Well, it's All-star week. And so I'm going on an All-star break because according to Smashmouth, I'm an All-star. I'm getting my game on, going to play.
Moving on...let me just get this out of the way really quickly: Everyone: Go see Scary Movie! It does quite an excellent job making you laugh, plus (bonus) it is also dedicated to the memory of Shirley Hemphill! So, see it out of respect and you'll get many good hearty chuckles out of it. (Silly? Yes...but what do you expect?)
And now, for those of you who enjoyed "The Blair Witch Road Trip", my diary of last summer's epic journey across America (copies still available from your local Jeff!) , I now invite you to come along on yet another magical (poorly written) and whimsical journey (bad sequel) with:
"I Left My Feet In San Francisco" A Blair Witch Road Trip Weekend Event.
Jean "Prancing Pony" Lonie was in San Francisco a few weekends ago for work. You may remember her as "SHIRLEY" from Halloween 1998's "What's Happening" spectacular. So, in an effort to get more stories to share with you, Goatee Greg, Matt (Greg's brother) and I drove a long, long, long way to San Francisco. The plan was to leave by 9AM.
Those of you who know me really well are laughing. Stop it, you're wrecking the story for everyone else.
Actually, we did leave around 9:15AM...but we had to stop at the post office (quit rolling your eyes). Greg had an envelope that stated "Extra Postage Required" that he wanted to send out. So we marched in triumphantly. The plan was to use the digital scale to see how much, if any, extra postage this envelope really needed. Of course, the scale was broken. BUT, there was a convenient "line bypass" method! For Stamps and Money Orders only, you can go to happy window #2. It's a Gayle-Free zone and there's no one in the line. So, again, we triumphantly march...and when we reach the window the woman is polite and smiles as Greg explains his situation. Just then, a random 8 year old girl ran up to the polite, smiling woman distracting her. The woman, still smiling, then FOLLOWS THE CHILD INTO THE BACK....NEVER TO RETURN. We wait. And wait. AND WAIT. She literally NEVER returned. Presumably, the little girl lured everyone in the back one by one and held them hostage. I think FatGayle was behind the whole conspiracy...she probably ate everyone as they went back.
After waiting and waiting and waiting, we finally realized that she was never going to come back and we lagged over to the postage stamp machine, whereupon Matt begins to plunk change into it. Then we realized that the machine we are at no longer sells single stamps, but only books! No one having less than a $20, we opted to go to the other machine that dispenses a single 33 cent stamp (Why is there no "Cents" symbol on a standard keyboard?) along with two 1-cent stamps (cuz those are useful) for your $0.35. (A cents symbol would really make this whole episode much more pleasant for me to type)
Of course, the first machine raped Matt of his money (Only thirty cents, but still). So that was a problem. Finally, we made our way out of the post office, bewildered and a little bit grayer, and hit the road to San Francisco!! About a month later, we arrived!! We found the hotel and Jean (who was looking at the firemen's hoses) and all was well until we started to walk to the wharf. And then we kept walking. We walked to Alcatraz. (Well, not to the island, but the part of the wharf that takes you to Alcatraz) and we were informed that all tours were booked through Tuesday.
As we wandered through the wharf with suddenly nothing to do, Jean was almost run down by a crazy homeless man with a shopping cart. Then, mere moments later, Jean was attacked with a snake on a stick--causing her to push Matt and I into the bustling San Francisco traffic, almost to certain death.
During our first few hours, we realize that San Francisco is actually the world's first "Scratch & Sniff City". Except that you don't have to scratch to experience the wild plethora of nasty, weird, unidentifiable smells. I would actually categorize it as "Odoriffic". I think it gave me nostrilAIDS.
Anyway, all of these life-threatening adventures caused us to be hungry and so Jean, Greg and I treated ourselves to New England Clam Chowder in an authentic Bread Bowl. Matt didn't partake in the bread bowl meal due to some severe issues he had with the bread bowl. He was scared, very, very scared of the bread bowl.
In case you are unaware, a bread bowl of soup is a bowl of soup that, instead of being in a bowl made of rubber or legos or whatever bowls are made of, is made out of bread. It's good. Matt was worried about leakage and the mere fact that you could eat your bowl threw him through a loop and a half.
Matt cried and then bought pizza that was topped with ass. He hated the pizza and was sad, so he went on a quest to find more food that was normal. He found none and simply went hungry as Jean and I laughed and laughed and laughed at him as he flinched whilst we enjoyed our bread bowls.
After we were done eating lunch, we fled the area because we were almost shat upon by evil pigeons. Then we walked around some more.
Later, Jean had enough of us so the rest of us went to Denny's because Matt was hallucinating from his non-eating issue all day. After our exciting food, we left and were asked by some colorful locals if we had any rock to share with them. We didn't and were shot at. Luckily, we were too tired from walking all day to actually die.
So after resting comfortably all night, we began to walk immediately after waking up on Sunday. Only this time, we decided to walk through the SUPER-HILLY part of San Francisco (as opposed to simply walking around the perimeter of said city). Again, those of you who know me as the fat & out of shape man I have become are laughing. Quit it.
We walked to the infamous Haight-Ashbury intersection, where Jean & I quickly discovered that we hate the Haight. I don't know Greg & Matt's position on the Haight because they were busy walking 12 miles ahead of us. Jean & I had a view of San Francisco that is unlike everyone else's: We saw it complete with the backs of Greg's & Matt's heads constantly on the horizon. They were trying to provide us with a goal. We often cried, "If only we could only reach their heads!" It was like trying to walk to the sun.
At one point, Jean and I were having an issue climbing one bitch of a hill in particular when all of a sudden, scrawled in chalk on the ground was the phrase "You can do it!!" A burst of energy ran through Jean and I as we began to hear the "Chariots of Fire" theme and we ran up the 90 degree mountain! Just then, Jean pointed out that the sidewalk was lying and we almost fell all the way back down the hill. Greg and Matt didn't care if we lived or died. I don't blame them.
Also during the "hate the Haight" extravaganza, we walked by a particularly poignant piece of cement that noted we were right in the center of "Hell on Earth." An exhausted Jean posed for a picture next to it. She also posed for a picture depicting a "Dyke Parade" that was occurring a week later. Jean's a good sport when she's not trying to maim me.
So, 11 miles later (I'm NOT even kidding) we were on our way back to the hotel so that I could cap off the 7 hour marathon walk with a 7 hour drive back to LA, when Jean and I noticed a homeless Jesus-lookalike (Jebus). Then we walked through a cloud of particularly assy smell when suddenly Jean chokes and announces "I actually TASTED that." Yes, folks, Jean tasted San Francisco, and I'm here to tell you, it was no treat. The ensuing brain damage it caused has left her a shell of her former self, barely able to keep her nickname "Stalker, Texas Ranger". We asked Jebus to help, but he was too busy giving himself a bath in a puddle urine.
So, we dragged Jean's lifeless body back to the hotel where the rest of us decided that it's time to go, even though I was to the point of exhaustion. I was actually afraid to take my shoes off because the only reason my feet were still attached to my legs was because my shoes prevented them from retiring, turning gray, and dropping off.
The moral of the story: Don't go anywhere with me or I will whine and complain the whole time.
The End.
And now, more insanity:
A few weeks ago, during the height of the Post Traumatic Dave Disorder, I went insane. One morning, I woke up with my socks on. (Quite a feat, considering I didn't have them on when I went to bed). Then, one day, I came home for lunch and was startled by the fact that I lost my bag of Doritos (my snack chip of choice lately). I knew I hadn't finished the whole bag, yet it was inexplicably missing.
Not wanting to waste any time, I quickly got over it (for once) and moved on. Then, that night, I found my missing bag of Doritos IN THE REFRIGERATOR. I thought, "How stupid is that?" And then thought carefully about how/why I would have done this. I came to the conclusion that perhaps my wacky neighbor snuck in while I wasn't looking and did this. Well, he didn't.
Well, a few people who happened to be online during the Great Dorito Freeze of 2000 heard the story and got a hearty chuckle out of it. But one day a few weeks later, Shannah (StoryLori's sister in law (StoryLori is the girl who fell into the manhole) announced to me that she found a bag of Doritos in HER refrigerator. She asked her husband (another Jeff) about it and he replied "I want them in there.leave them." Concerned, she related the story to me (as she should). She confronted Jeff about it again and he said that his chips were soggy and hot, so he wanted them to be cool and crisp.
The next day, Jeff put mustard in her medicine cabinet causing her to weep openly, confused. On a serious note, though, Shannah reports that she has now "found the way" and is putting EVERYTHING in the fridge! Popcorn, cereal, toothpaste, bras, even Tylenol! What is this world coming to?
One final note-it has come to my attention that my own father (Ralph) has taken to making fun of me while I live 3000 miles away. Apparently, a few weeks ago, my parents were driving somewhere behind a car that was similar to my Turquoise Bullet and the driver was wearing glasses and a hat. This prompted Tina to say "Doesn't that guy remind you of Jeff?" And my father-a generally congenial guy says "No.there's a girl next to him." Just what I need: "Dadditude"
So, this unprompted attack on me (along with Prancing Pony Lonie's discovery of this story on the web) reminded me of a fantastic story about my Dad that may explain that stupidity runs in my family. I will share this anecdote with you now in this "West Coast Jeff Flashback!" (It is summer rerun season, after all.)
One morning, while I was in college, Ralph, who drives a school bus was being exceptionally annoying in the bathroom. He was making general gagging and vomiting noises.coughing and hacking. You know, sounds taken directly from the CD that came with the book "How To Annoy the Crap Out of Your Entire Family at 5AM".
Feigning concern, I asked what the issue was (hoping that it would make the vomit noises stop). He hollered incoherently for a minute and then resumed gagging and coughing. So I turned my radio on.
Finally, after about 10 minutes of nonstop yucknoises, he confessed. Turns out he was brushing his teeth, and when he put the toothbrush in his mouth, he realized that he didn't actually put toothpaste on the toothbrush. Rather, he put Desitin. That's right--the oily diaper-rash cream generally used on baby-ass. Seems he just grabbed the first tube in the medicine cabinet. (Shannah reports that if he kept it in the fridge, none of this would have happened, and you'd be reading a chain letter or forward of some kind.)
The oily consistency that one normally doesn't find on toothpaste stuck with him for weeks. He was, to say the very least, unhappy. So, next time you see diaper rash, be sure to think of my dad.
And that wraps up another edition of West Coast Jeff. I leave you now with some words of wisdom from TV Toon Boy, Sean Quinn, who reminds everyone "If you dip your fingers in jalapeno sauce, don't rub your eye the next day- even if you think you washed really good. It still burns."
Okbye! --Jeff
