BUN BOY EATS LA

THE OAKS GOURMET MARKET

I’m a bit of a hypochondriac.

By bit, I mean, every headache is a tumor.

Every stomach cramp is a bleeding ulcer.

I get it from my mother, the nurse.

Nurse Beelzebub!

After rattling off some symptoms I had called her in a panic about, she casually stated, “Well, that’s a sign of MS.”

MS???!!

Daily, she instills in me the fact that “Oh, and yes, that headache IS a tumor”

She’s always been convinced there is a tumor festering inside of her own brain.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that a verbal confirmation that a swollen lymph node is a symptom of HIV would not be my most comforting phone call of the day.

Let’s just say, the ER staff at Cedars- Sinai remembered me the last time I was in.

The reason behind one of my several fun visits was a heart attack turned heart burn.

Damn.

It wasn’t even acid reflux!

The incident occurred shortly after finishing a cup of a Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks. That coffee is very acidic! Deadly, even.

I also fear the day my veneers will fall out.

Every morning I check them to make sure they’re still there and not affixed to my pillow in a small pool of dried blood.

I won’t bite into an apple or chew into a hunk of bread.

I sometimes check them for no reason except that there happens to be a toothpaste commercial on.

They’re my worst enemy.

Captain tells me getting veneers was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

“You’re obsessed!!” she rants.

Before I was roped into getting the pricey chiclets, my dentist said in her thick Persian accent: “You have the teeth of a 65-70 year old! If you don’t get veneers, your teeth will break and you’ll have to get caps and they’ll look hideous!”

‘Nuff said. Here’s my credit card, lady.

We were told the burger at The Oaks Grocery store was one of the top ten in LA. It’s an upscale deli that also serves some gourmet hot foods, including this undercooked beauty. It was pretty tasty but the ice cream sandwich pictured at the top is the best reason to go. Wow, I should have just injected a pound of sugar directly in my veins.

We also opened up some beers we purchase while sitting at one of their tables watching the World Cup and were promptly scolded angrily “You can drink that in here. It’s against the law!!”

BISTRO LQ

I haven’t done an actual restaurant review in ages. I apologize. I got bored with the whole format.

It’s my website, I’m allowed to eat out and not document and dissect every meal. Am I not?

Sorry to sound cranky, I’m writing this in between urgent trips to the bathroom. I must have accidentally looked at some dairy! :(

So, I met Siegfried and Roy at Bistro LQ, a someone new hot spot on Beverly. Voted LA’s #2 new restaurant by LA Magazine.

We were given an amuse-bouche by the short, thin waiter with the obnoxiously messy hair.

It was a spoonful of OCTOPUS tenticle.

I downed my glass of wine and decided, what the hell, and stuck the spoon in my mouth.

And chewed…and chewed…and chewed…

Not delicious.

We started with salads, mine was a circular vegetable salad containing a tempura battered squash blossom and herebed goat cheese. Yum!

I also tried SWEETBREADS for the first time.

By the way, they aren’t sweet. Nor are they a bread product.

They are a brain gland.

And it wasn’t bad!

I then ordered a shameful meal.

Veal.

I’m a bad person.

I was basically bashing the poor baby calf on the skull myself.

And paying a pretty penny to do so.

But it sure was tender and delicious! You could just taste the suffering.

For dessert I ate some pistachio mousse with a SKID MARK surprise.

Was the chef pissed at me??

At least cover your mess with more mousse!

We finished with a cheese platter.

With a special nugget of cheese DIRECTLY FROM HELL.

It was probably the most revolting thing I’ve ever sniffed. And then tasted twice to see if the random dipping sauces and honey’s would improve the ghastly flavor.

This wasn’t just essence of feet. This was rotting corpse feet from a post Hurricane Katrina flooded cemetery.

BUN BOY EATS PASO ROBLES

I’m about to out a friend of mine.

Is she gay?

No.

Is she a drug abuser?

Not yet.

Does she tend to shit her pants on numerous occasions?

Yes.

And she’s quite proud of it.

I’ll never forget the first time I encountered her lack of bowel control.

We were in the middle of 5k foot race. 3.1 little miles.

Not a 5 day hike in the Andes.

She ended up discarding her panties in a friend’s trash.

This time I won’t mention her nick name as many of you know her by that.

I’ll just call her PS, lovingly.

Well, a small group of friends and I all rented a charming 100 year old house in Paso Robles for the 4th of July weekend.

We squeezed into two cars and drove up the California coast to wine country, where we would spend the next four days enjoying mass quantities of the stuff.

Only for the health benefits, mind you. Antioxidants and crap.

PS and her bf are Paso Robles enthusiasts, they go up there all the time and know all the wineries to go to.

AKA: “This is where we’re going people, I’m sure the wineries you guys like suck!”

Friday afternoon, we arrive at our first winery. Our group is so large, they usually give us our own table.

I was making internal bets on how many wineries in until we were asked to leave.

We’re a….gregarious group…

PS brought the fixings for a picnic, so after we got relatively loopy from our first tasting, we opened a few bottles of vino and dug into the cheeses, salami, crackers and grapes.

Several grapes were thrown at people’s heads, naturally.

We squeezed in a few more wineries before they all closed for the evening, got ready at the house, and headed out for a casual pizza dinner.

I felt like buying a trip to the salad bar (one trip per purchase, please)

PS took her bowl back a second time, barking “Who cares!?” to the one trip rule.

She proceeded to eat carrots and broccoli as if they were a final, death row meal.

PS, prone to bouts of severe, revolting gas, doesn’t seem to care when she crams cabbage and cauliflower down her gullet.

We’re the ones that pay the price.

After an enormous rat crawls over my foot, Loggie and I head home and the rest of them go out and enjoy the “nightlife” which included a bar called the Twisted Kilt.

I found out later that one of our party imbibed so much Jesus Juice, that he ended up disrobing completely on his way walking home. Arriving at our house in ONLY his flip flops.

The next day passes uneventfully. We have an early lunch at Farmstand 46.

I dig a potato chip so deeply into my gums, my mouth soon fills with blood and I can feel the flap of loose skin for a week after.

We spent the day driving around the beautiful Paso countryside, visiting 7 wineries, and petting the animals at each one.

There’s always a cute dog or a lazy cat at each one to play with.

There’s always a cute dog or a lazy cat at each one to play with.

We visit the winery at which PS will be getting married at next year.

I can only hope her wedding dress will have built in Depends undergarments.

By Sunday, I’m a bit sick of wine. And am exhausted. I usually just lay on the grass in front of every other winery, looking up at the wind blowing through the trees.

My purple stained teeth and my acid reflux began acting up.

Often times I turn to Chesty Morgan and ask “Do you like that wine?”

“Tastes just like all the others!” she replies.

We spent that evening playing the game Celebrity, kind of like charades.

Pretty soon the pretty house smelled like Satan’s basement.

Spilled beer, flatulence and someone had unnecessarily micowaved some Manchego cheese that smelled like a nuclear incident.

Monday, we pack up and head to breakfast.

A charming diner called HOOVER’S BEEF PALACE.

I’m surprised we got in, the place was so upscale and exclusive. I was worried my wardrobe didn’t contain enough denim.

I order the largest chicken fried steak on record. I believe it was actually chicken fried sting ray.

Then I felt the ½ order of biscuits and gravy that accompanied my light breakfast snack would not be enough, so I increased it to a full order.

Ridiculous.

PS ended up devouring most of my dish as well as her own Steak and Eggs.

After we were finished and some of us were waiting everyone to finish using the restroom, PS emerged proudly and proclaimed (laughing hysterically):

“Loggie, I just crapped my pants!”

“What?” Loggie (not too shocked) laughed.

“Seriously, my underwear is in the bathroom garbage!”

We all laughed (and then checked out her story).

Loggie commented “I love that you proudly display your underwear on the top of the trash, not even bothering to cover it with toilet paper!”

“Loggie, am I your little crapper? Am I your pooper?”

PS pouted as she threw her arms around her boyfriend, continuing to laugh so hard I feared there would be another accident.

Unfortunately, both ‘pooper’ and ‘crapper’ are not new terms of endearment for the couple….

And yes, they’re still getting married next year.

I hate lotto winners

I hate Joan Ginther.

This woman with a stupid name just won a multi-million dollar lottery.

For the 4th time!!!

(with a friggin’ scratch ticket!!)

That’s just not right.

I don’t believe in the lottery, I think it’s obnoxious.

I think it’s worse than Miley Cyrus’s gummy smile.

I don’t believe in getting ones’ hopes up that high.

No one with teeth and a desire to own outside of a trailer park ever wins.

Yes, I’m jealous.

Jealous that Joan Stupidface will get to add a wing to her tacky, faux finish Vegas crack den and procure a few dozen more mangy cats to poop in all the corners.

This is why I LOVE to watch programs such as “Curse of the Lottery!”

Please don’t tell Joan that she owes any taxes.

OK……..

so I need to pay homage to my friend Nancy.

She cooked this delicious meal for me for my birthday and I wanted to showcase it.

Nancy is a hoot. She’s a little wild.

Once, she invited me to a Mexican restaurant in the Valley and said I could come early because she was enjoying cocktails in her car.

She made me a fantastic Rosemary Pork Tenderloin

and heavenly Mac and Cheese!

That is my random post for today. Stay tuned for my wine soaked adventures in Paso Robles this past weekend!

Hippies, Mud Baths and Monkey Brains – Day 4 & 5

The next day I decide to bump up the exercise a notch.

After all, I’m eating red chili popcorn and hot chili pistachio brittle at a maddening pace!

I go for a run around the neighborhood (getting lost at EVERY turn), then come back in time for our yoga and then we head out to the compound of Ghost Ranch (Georgia O’Keefe’s pad), which is now a museum, learning center, and HIPPY OASIS.

On our way to the ranch, we stop at the most random country store selling the largest array of spicy chips you ever did see.

I buy some red chili enchiladas that they kept in this barely warm heating case and we order some FRITO PIE.

I am 99% positive diahrea is around the corner.

We enjoy our meals inside the store, next to the town sheriff.

God, small towns scare me.

At the ranch, we do one of the most beautiful hikes I’ve ever done, wandering around the landscape that inspired Georgia as she fled to the isolation because she “found people difficult.”

We hike up to Chimney Rock, or Penis Rock, as the locals call it. (a complete lie)

We head to the gift shop to buy refreshments while the elderly cashier learns how to use the computer, and we must endure the most intense fart smell on record.

When we begin to head to our car, we encounter utter chaos!

To our left, under the tree, is a drum circle. To our right is a gaggle of girls sitting on the ground, laughing hysterically, most likely enjoying magic mushroom tea.

Then some old guy is playing guitar to no one in particular, next to a tree.

As I shut the car door on all the madness, I can still hear the girls screaming laughter.

Georgia would have been so proud. “Damn tree huggers all up in my business! I told you I don’t like people!” (direct quote)

Are you sensing Deja Vu yet? :)

At around 4 in the afternoon, we drove to the beautiful OJO CALIENTE, an upscale hot springs resort.

We paid our $16 entrance fee and relaxed in several of the 7 luxurious mineral hot springs and even took a mud bath.

Not the stereotypical lay in a vat of thick mud and get a yeast infection, rather you go to a pot of muddy water, rub it all over you and lay out in the sun to let it cake on.

Afterwards we hung out in several of the pools, including the Soda Pools, which aid in digestion and the Arsenic Pool (yes, it actually contains the poisonous substance) which is good for gross skin ailments and immediate death.

I relaxed on a hammock (or Ham Hock as my friend incorrectly refers to it) for the rest of the afternoon.

This is my view. Hideous.

The next morning, we do our routine yoga session, (god that woman on the DVD is becoming quite irritating – “I want you to do what’s good for you”

I’ll show you what’s good for you, lady.

We head out to the Tsankawi Prehistoric site with some incredible cave homes of the ancient Indians. And unlike the ones inside Bandelier, we have these all to ourselves and can wander inside all of them.

As we park, we realize we have to pay. Uh…really?

We already paid for Bandelier (which covers us for 7 days) but we tossed the receipt.

Hmm, do we take a chance and have a small town sheriff with a penchant for rape harass us?

Indeed.

Here I am, saving Louise’s very life!

So, we do our hike through these amazing caves and cliff dwellings. The hiking path is actually this really weird ancient stone aqueduct. Most likely for the spilled blood to drain.

On the walls of the caves are ancient Petroglyphs; graffiti of the rebellious Indian teens, smoking their peace pipes behind the pueblo.

Along the way are bits of ancient pottery, which we’re supposed to not touch and leave where we find it. The point of the place is an outdoor museum.

We decide to leave our Karma be and not sneak anything into our pockets.

My hikes back in LA are gonna SUCK after this!!

After we race back to our car, sure we are to find a $1000 ticket on the windshield (we lucked out) we head back to Santa Fe for lunch at The Shed.

It’s a nice, shady outdoor café and we order Green Chili Stew.

It’s a Santa Fe classic dish that has been dancing in my head since we got here.

I also order the Chilled Raspberry Soup (similar to chilled monkey brains). Quite nice.

Three bitefulls and it was finished.

We wander around town to see the Oldest House in America (allegedly).

Wasn’t much going on there.

We walk around the very BROWN town.

Then we see the a few old churches. I’m sure there’s some historical junk to note. That I didn’t note.

Then we see a mysterious staircase that a mysterious man made for the church from only wood, a hammer, some water and a level. No nails. And no support beams. Mysterious.

Apparently it was featured on Unsolved Mysteries a hundred years ago.

I light a prayer candle for my grandmother and then we head home for nap time. Yes, we’re 6 years old.

For dinner, we do the famous cornmeal crust pizza at Backroad Pizza, featured on ‘Dine-In’s, Diners and Dives’

We order the New Mexican pizza which features, of course, the omnipresent green chili’s and wash it down with an IPA.

BTW, this blog took me about 17 hours to complete. You guys had better be grateful!

CHILIS AND DEAD COW HEADS – DAY 2 & 3

The next morning, I wake up late (7:30 a.m.) and try desperately to connect to the internet for about 2 hours

I give up, throw my ancient laptop out the window, it crashes to the freeway below (which comprises 85% of our lovely view) and start to write my blog.

Something I must complain about, besides the plethora of wolfen art, is our toilet.

Our doting porcelain god has about 1% water pressure.

Watching my goodies descend through the tiny abyss reminded me of watching a clogged bathtub drain.

I had many a panicky moment.

We do a little DVD yoga before starting our day, as everyone does on vacation, right?

I had my cell phone next to me so I could text away. Even Yogi masters agree this is always a good idea.

We have breakfast at this cute little locals spot called Tesuque Village Market. Vintage jazz is playing as we scarf down our carnitas and eggs doused in Christmas sauce.

At this point in the trip, I cannot get enough of food covered in chili sauce. This will soon change. 8 hours later.

We head to the Tesuque Flea Market to do some turquoise shopping.

As it’s located on a reservation, no cameras are allowed. I believe there’s something to do with stealing and souls, but not quite sure what. I can’t be bothered to ask, I mean I don’t really care.

First of all, turquoise is expensive. I always thought it was cheap and only my grandmother wore the stuff, but apparently I’m wrong.

We happen upon a tent filled with turquoise and leather belts in disarray and a cowboy walks up. When he speaks, however, he sounds like Paul Lynne!

“Girl, I couldn’t sell that to you for less than a hundy (hundred)!”

He’s quite knowledgeable about all his wares (crap) and I soon realize that I will never be able to afford to buy any turquoise or leather products.

‘Where’s the $5 table??’, I ask internally? I want to get fake turquoise for my family, but there doesn’t seem to be any.

What kind of world do we live in??

I see a bracelet that is somewhat manly in the $200 range, which is the cheapest thing I’ve seen so far.

I decide that if I don’t see anything better in a week, we’ll come back before we leave.

On Turquoise overload, we head to downtown, very brown Santa Fe.

For more turquoise shopping.

Pretty soon, I discover a pattern and that pretty much everyone is selling the same stuff. In the town square, Native Americans are lined up next to each other, reading books and hanging out, each with a blanket full of jewelry.

There obviously is nothing else worth buying in Santa Fe.

I want food and candy containing chili powder. That’s become my one mission.

Eventually I buy Jalapeno Jam’s, Red Chili Pistachio Brittle and Popcorn with green/red chili on it.

I’m in chili heaven.

I devour the chili peanut brittle in seconds and then dig into the popcorn like a drug fiend who’s just gotten his fix.

We head to this outdoor sculpture garden.

We stop and have a beer and some chips and guacamole at some restaurant overlooking the square.

As we walk back to our car, we realize many of the local musicians are playing the exact same Beatles song, “Let it Be”. A bit creepy.

Then we head home for a southwest nap. Covered in chili sauce.

For dinner, we drove to Pasqual’s, for which I had a reservation the PREVIOUS night. Oops. Turned away, we walk (in the wrong direction – have to turn around after 15 minutes) to The Cowgirl.

A fun, western-themed complex, Cowgirl is a Southwest BBQ joint.

I order the Mac and Cheese with Green Chili’s and Fried Chicken and Jalapeno Cornbread.

Just a light snack, however, this is pretty much my dream meal.

We start every morning doing Yoga to this DVD that everyone is quite sick of.

We move all the living room furniture to the walls and make fun of everything this woman is saying, quoting her favorite mantra “I have a great ass, I have a great ass.”

We spent the past two days exploring New Mexico’s natural wonders and relaxing. It was quite lovely.

Monday, we head out to Bandelier National Monument to visit the 10,000 year old ruins of the ancient Pueblo civilization. Quite impressive.

In addition to the stone foundations of their ancient homes, we get to explore the cliff dwellings, which was really cool.

They have ladders you can climb to the more impressive caves.

However, they were all currently inhabited…by loud children…

Not expecting to encounter this common, obtrusive species, we patiently wait as they wobble up the ladders speaking in foreign tongues, something along the lines of :

“Mommy, it’s too high up!”

We soon realize the best strategy is to dart ahead to another cave, where we find more children. We were befuddled.

As one little boy vacillates at the base of the ladder, I rush past him up the ladder at the speed of light (only partly to spite him) and look around the tiny 3 foot high cave, then scedaddle out in record time.

After we finish our hike, not seeing any of the promised petroglyphs (ancient Pueblo rock drawings) we set out on another hike that is supposed to take us to a waterfall and end at the Rio Grande river.

We hike through a wooded section, which smells incredible, and then we get to some treacherous cliffs where I pretend to slip several times, every time Louise shrieking at the top of her lungs “BRYAN!!”

We see the waterfall from a distance and decide we don’t need to continue to the Rio Grande.

Especially when an overly tanned British man with the shortest shorts known to man traipses up and says it’s not really worth it. “Just a bit of marsh, love, not much to see.”

Ok, I added the ‘love’ part.

That evening Thelma and Louise take me to dinner for my birthday at the quaint, upscale Pasqual’s. I see mole on the menu and mole I must have.

Everything here is organic and the waiter with the weird mustache is quite attentive…and probably organic himself.

He tells us we must go to Ghost Ranch.

Old home of vagina flower painter, Georgia O’Keefe.

So, tomorrow, we take his advice.

DO YOU KNOW THE WAY TO SANTA FE (we don’t) – DAY 1

Before I write anything else about my Santa Fe adventure, let me say this.

Helen Keller designed the layout for the streets of Santa Fe.

She literally grabbed some parchment, scribbled madly like a woman possessed (she may have also moaned and drooled) and then thrust the Picasso-like result in the hands of the Mayor. I’m 99% sure of it.

Driving around Santa Fe without a navigation system (or even the services of Sacajawea) can drive anyone batty. By the time we finally reached our condo, I wanted to render my faculties useless, much like ‘ole Helen herself.

We arrived into Albuquerque and picked up our rental car and headed on our way. The views were less than spectacular, reminding me of a less interesting Palm Springs or Kern County.

But the New Mexico clouds….

Wow, they were literally 100 feet above us, enormous, billowing pillows begging to be slept on.

One giant cloud appeared as if it were descending upon us, like a malevolent alien spacecraft who’s residents were ready for some serious and thorough probing.

We drove to the quaint, artsy town of Madrid (not pronounced as you would think, much to my chagrin).

When you walk down the streets (admiring the lesbians in their finest REI attire) the shops are all located inside cute, old houses. Lots of southwest art….

Hmm…. Southwest art incorporates a lot of Native American art….

If you know me, you know my take on this dream-catching, wolf-in-the-moonlight genre.

This imaginative wolf on wolfe gem was aptly located in our bathroom.

Get it as far away from me as possible!!

We ate at the famous MINE SHAFT restaurant and I ate the Tortilla Burger. It was basically an enormous hamburger patty stuffed inside a tortilla, coated in cheese, and topped with what Santa Fe is famous for; Green and Red Chili sauce.

Opting for both types of chili’s (as I did below) is referred to as “Christmas”.

Santa Fe equals chili sauce. They love chili’s. I love chili’s.

I thought we would be a match made in heaven. Sadly, Helen’s confusing road system turned my stomach enough to realize I wasn’t ready to commit and needed to see other cities.

On a random note, I saw some red chili peanut brittle at the airport and am still kicking myself for not getting it. In my world, everything would be spicy. Even toilet paper.

Our condo is a stereotypical 1980’s Santa Fe explosion. I have to just show you a picture.

Every square available inch of wall space was covered in some hideous rendering of a desert scene or a Indian family staring into the sun.

We headed into town for dinner at EL FAROL.

We enjoyed a delicious margarita while waiting an hour for our Spanish tapas to arrive, only it to have been completely effed up by the waiter. He duplicated the order of the table next to us.

We started with a cheese plate.

Another hour…another margarita…

I spent this time (besides talking to my friends, blah blah) staring at the world’s largest fanny pack on the world’s second largest ass.

This deluxe pack (special ordered online, no doubt) was quite the site, tied neatly around her ginormous culottes. The lady was chatting very loudly on the phone next to our table.

My staring was simple retaliation.

The food was worth the wait. Small plates of rib eye, tuna and pork with figs as well as fried spinach, paprika mashed potatoes and parmesan incrusted artichoke hearts.

Yum! Southwest Style!

BUN BOY IS BACK!

Well, tomorrow actually.

I just got back from an unofficial culinary tour of Santa Fe and boy is my stomach tired!

Lots of goodies in store for all you Bun-atics, I’ll be posting new pics and tales from the Land Of Enchantment every day this week.

You guys sure are lucky, I envy you.

Love and Sloppy Kisses,

BUN BOY

SEX AND CENTURY CITY

People go batty when you’re giving out free shit.

Whatever it is, from free lotion samples to a new ice cream flavor, people react to freebies in a manner which leads you to believe that free Gillette razors actually contain cancer killing enzymes!

I assisted Thelma and Louise last night at a Sex and the City promotional event at the Century City Mall.

Their friends own a winery in Paso Robles and one of the jewelry stores in the mall wanted to offer tastings of her wine to entice customers to their store during the event.

What the wine ended up enticing were groups of manic, crazed, wealthy, middle aged women on a mission.

Apparently, those attending the function (which included free cocktails, facials, a DJ) had to go to ten stores, getting a paper stamped at each one, and returning for a gift bag full of crap.

So, not only did these women completely ignore all the jewelry in the store, but they didn’t have time for a sip of wine either!

They needed to get these stamps.

They needed to get them fast.

They needed whatever the hell was in that gift bag.

Perhaps a free pink Chihuahua and a syringe filled with organic botox?

Eventually many of the women came back to try our wine. Like they were doing us a favor.

One woman and her two daughters came to ravage the cheese/cracker platter.

Her daughter picked up an enormous bunch of grapes (of which there were only 2)

“Oops” she mumbled, pretending to feel bad that now she had tainted all 70 grapes dangling from the stem and may as well abscond with them.

Her mother, who had zero interest in the wine, took large handfuls of the shaved parmesan cheese and asked if we had any napkins to put them in.

I made the joke that I could give her some tupperwear if she’d like.

The family actually came back and the daughter grabbed another more modest sized bunch of grapes, completely devastating our grape supply.

Much like a swarm of locusts would.

I tasted some of the wine myself, it was actually quite nice.

One weird tiny-nosed woman who just would not leave, kept saying how awful one of the red wines were.

But the b*tch wouldn’t leave and kept wanting to sample it!

“Yeah, that’s the bad one. Yup, it’s that one”

She kept pointing it out to everyone that came in.

Go away plastic surgery victim!!

Then she and another woman got in an argument about their opinions on the Sex and the City movie, both in thick New York accents.

“It was crude, I didn’t find it even remotely funny”

“It’s Sex and the City, what do you expect?! I found it very funny.”

Some lady gave me a free ticket for the flick in question so I left my friends with the mess and saw the movie.

I was the ONLY male in there. And the soberest as well.

I think if I had suddenly gone def, I would have enjoyed the movie just as much as I did listening to the horrific dialogue.

CASA LINDA:

A cute, casual new Mexican joint on Abbot Kinney. Incredible Tacos Pastor!

1357 Abbot Kinney Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90291
Neighborhood: Venice
(310) 664-1177

BUN BOY EATS JOSHUA TREE

I love Joshua Tree.

I think if I decide to get cremated, I would like my ashes scrambled to the top of the boulders overlooking the ocean of eerie, twisted Joshua trees and then let the intense wind blow them away.

Preferably, directly into someone’s yawning mouth. I would like a good laugh as I disperse into oblivion.

My friends and I come to JT every year, each time picking the worst weekend for weather.

In past years, it’s been either hot as hell or colder than a witches tit in a brass bra face down in the snow.

This was another one of those years.

We caravanned with another car, my friend driving EXACTLY the speed limit and NOT tailgating anyone!

IT WAS PURE TORTURE.

How can people drive like this? It’s not very responsible, I tell you. Driving someone batty like that.

We arrive to our favorite campground, Hidden Valley, to find ZERO available spots.

We have to drive 20 minutes further into the park before we locate the enormous Jumbo Rocks site, unload our crap and begin the arduous task of setting up our tents.

I have the luxury of camping with Thelma and Louise, campers extraordinaire who do everything for me. I’ve become quite spoiled!

They won’t, however, put up my tent.

I dread this part. I’m all thumbs and jam myself in the eye with a tent pole at least once every 16 seconds.

And then, when all is said and done and the tent is nicely staked in the dry earth, I realize the front door is facing a deadly prickly cactus plant.

In my laziness, I try to negotiate how I would wriggle through the 3 available inches of space into the tent entrance and not have to move the damn thing.

Our favorite camping beverage is the Michelada. Our dear friend Risque has a very specific recipe for them, which we cannot deviate from. We must use Tecate Light.

CAN YOU SPOT THE HIDING LIMES?

We sip our beer, lime, tequila concoctions, wishing it was about 10 degrees warmer and listen to the random, easy-listening tunes that emit from Thelma’s pathetically tiny boombox. It’s so old, I can only assume it was stolen from the set of Saved by the Bell.

For lunch, we snack on some incredible chicken salad that Louise has made, with basil and cranberries. This stuff is poultry heaven.

Which is why I posed my sandwich lovingly on a rock.

Who-A made some AWESOME cookies. I also posed them gratuitously on the same rock. Against their will.

We drank a bit too much that evening, and to use a joke that’s getting a bit old: By we, I mean me.

Once the white wine spritzers began a flowin’ and the desert dancing started, things got a bit kooky.

I was tied to my chair by the campfire and while I was “napping” someone drew a French looking mustache and goatee on my face with a sharpee!

When I woke up, I was looking at someone’s computer which as a little camera attached to it.

When I said “Hey look, I have a mustache” the guy replied, “Yeah, that’s just an application that ads facial hair to people.”

And I believed him.

The following morning, I noticed I was getting strange looks from everyone. They all seemed on the verge of cracking up.

And people kept calling me Pierre and making “no berets in the desert” jokes.

I was clueless.

Until I took one of my million self cam pictures.

When I went to admire myself, I see what has been done to me.

I was impressed, to say the least.

Before we knew it, everyone was up. We assumed it was 11. It was 8.

What??

Who-A and I race off to hike up Ryan Mountain. We raced up the steep hill in record time, admiring the gorgeous views only on our way down.

We later noticed the sign said the hike takes 2-3 hours. We had finished the whole thing in about 45 minutes! Nice work, us!

Later in the afternoon, we visit a quirky, outdoor art exhibit. A trash collage artist, if you will. I definitely appreciated it, as I used to do the same thing as a teenager.

I once covered my apartment wall with painted aluminum foil and painted over mannequin heads so they looked like aliens.

I was quite well adjusted.

That evening we wander around our campground, scramble on some rocks and watch the sun set. JT is so beautiful during this time, the magic hour.

We eat some awesome steaks and corn for that evenings’ dinner, trying to stay warm by our pathetic dwindling fire.

We thought the guy next door would be leaving us his firewood before he departed, but decided to stay another night, the bastard!

As we shiver, bundled in blankets, over the single, glowing piece of coal (just as Bob Cratchet would have done) the neighbor comes over with his kid and all of his firewood!

“Well, no point in having two fires!”

Good guy. Didn’t have a single thing of interest to say.

We spend a miserable, freezing, windy night.

My tent is missing its rain cover, so it was like it was sleeping inside a screen door all night. My tent was like a wind aphrodisiac!

My air mattress lost air the night before but I couldn’t be bothered to refill it. So, whenever I felt my butt touch the ground, I made sure to contort my body in unheard of positions to prevent future butt touchings.

The next morning, tired, cold and sore, we all wanted to get the hell out of there. I think we were completely packed up and gone by about 9!

The End.