The Love Song of Jorts Alfred Snaggle Tooth

Either a picture of Lindsay Lohan riiight before she went to rehab, or, a picture of me in my living room last night

After this weekend, I need to go on a cleansing diet.   It’s not even that I did anything crazy or, well, even that exciting really; The Hangover is not a retelling of my weekend adventures, and few laws were actually broken.  And yet, I somehow managed to make myself juuuust a little bit less insurable by a major health care provider.

It started out with me eating 1/3 of a pizza that I got from work.  That’s kind of a lot when you realize that a single slice is like indegestion on a honeywheat crust.  Why do you need salsa on a pizza? Well because it’s delicious, and if you have to ask, you’ve already lost at life. After I finished clogging my arteries, the Good Ex-Roomate and I shared a cab to the Giants ballpark to go watch a movie screening. Once there, we met up with Caitlin’s friends from high school, Matt, Jojo and Ryan, Tony, and a dude with the unfortunate nickname of ‘Dick Filler’.

A French cigarette break later, and we were now free to start a really –well, I’ll be honest — random, night. We all got a couple brewskies and settled into the stands for the most awful movie ever. It was written/directed/starring a pair of identical twin brothers (and Ed Harris with a pedophile ‘stache was in it? Look, I don’t know if he has an agent anymore either, okay?). Nor, do I know why these brothers felt their lives were important enough for a bio pic — but I think that’s because I didn’t watch the movie. Perhaps if I had, I could tell you why these two jokers think we should give a shit about their lives.  Maybe.  Maybe not.  I have no idea.  Here’s what I can tell you: the taller twin wore jorts — and often no shirt.  This seemed to be symbolic of the movie’s overall theme in someway. And, because he was the taller twin, he was mean and yelled a lot. The shorter twin was missing a tooth.

“You like, wouldn’t even do either of them.” Caitlin shook her head in bemusement. Some more drinking later and we changed our tune.

“You know, I think I’d do Jorts. He’s not so bad.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Yeah, I was thinking that too. He’s totally doable. I’d be DTF for Jorts.” Caitlin agreed. “But then you’d feel bad about yourself the next day.”

“Better an awkward morning, than a lonely night.” Dick Filler reasoned. He and Jojo had just come back from “smoking a dooby” with a crack dealer. No, that’s true.
“What are you talking about? They’re identical!” Jojo chimed in.  But then she added, “no, I don’t like the taller one, he’s too skinny. I like the other one.’
‘Snaggle Tooth?!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “He’s missing a tooth!’
‘I kind of like snaggle teeth. I think it’s sexy.’

Then, instead of getting better, the movie actually started to suck more.  So, we left. Leaning out over the water as we gazed out at the Bay Bridge, the remainder of Caitlin’s French fags were consumed.
The night was young, and we decided to go to a nearby bar, and that’s when I gave Tony the wrong idea.
Tony: So you’re happy you moved out here?
Me:Yeah! Great weather, good people — you.

Apparently, (and totally unbeknownst to me at the time) this was flirting. But honestly, I just thought that was like, one of those things you just tell people to be funny. Like: “I got two tickets to the gun show”; “that’s what she said”; or, “I love you”…Buut I guess I was wrong. The tone of our conversation took a quick turn for the pits, and suddenly we were talking about his family’s vineyard, and how I can get a free bottle of their wine — homeboy was trying to impress me.  Little did he know that at that point I was ravenous and would have been more impressed if he had led me towards a giant vat of garlic fries.  But, he didn’t.  So, I wasn’t. Later, at the bar, as I sipped on my pomegranate cider (the bomb dot com by the way) he was like, “hey, can I get your number? Or, wait, let me give you my card.” He reached into his pocket.  “Call it sometime…I mean if you want.’ He added shyly.
“What? You have business cards?!’ Dick Filler demanded from across the table.  Later, I would go on to lose this business card in a cab, but for now, I shrugged my shoulders and wearily shoved the business card into my bag.  I think this is called networking?

Then there was the power struggle.  It was really still early — barely eleven o’clock, what should we do next?  Jojo and Ryan wanted to go back to Ryan’s house. Tony and Dick Filler did too. Caitlin decidedly did not. I still just wanted some food.  Caitlin and I tried our best to negotiate everyone coming back to our side of the city, but we lost, and Tony ended up driving (annnd almost killing us) out to The Sunset where Ryan lives. In the car, the longest pipe ever was produced, and  put to prompt use. Meanwhile, Ryan rode his bike back.
We stopped off at a liquor store, where it was decided that Caitlin and I were in charge of buying more drinks.  “We’re only getting hard alcohol.” Caitlin warned. No one cared.  Mostly, because they were kinda high and kinda drunk anyway. In the store, Caitlin got the brilliant idea to get tequila.
“We’ll keep everyone awake, and then bring the party back to North Beach. It’s brilliant.”
“Oh man, I have work tomorrow morning, and I have to get up early. Tequila is such a bad idea…okay, let’s do it!”
We were stumped when it came time to figure out what to mix it with.  Limes and salt you say? Or, how about 7 Up? It’s like you read my mind.  And it’s off to Ryan’s house!

Ryan’s house exists in a foggy scape of my mind.  In fact, I’d put good money on the fact that he lives in an alternate universe where time does not exist. Caitlin made tequila and 7up drinks — which wasn’t bad. We took a tour of Ryan’s parents’ garden. Cigarette smoke continued to swirl about the indigo sky.  I spent like 10 minutes just stroking Caitlin’s lighter (so smooth!) Jojo ordered a half cheese, half pesto and sausage pizza — and boy was this just the best invention since salsa on a pizza — it was great. I called dibbs on the last slice, even though I’d only had two bites of the one I was working on. Whatever, you just gotta call dibbs faster.

Then, Jojo rolled a joint with the precision of a heart surgeon. More cigarettes were smoked, and no one could find Jojo. Turns out, after rolling the joint she fell asleep. Right around the time that Caitlin put Rod Steward on the stereo, the party began to disband; Jojo wanted to sleep, and then Dick Filler and Tony left. And then Matt called. Apparently, he went to an Erica Badu concert after smoking the dooby with Jojo and Dick Filler and the crack dealer at the ball park. So, Caitlin, Ryan, and I sat around in Ryan’s kitchen waiting for him.

“So much for my great plan to keep everyone awake with tequila.” Caitlin mused over a tequila 7 up. Meanwhile, Ryan was rushing around cleaning everything in sight.
‘Uhh d’ya know what time Matt’s gonna get here?” He asked.
“I don’t know, soon.”
“Oh.’ Ryan sat down at the table, and looked around awkwardly.
“Ryan, you can go to bed, you don’t have to stay up.’ Caitlin told him. Ryan looked relieved.

“Okay, great. Turn off the radio when you leave. Good night.” And he jumped out of his chair and raced upstairs. Matt came soon after wards, but he wasn’t feelin’ an after party in NoBeach, and he just decided to crash at Ryan’s. Disappointed, Caitlin and I took our Jose  Cuervo and called a cab.

My new roomate wasn’t home, and so we went back to my new place to enjoy a Roomie Madoff-free time in the neigb. The cab driver took his merry little time getting us back, and delightfully he decided to take the scenic route — including going down SF’s famous ‘crookedist street’ Lombard Street.

Lombard Street

This was really nice of our driver. How did he know we wanted to take the route that was going to cover the most square mileage possible? I love spending as much on a cab as I can!

Back at my apartment we drank more tequila, ondemanded Charm School, then I apparently passed out. After Caitlin left, I ate more of my work pizza. That was like, 7 slices of pizza in one night. A pizza monster. That’s what I was.

Today, I woke up at 10am– the time I planned on catching the bus for work. The bus was running late, and before I knew it, I had 10 minutes to get to work on time. I’m not mathematician, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it, so I called in late. Got to work, rushed in 10:50 — 10 minutes later than planned. The machine wouldn’t let me clock in.  My manager looked at me puzzled.

“What are you doing here? You’re not on until 11:15. We don’t open until 11:30 on Sundays.”
“Oh. You mean I’m not late?’ I huffed.
“No. You’re super early.”
“Oh.” And then I slunk off awkwardly in a corner, and tried my best not to look too hungover.  I’m not sure I succeeded.