Last Saturday Heather and Esmé made plans for us and two other friends to go to Heather's cabin in Running Springs for a few days. They dropped me off at Ava's the night before, as I was in the midst of a belligerent rant about having been slighted by some selfish Californian fuck who refused me a singe hit of his joint, which in my opinion warranted all, if not further unchecked infuriation. So the next morning I waited for them to pick me up before we headed to the mountains, where we planned to meet their friends Sunny and Andrew. They arrived, we hopped in Heathers Chevy Caprice, and despite having just parked, found that it wouldn't start. We called AAA and they pulled up approximately 10 seconds later. After determining that it wasn't the battery, they called us a tow truck and said it would be about 30 minutes. After waiting 50 minutes I called AAA back and asked what the deal was. The lady proceeded to bitch me out, saying the tow truck had been waiting by our car for 30 minutes and calling us non-stop. "We'll that's just Wrong" I replied. "We've literally been sitting on the car this entire time, you think we want to be waiting here and I'd lie just to spite you?" She huffed and puffed and I was a dick because she deserved it and she said, with enraging smugness, that another truck would come in an hour. Eventually the truck came, towed us one fucking mile to Pep Boys, we had the starter replaced and were on our way.
I was exhausted, passed out in the back, woke up at dusk to a snow covered mountainside and started to write my last post. We finally reached her cabin around 7 that night. It sat on a steep, snow covered slope, and Heather and I spent a good hour shoveling out their driveway before finally getting to sit and enjoy its idyllic glory. When we came inside, Esme had a roaring fire going and we relished in its warmth. A short time later their friends Andrew and Sunny arrived, whom I'd met the night before. Sunny was a long, blonde haired, stereotypical Californian and Andrew was a short brown haired half-Brazilian. Both were smart, likable and talented guitarists, which made for lively conversation and fun drunken singing throughout the weekend.
I could describe the next two days in explicit detail, but it wouldn't be worth it. We basically just laid around the fireplace, ate, drank, went sledding and smoked. Some highlights were a conversation about how Californians hilariously refer to all numbered roads as "the 101" or "the 405", something they didn't realize no one else does (it sounds EXACTLY like this...The Californian's), the Inglourious Bastards drinking game, dodging trees while perilously sledding through a foggy, night blizzard, homemade pizza and highly contentious games of Othello which made Esmé and I both enraged and briefly despise each other.
Actually the awesomeness of the weekend can be summed up by one event. We were standing on the deck, smoking spliffs, when the next door neighbor, an older man, came stumbling through the snow over to our deck, clearly shitfaced at 10 AM, and handed me a freshly rolled joint. He said it was from his homegrown supply, we thanked him profusely and as he stumbled away, I yelled after him "I Fucking Love California!".
Ill do one more post about the week which I'll try to get up tomorrow, so I can describe some other absurd events of the week in their absolute fullest and most hilarious detail. If its not up in a few days its because I'm probably living with the bums on Venice Boardwalk and either don't have Internet or have been shanked with an AIDs ridden needle.
