my own worst enemy

I want my baby back, baby back, baby back...

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

I got a letter form U.S. Customs this weekend telling me that they are finally ready to "remit the forfeiture of my vehicle," which is a bunch of fancy lawyer jargon for "you can have your car back." That's right, bitches, Rashanda the Honda is that much closer to making her way back into my arms! Sadly, nothing is easy when the government is involved, so there are still several steps before I get my baby back. I have to sign a Hold Harmless Agreement, pay storages fees (which will probably be about $700 which I'm not happy about), schedule an insurance adjuster, get the car towed back to LA, get the registration re-instated, and so on, and so on. Basically, it's going to take up a whole weekend here soon. The worst part is that I still have no idea what shape she is in. All I've been told is that the radio is gone (big surprise) and that Customs had to remove some sort of "compartment."

In our own form of civil boycott, my roommates and I have decided to form our own 50-mile bicycle ride right here in the safety of the U-nited States of Amerka. We're calling it the "Dude, Where's My Car" Bicycle Ride. Some of us, whose names rhyme with "boat," are fondly refering to it as the "Fuck Mexico"* Bicycle Ride. I'll let you think about that one for a bit. Anyways, the ride will begin somewhere in the vacinity of Buellton or Solvang and wind it's way down PCH to the town of Carpenteria, where there will be much drinking and debauchery, and no car thefts. We still have to map out the route, but we intend to hold the event on or about the same weekend as the Rosarito-Ensenada ride (that's the one where Rashanda was kidnapped).

As for the rest of this past weekend, everything rocked. The barcade lived up to all expectations. Old school games at old school prices (just a quarter!) and PBR in a can for two bucks. Two bucks! I know, I know, that's $1.50 too much. But for LA nightlife, a two dollar beer is something special. Follow it all up with Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles and you have a hell of an evening.

Saturday night was Mel & Jess's Mardi Gras party, complete with beads, masks, and streamers, none of which were used properly. None of the girls actually earned their beads, so that was a disappointment. Mostly it was just a grand occassion for getting housed. Mel apparently took advantage of said opportunity as she doesn't remember much of anything from the party. Well done.

Booter and I began watching the complete series of The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. If you have never seen this show, well, then you're in a sad state of affairs. Or blessed, depending how you look at it. To give you an idea of the target audience, my Dad absolutely loves the show for it's sense of humor. You've been warned. Or encouraged. You decide.


* Note: I don't hate all of Mexico, just the petty thieves, drug dealers, corrupt cops, and diarrhea-causing water.

Labels: Los Angeles, Mexico, Rashanda, TV, US Customs, weekend

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