My whole life people have been telling me I should have my own TV show. Not because I’m funny or super cool, but because somehow I get involved in the most ridiculous situations. Last night is a perfect example. It all started when I returned from my hike and crossed paths with a paparazzi and a Bengal cat. I knew it would be a normal night.
Most Friday nights are spent at bars, clubs, parties, and other exciting venues. Well, my night started like that. My roommate is a singer and was in the studio. So, I drove to Universal City to join him. Sort of a normal night I guess. So, I walk inside and am greeted by framed albums of The Chronic, FutureSex/LoveSound, and Thriller (amongst others). Then, I hear a man rapping in the booth next to me and I realize its Birdman. So I start dancing in the hall, where I am spotted by a producer, and laughed at. Great.
My roommate gives me a tour of the studio where we play in a marble bathtub (I can only imagine the antics that have taken place there) and sauna. Then we hang out in the studio for awhile. I decide to go home and work for awhile before rejoining him with our other friend and bottles of vodka. Still a pretty normal Friday.
I leave, and suddenly my car shuts off in the middle of the street and is engulfed in steam, or smoke. Who knows. I look up and see the jolly faces of Tweety Bird and Porky Pig looking down at me. It’s pretty impossible to be that upset with those two looking at you, because yeah, maybe my car doesn’t work, but I still don’t have a speech impediment. So, here I am in the middle of the street between Warner Bros. Studios and a martini bar. Then a fire truck pulls up behind me. Once again, I found it impossible to be mad when I was surrounded by gorgeous firemen pushing my car; the fire truck blocking all traffic.
Eventually the tow truck comes. Joe, the driver, and I talk about how upsetting it is we can’t go to Mexico anymore because of the crime rate. We reminisced about federalies stealing cars, kids with AKs on the beach, and fish taco stands. Typically things you see in Mexico. Then, I find out he’s a mariachi singer in addition to towing trucks. I ask him to sing for me and was serenaded the whole way home.
I took my golf clubs out of the trunk, tried to lock my car (the battery died so the keyless lock wouldn’t work), and went inside. Took a shot of tequila, watched South Park, and got back to work.
So, that was my Friday night. While mine don’t always involve broken cars and mariachi singers, I can’t say I was shocked by this sequence of events. At all.