A Messy Break-Up, Karaoke, and “The Lads”

I was going to try and change the style of the posts today and do an informative one about the weird world of Craigslist. However, I’m too hungover and tired to be informative. Plus, its been an emotional day. Break-ups and goodbyes are hard to do.

I get woken up this morning, early, by my phone buzzing next to my ear. Hungover to funk, I answer without looking at it. “Hey, my friend, I’m calling about the horse, si”. The horse? What did I do last night?!! But I know that voice from somewhere…Silvestre? “Yes, I am Silvestre, do you still have the horse my friend?” No, but I have the truck, what happened to yesterday? You never showed! “Que? The truck?…The truck! Sorry sir, I’ll call back” So realizing he rang me by mistake, he hangs up. I try to call back straight away,but he turns his phone off, another weird time wasting scenario. Hungover and reminded about the bloody Bucket again so early (I was just moving on with my life too) I put an ad up on Craigslist (again), basically offering it to anyone who shows, with any amount of cash, or a tow-truck. Take it away. So I get the usual call from some guy, I’m on my way, will you take $300, whats the street, I’ll be there in 15. Sure you will.

Get the call – I’m outside, come on out. The Champions League just kicks off so I say I’ll be right out and don’t bother. Not in the mood to go back out waving at no one again. Except he rings again, asks me can he get into the truck and have a look, bring out the keys. There actually is someone outside, a hyper Californian dude, almost getting turned on by the bad shape of the truck, how its so old, how crap it is, and yet how much of a beast it is. Turns out he’s a mechanic, loves fixing old cars, he’ll take it. Without even driving it or turning the engine on. Im hungover and dumb, nowhere near with it, offer to take him around the block for a test drive. Why, I don’t know. Sure thing, I’ll go for a drive around the block maaan if you want, so we get in, it starts after 5 goes, his enthusiasm wears off a bit. Im thinking, balls, why didn’t I just give him the keys, take the money and run.

So we take off down the street, and the Bucket runs out of gas, breaks down mid stream. Im goosed, very hungover, getting annoyed and just start randomly putting it into neutral, park, drive, reverse, while freewheeling down my street, killing the transmission (I’ve learned a bit more about trucks now, ha). He makes me stop. Laughing at me, he asks if I had too much Bud. I tell him yes, too goosed to drive, plus its out of petrol but does he want a go anyways. He gives me a knowing look – “I knew you were a stoner man, we have the best bud in Cali! I have to buy this thing now! Helping each other out maaan”. I thought he meant booze but this misunderstanding pleases him and the deal is back on! He someone manages to get us to the petrol station in first gear, the Bucket making noises like a cat being raped. I still don’t get why but at this stage he has fallen in love with the Bucket, almost giddy with excitement over this battered truck with no petrol, he offers me $326 for the Bucket. Snap his hand off, even put $6 petrol in it for him to get him home, done deal. I tell him I’ll walk home, only around the corner, don’t want to get into it again now its off my hands. Its on the walk home when its all kicks in though…I’ll never see the Bucket again, the good times we had, the high, the lows, all that jazz. That was it though, the affair was over, time to move on, plenty more Buckets on Craigslist for me to waste my money on.

For a change last night, I was spoilt for choice. Instead of my fairly regular plan of hitting a club with people I barely know, usually meeting them for the first time that night, if not just going on my own, and using the line “Oh, my friend is in the bathroom” if someone asks who I’m here with, I had two offers. My roommates were going to karaoke in a bar close enough to where we live. And the lads from soccer in Robbie’s house were going to Les Deux, or Les Duu, cant remember which, did I want to come along? So, spoilt for choice, I punted for Les Duu, and could always go to karaoke if it wasn’t good.

The guy who texted me about Les Duu says he’ll collect me on his way there. Picks me up, I’m pumped, after a few boozes, come on the lads!!! “Sorry I’m late mate, had to look after Rob’s dog for a while – No problem, are the others already in there? – Yeah mate, I’m meant to be meeting the lads in there now. Should be good”. Meant being the most important word. So we pull up outside the door, and just as we’re going in he tells me “I faawking hate this place, mate, bunch of w**kers”. I’m like, ok, looks good to me though. Its a rock night in there, the crowd is funky, rock and roll style, mohawks, top hats, cool, with a load of hot funky women. Its like the Brog but instead of one gem, there are buckets full of gems here. It looks class. And the music is good, with a band playing in the another room as well. I’m really pumped at this stage.

What are we drinking boss? “Naw mate, I don’t drink much…I faawking hate this place, uuuggghhh, look at the state of her, don’t fancy yours much love” Oh right. Weird. Eh, want to go find the lads so or what. “Yeah, not sure who’s here really, one guy who used to play might be in here, I think he djs.” Oh right. Are the lads even out? ” Not sure mate…don’t fancy yours much either luv, bunch of W**KERS!!!” I’m completely lost at this stage, “the lads” don’t seem to be out, he hates this place that he’s brought me to (which is class), he’s engaged so its not another gay scenario thankfully, I need a drink. I’ll be back in a minute boss, must get a booze. I get two, could be another long weird night, and head back out to my buddy. As I walk back up to him, he tells me, loudly, surrounded by people, “I’m not a racist, but I f***ing hate those…” Then lists off people he doesn’t like. Includes this place. He doesn’t seem to fancy hers much at all. Who wears those w**ker V-neck t-shirts (I was wearing one the exact same that day, ha). This music is s**t (it’s rocking), put on something good MATE!!! Sweet Jesus, this is going well. It’s like a scene from This Is England or something.

I pull the old just got a text trick, I must make a call, back in a minute boss. So I go for a little stroll on my own, listen to the band, then have to head back to the my buddy. Its a lost cause, he’s complaining about a guy who asked him for a light “What the f**k do I look like mate” so I agree with him this place is crap, this is greeted by the first smile all night, is he up for karaoke instead. At least I know what its like now. I’ll be back next week with my buddy who’s in the bathroom, just not with my mate.

Karaoke in Hollywood compared to karaoke in Ireland is like comparing a team in the NFL and an American football team in Ireland. I didn’t have a clue it would be so good, its unreal!!! My past experiences with karaoke in Ireland was the singer mumbling into the mic, eyes trained on the screen, guessing a few words, then hoping everyone else will sing the chorus with them and save them looking terrible. Here, its some old Chinese dude rapping with an R Kelly style guy, and they are savage, its hilarious how good they are. Apparently, people take it really seriously here, hoping for the tiny chance there is someone in the bar who will hear them and give them their big break. You obviously have the few idiots who think they’re better than they are and are cheesy boy-band style apes (two guys ripped open their shirts, being serious, while singing Boys II Men, End of the Road, one guy had nice man boobs in fairness to him). The girl doing the MC was like Christina Aguilera, kept singing between people coming up (hot as well, had a boyfriend though – so do I, we should double-date…it didn’t work). There was a Frank Sinatra style crooner, about 60, slick, groomed, smarmy, who was way too good for there. Serenading the crowd, walking all around the bar singing, reaching the highest of high notes effortlessly, and even getting in a little jig with me while singing, he was brilliant. Two girls rapped some 90′s rap song, and were brilliant. All this on a random Monday night for karaoke. They’d be chart toppers in Ireland. I’m pretty sure the majority were sober too, which made it even stranger, no inhibitions whatsoever.

After a few shots, and before I realized how good everyone else was (I hadn’t been paying attention and by then only saw man boobs strut his stuff), I put my name down to sing. After a few more horrific shots I forgot that I had put my name down as Omar (for the laugh, I’m too funny at times, I tried to explain my joke later to my roommates but they didn’t get it, always a good sign when you are explaining why your jokes are funny too) and didn’t realize I was being called to sing Tiny Dancer. Ha, I missed my chance to shine as Elton John. No wonder my roommate asked if I was gay. Good song but not sure if my mate fancied it much. He kept telling me he didnt fancy the girl behind the bar much, luv, she had charms for faaaaawk’s sake, sort it out luv (chubby arms – he had to explain that to me but at least his was funny).

Turned out to be a great night in the end. Tough day though. After all the bud I had. And the emotional aspect. End of an era. I managed to convince myself I had been productive by selling the truck, and getting money coming in for a change, so I did bob all else but battle my hangover. I texted the Bucket a few times to see what it was up to as well, no reply though. Hard to think of it with someone else, after all the time I wasted trying to make things work too. Best 11 days holiday romance I’ve ever had. I’m better off single and walking though.

Song of the day was going to be Tiny Dancer but too cheesy. This is far better and I can dedicate it to the Bucket…Bruises by Chairlift.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLG9DheSh-c]

Here’s one last great song that just came on my iTunes…Run To Your Grave by the Mae Shi
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUKAcKKQns4]

Tags: Bruises, Chairlift, Karaoke, LA, Les Deux, Mae Shi, Run To Your Grave, The Bucket, Tiny Dancer