I didn’t really see who it was until I peered in. I had a hood on too, so when I do peer in, I get the feeling he vaguely recognized my ape face and head from the drunken night in My House before, obviously he does not remember my name is Merrick, Eric or Omar. Or else he thought I might have actually been retarded by responding with a thumbs up, ha. Either way, next time he comes up to me in My House, there will be no high fives or sharing bottles of vodka, I am cutting him loose. 

Here is song of the day, which should’ve been used yesterday, seeing as Liverpool were knocked out of a cup competition. The last time they were, by Everton, wuu duu, there was a funny story to go along with the song. Weeks back, I was watching Everton play Liverpool in the F.A Cup. I had played this song on my laptop while having breakfast that day, and one of my roommates remarked how it was interesting that I liked that song and that band. Ok. So, I’m watching the match, my roommate comes back home from meeting her friend, who is now with her. How’s it going boss, big game on, give me a minute. He asks who’s playing, but as he does, Everton score in the last minute, last gasp winner, I am wuu huu’ing my way around the room (being an Everton fan) giving them high fives, hugs, great day, we beat Liverpool. It is then when I recognize the dude… the lead singer from this band, funking nuts! My first introduction to weirdness in L.A! After that long winded introduction, here’s the song… The Underdog by Spoon

It is a savage song, and they are a savage band. The song just came on my iTunes and if you did not gather, I wanted to include that story for ages, ha, hence the weak link, well worked really! The dude was sound, telling me about playing in Dublin with Interpol, not sure if many people in Ireland even know of them but Spoon on!!!!!

Hey Ricky Bobby!!! I Love You Shwayze!!!

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Great news… I’ve committed to an acting class. Verbally at least, I forgot to bring my credit card to actually pay. Starting April 2nd I’ll be going to Brian Reise for a month to six weeks at least, no more auditing, payment on. I just have to make sure the visa run works and I get a job to pay for it. Should be fine, the job offers are being thrown at me so far.

Last night I went to a place called My House, where DJ AM was playing. I had gotten mixed reviews of the club, ranging from “It’s class” to “Check it out, maybe you’ll like it”. A guy who played soccer was promoting so couldn’t say no to the invite. Seeing as it was free. So, when I got in, I thought, this part of the club is pretty cool, I’m looking forward to seeing the rest. But that was more or less it. Smaller than I thought, still big enough though. I went with “the lads”. A few more showed up this time though. Kelly Brook was meant to be joining us as well but no show in the end. There were enough other minor celebs in there to keep me entertained though.

I was introduced to some random English guy, and had a good chat about soccer with him, Champions League and all that. I was telling him about a documentary I saw about Michael Essien and the African Cup of Nations, but couldn’t remember the name of it. So, I told him, give me your number, I’ll text you the name of it (he supported Chelsea), you have to see it, Essien is a God in Africa etc etc. Afterwards, I find out he wrote the movie Goal, could be handy having his number, what with me thinking I could be an actor and thinking I can play soccer. Goal 4 here I come!

So I’m on rounds with a new buddy I’ve just met. I’m drinking at a normal pace, he’s sipping. I go two rounds up on him, he’ll get the next two, $30 a round, I let myself get done, not happy. Plus he keeps doing a horrific Irish accent and I can tell by his responses he can barely understand a word I’m saying. I’m looking for an out. I keep trying to make small talk with this ugly, very intelligent looking girl next to me, who won’t stop fixing her make-up (she was savage and had a constant vacant look). So, I’m plugging away, my new buddy thinks I’m well in, cheers, drink up, you owe me two boozes boss. She takes out her camera, oh my gawd, I love your accent, you’re a priest from Ireland, thats so cool, will you take a photo? I surely will. So, I’m getting ready, combing my hair, shining my shoes, straightening myself, and she hands me the camera. Thanks, take one of me and my boyfriend. Oh right, I knew thats what you meant, ha.

Turns out to be a great photo of them from the necks down. I hand the camera back, see my buddy from OK is still sipping too slow for me and go off for a stroll on my own. I end up chatting with some girls at a table where the vodka is flowing (no spoof, their names are Kamie and Tamie, I checked their I.D’s). So I keep getting their names wrong, unintentionally, and call them Mamie, they love it, want to introduce me to more of their friends. So, some dude in a cool hat, some other girls, few other guys, few other girls, and a guy in a hoodie. I know the guy with the hat and the the other guy with the hood on. Or at least I recognize them from somewhere. Somewhere along the way of me tucking into their bottle of vodka it registers that the guy with the cool hat is the dude from Shwayze. Or the guy who sings with him at least. So I start calling him Shwayze, everyone finds it funny, probably because of my accent, I get told something like this by him, “I’m not Shwayze man, I sing, Shwayze raps, my name is Cisco”. This doesn’t register with me at all, keep calling him Shwayze. The funny side is wearing off for him, I presume its the same as how I feel when I get called Omar, Merrick and Eric by strangers all the time, ha. 

So the dude in the cool hat wanders away from me, I’m back with Kamie and Tamie, and they’re chatting with the guy in the hoodie. Merrick/Omar/Eric, have you met Bobby? Hey man, my name is actually Mork, nice to meet you Bobby… it’s then I remember who he is, the dude from the Hills. So I tell him he’s huge in Ireland, for nothing, blah blah blah, he should go, they’d love you there, you are Ricky Bobby, I am Ricky Bobby, lets have some more vodka Ricky Bobby. In my vodka state I forgot his name or alias is Justin Bobby, not Ricky Bobby from Talladega nights. But I keep calling him Ricky Bobby this, Ricky Bobby that, Ricky, Richie, Rich, Dick, Richard, Little John at one stage, don’t know why. So between calling both of them the wrong names, and downing their vodka, I’m getting an uncomfortable vibe. Well, looking back at it now, sober, I realize the vibes shifted. At the time I thought we were all best buddies. C’mon we stay for after hours lads. Ah shur, here comes DJ AM to join us. And there’s another dude who used to be on the Hills as well. We’re all great buddies over here. Whats that, no after hours for me. Ok, thats cool. Next time maybe. I’ve to be up early in the morning anyways. Just let me get Kamie or Tamie’s number and I’ll be on my way. I love you Ricky Bobby, hey Shwayze… “So someone take my picture”, see ye next week lads!

Good night all round really, but not sure if I’ll be invited back over to their table anytime soon. I can see why the wrong name would annoy them though so I can empathize. Earlier that day when ordering a coffee – plain coffee, large, that was it, not hard to get wrong – the guy serving me got it wrong 4 times. My roommate was with me and finally saw how stupid, random things occur to me at will here. I’m asked my name, he thinks its Omar, I let it go, get given an iced coffee, medium. Wrong. An iced coffee, large. Wrong. Some mocha coffee, large, with cream and banana syrup (turns out to be a different Omar’s). A normal coffee, medium. I was going to let it go but its actually meant to be a large, finally get what I asked for. Plus he says I can keep all the wrong ones I wont drink. So, I end up with a tray of 4 coffees, giving them away to people in the queue.

The guy serving me, unsurprisingly for where I live, is very, very, very, very gay. As in flaming, snapping the fingers, lip pursing, you don’t even know sister, OH MY GAAAAAAWD he didn’t, he DID!  umm hummm, gay (he’s actually saying these things while getting my order wrong time and time again). Its funny enough to watch. I get the thought, while he keeps calling me Omar, that he is the gay equivalent of a male, chauvinist pig. He must be over-compensating for something, but he at least he’s sound. That’s the good thing about living in such a gay area, everyone is sound!!! Everyone is just out walking their poodles, smiling at each other, friendly, getting along. And getting it on. But at least they’re sound!

Just got a text from Kamie. I think its her anyways, I’m hoping its Tamie but I think its Kamie. Not that I can remember which is which. Might be Mamie. I might text the Bucket and mention them. How I’ve moved on. I wonder what its up to. Still hasn’t texted me back since the other day. B*****d.

Here’s the song I was shouting at Ricky Bobby and Shwayze the whole night…Polaroid.