The Indoor Hummingbird.

I love the moment in the evening when your apartment turns into the most interesting lounge in the world.  Your ordinary lighting becomes atmospheric and the scotch you have sloppily dumped over jagged ice becomes a well crafted cocktail in the hands of some better for of “you”.  We were there in every way as we got knee-deep in night.  A bottle of Jack was destroyed quickly and afterwords it was user’s choice between Thomas’ gaudy bottle of Makers and beers too cold to drink fast.  You end up in limousines and questionable locales.  You cook two frozen pizzas and feel like you skipped the part of your life where you grew up for a few minutes, laugh your ass off, and the appreciate the growing up you did with a face full of Gatorade and a good look in the mirror.

to quote role models, let us gingerly touch our tips.

Calamity Saturday involved the most shotgunning of beer I have done outside a USC tailgate in years.  Sloppy sneaker bottoms dragged beer inside the apartment and I looked like an idiot later.  At one point of the evening after the sliding glass balcony door was open for under twenty seconds, an uninvited visitor made its way inside.  A hummingbird made a bee line inside and continually slammed into the ceiling, confused and disoriented in some kind of bird-amphetamine rage.  Halfway through an epic game of wizard (duct tape your finished beers together to create a wizard staff.  i know, i know.  it was awesome, though) we realized that we have unintentionally become zookeepers.

I rush to set up a perimeter, shrugging off the initial disappointment of knowing now I will need to trap a freaked out bird that flies faster than a slug out of a .45 with a super pointy beak.  Once the doors were closed, Tom and Morgan and Garrett and Thomas make moves to open the balcony.  I am trapped in the kitchen as the bird cannot be allowed to make it into the interior of the apartment.  This battle will be won or lost in the living room.  Somewhere in Pismo my fiancee is blissfully unaware that I am so dumb a hummingbird has flown into our well-decorated apartment and there is a good chance if we don’t catch it soon, we will need to destroy the damn thing with a tennis racket.  No one is particularly sober and I am sorry to my PETA readers (I’m not that sorry, really) but sometimes a hummingbird needs to die before it gives everyone bird rabies and takes a dump in my Yamazaki.  Can’t be allowed to happen.

it sat there watching. like the raven.

Tom begins using a towel to flush it towards the door.  At this point, I am able to make it out of the kitchen.  I have no good strategy, but soon the bird is stuck in my blinds and we need a new plan.  This bird cannot fly low enough to leave.  Tom grabs an empty box of Keystone Light (did I mention we were playing wizard?) and traps the bird inside.  We release it into the wild, but before we can celebrate, the bird is now dive-bombing our windows.  I wonder if the bird is an ex-girlfriend of mine that has died without my knowledge trying to get back at me for something or other.  The situation becomes terrifying.  This bird is fucking headbutting my window.  It may have brain damage.  I am now considering the option of putting the damn thing out of its misery, but am not sure if the decision to murder a bird will put a damper on the the night and I really want to go to a bar.

knighted.

Garrett is something like a level fifteen wizard so it is time to go.  We take a cab to St. Nick’s, but it is deader than disco.  There is a man who looks like Fat Albert wearing full cowboy gear in the corner.  I am pretty sure he is staring at me and the whole thing is off-putting.  I feel like he’s got five other cowboys in the parking lot and things could go Deliverance very quickly.  Also off-putting is the crew of people living in a dream world where we notice their dates and they get jealous.  It was odd.  On our way out of the bar, we get mean looks that no one can figure out.  Maybe they are with Samuel L. Cowboy.  It’s weird.  It’s awkward balls.

Morgan uses his super human strength to try and knee a fire hydrant (not sure if intentionally), but he seems to lose the battle or at best tie it.  He sits on the sidewalk and accepts the pain before standing up and continuing on our way.  I am fairly sure he has broken his patella, but he seems like he is moving well and we figure another drink will only help.

We find ourselves at Roger Room and I get a Japanese Maple and wonder how egg, maple syrup, lemon and whiskey will mesh with everything else.  So far so good.  I see Yeardley Smith across the bar and wonder if it’d be cool to bring up the fact that she is Lisa Simpson with her, but then decide against it because she is sort of old and I have no idea where the conversation could lead that would be interesting unless I asked her to sing “Lisa It’s Your Birthday” or something like that.  By the time my thought is completed, she is gone or I just can’t find her in the dark bar.

Instead, I am rewarded with the world’s most annoying girl discussing her co-worker Randy.  She is so wasted that she keeps saying the word Randy.  How often?  I made it my facebook status in case any of you follow me there.  “Randy is like so wealthy.  I was at his house, Randy, you know and I ask him like Randy, how did you get so rich?  Randy’s like computers.  I say Randy, that is crazy.  Randy’s house is crazy”.

All I could think about on the way home was how much I wish we had taken that hummingbird to the bar and when the Randy girl was being ridiculous we just flipped it into her purse and shook it up.  Where would Randy be then to save her?  Randy?  Randy?

The decision to walk home was dubious and most conversations are either lost or kept in a vault where only silly conversations go.  That said, I did call a real estate guy and asked him why the leather coat store on Beverly had been cleared out and how angry I was that when I was older and able to afford a leather coat I would have to buy it in other places.  I also stole a flag from an open house, but then put it back because I realized the person who put that flag there was probably someone’s mother and I wouldn’t want anyone to do something like that to my mother.  Instead, I opted to tear out a palm frond and play with it as we made our way back to my place.

Leave a comment

Filed under Rants and Musings

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s