A significant change of plans prevented me from attending a friends grad party this past weekend, and in its place a Santa Barbara summer solstice sufficed.
After a productive OTT karaoke Friday night filled with Bobby Caldwell's, "What You Won't do for Love," and a 45 year married woman (foreshadowing)...the stage was set for Saturday's activities.
Let me just start by saying there are few things more empowering than riding down the street carrying a water assault weapon (aka Super Soaker 1OO). It's like a drive by, only slower.
Sayeed aka we know what his name is and I rendezvous'd at the Presidio Motel. We enjoyed mimosas, DJ Magneto, and a fine ethnic food spread of which I didn't know what half of it was. It was here that the interest in the Super Soaker really ingnited. Two siblings who were probably 7 and 5 ended up stealing the gun and blasting passer-by's from the balcony of the motel. From there we tried to corral Greg and get him to come out, however his Friday night was far too eventful for Saturday activities...we found him face down on his girlfriends bare mattress, sulking.
The beer garden was next, this is where the Super Soaker really showed it's true colors. Multiple people asked to use it (they did)...multiple people were sprayed (some asked for it, some didn't)...and the strangest of all the squirt gun-run-ins was after we got a round of beer. As it turns out the 45 year old married woman from karaoke the night before was working the beer tables, so it was basically 2 for 1 every time we refilled. On our way back we're making it through the crowd and then I'm stopped by a mexican dude who begged me to just get "one squirt" because he wants to spray his girlfriend who's birthday it was. He did indeed spray her, then proceeded to point the gun upward and completely empty the tank...spraying everyone within a 15 foot radius. I should just keep my gun to myself.
It was his friend though that really confused me. Picture a mexican Debo from Friday wearing a Kobe jersey. Now picture this guy stopping me in my tracks, pulling out my earphone mic and asking me... "Are you here by yourself?" Truly puzzled, I answered that I was there with my friends and walked away. Had I just been hit on by a gay gangster? Was it the Super Soaker, or was it me? Life's mysteries unvelied on an introductory summer Saturday.
Happy Monday. If anyone would like to call in a bomb threat at my work today, I'm looking to go to the beach. Thanks. In the meantime let's venture further into Super Soaker history: