well it's a marvelous night for a Moondance:
THE PHENOMENON KNOWN AS APRIL 13, 2008

you know you're in for a fucking fantastic day when at 8:30am it's 75 degrees out and you already find yourself at the beach. Dave dug a hole, there was a naked, pregnant baby running around, and i met a little boy named Liam who apparently was a mute. Staci appropriately categorized him under "Silence of the Liam".

around 12:45pm i was making my way back to the beach for no less than the third time that day, this time with Joyce and two carafes of sangria in tow. after Joyce and i watched Jessie, Ian and Brett try to bring out the maximum amount of Mexican-ness in Dave by kicking around a Dodger blue soccer ball (* please see below for more Mex-tasticness), we polished off the sangria and headed straight to The Whaler for what else but more drinking. thanks to my pseudo-celebrity status, (at one point me, Nikki and Dani were such regulars that every time we even approached the bar there would be three Scooby Snacks waiting for us, minus the whip, of course) we skipped the waiting list and scored a table outside where we then proceeded to throw back pitcher after pitcher of Hefeweizen. except Brett. Brett is apparently too cool to drink the everyday man's wheat beer, but did redeem himself with many a pint of Stella. i've always been a fan of the Artois.

but i digress...

after losing one soldier and playing musical sunglasses, we went through more rounds of the "damn it needs a better name and more defined rules but for now i'll just call it the letter game" than i can remember. we did, however, in our drunken state, manage to come up with the brilliant of addition of the comma followed by explanation/justification feature. for example, on the letter "w" my twisted mind brought out "what what, as in can i get a." this new feature made me feel much better about myself due to the fact that the only word that started with a "w" that i could think of at the time was "what." so proud to be an English major...

cut to Jessie and i giggling together as we sat on the railing of the Venice Pier. don't fret, i'm not attempting to leave out embarrassing anecdotes or important information - i just don't remember much in between fighting with the waitress over how many pitchers she charged us for to frolicking down the pier maniacally. but yes, we some how thought it would be a good idea to jump off the Venice Pier, which Jessie and i successfully did. Ian however, bless his soul, had a bit more difficulty with the task. he made the jump, kicked his feet twice toward the direction of the beach, and then decided he couldn't make the swim back. at the time i was legitimately frightened for his safety. my concern actually caused me to feel the need to jump in yet a second time to save his life, but thankfully Brett did the honors and dragged Ian back to the safety of the shore. one of the onlookers must have called the cops and/or lifeguard because before we knew it there were trucks with sirens on the beach in front of us. luckily they just made sure we were ok, offered us towels, then drove off on their merry way.

looking back at the whole situation in hindsight, i sincerely wish i had taken a pictures of Ian clutching to the pier's pylon because the whole scene was pure magic. both arms and legs hugging the post, the priceless look on his face, the people standing on the pier who had gathered, wathcing everything unfold... i could have made a photo montage to the late 90's Third Eye Blind song, "Jumper" reminiscent to something straight out of a made for tv movie. i love you, Ian, but i wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend.

Monday morning found me with a cheesy grin painted across my face as i recapped the madness that was Sunday night (comma, as in "Oh What A" - copyright Jessie Reder) in my head. all and all, i had a great weekend. i was with my friends, we shared a banana, had some laughs... no one drowned. what more could a girl ask for? well, there is just one thing. in the words of Van Morrison, can i just have one more Moondance with you, my love?

some much needed clothes-ure

before you read this, please remind yourself that i am as far from racist as one can possibly come, but there are certain things (race not withstanding) that i just can't stand. butter on white rice, umbrellas sans rain, you get the idea. having said that, picture this, if you will: the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the children are laughing, and there are Mexicans were swimming with clothes on. all i can say is why? why, why, why...

Joyce wisely reminded me of the fact that i am the proud owner of Ask A Mexican by Gustavo Arellano, so this morning i grabbed it off my bookshelf and furiously began searching for the answer to my burning question... why do Mexicans swim with clothes on? his answer:

According to a 2003 study by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, 24 percent of Mexico's population is overweight. That's the second highest obesity rate in the world following - wait for it - los Estados Unitos! Unlike gabachos, Mexicans respect the public when it comes to flashing our flabby chichis, pompis and cerveza guts - so when we're out near the pool or by the beach we cover up. it ain't Catholicism, machismo, or an homage to our swim across the Rio Grande. It's good manner.

not exactly what i was hoping for. in fact, it's almost a cop out. then how does he account for the pleasantly large girl we saw yesterday in the wet wife beater? at one point i had almost convinced myself that she wasn't wearing a bra. she may as well have been topless...

highly unsatisfied, i launched an internet search of my own and have come up with what i believe to be a more tangible answer: long pants can be used as flotation devices.

according to ehow.com, you can literally turn long pants into a personal flotation device. simply take your pants off in the water, and tie a knot in each leg. (tip: zip up the fly if there is one.) while treading water, grab onto the waist band with each hand and throw the pants back over your head. quickly swing the waist band forward into the water, trapping a large air bubble inside. then, firmly close the waist band with your hands and slip a pant leg on either side of your face. the trapped air won’t escape, and you will have something to float with. good to know. thanks, ehow.com!

only in Beverly Hills

i've been at my new job for just over a month now and i must say that being in Beverly Hills every day is nothing at all how Brenda Walsh and Kelly Taylor made it out to be. i don't get to hang out at the Peach Pit with Dylan and David after school every day. hell, i've never even been to the Peach Pit After Dark.

how ever i have been compiling a list of observations that i feel the need to share with you.

1. you can use a credit card to put time on a parking meter.
2. on any given day, at any given time you can see tween girls walking around in dresses that were clearly meant to be worn to their 8th grade graduation dance, but also served as their "let's go shopping for the day" dress, as well.
3. bike cops cruise on BMW's
4. Santa Monica Boulevard between Crescent and Roxbury is a wind tunnel no matter what the temperature is
5. "pedestrians have the right of way" does not apply, especially if there is a walk signal
6. you can't walk down Rodeo without some idiot from Omaha asking you to take their picture in front of a street sign
7. people actually wait in line at Sprinkles for a fucking cupcake (go down the street to Crumbs, they're better)

so in the words of Rivers Cuomo, the truth is, i don't stand a chance. it's something that you're born into. and i just don't belong.