Last night we celebrated Tyson’s 73rd birthday at Honda-Ya Restaurant in Little Tokyo. With dinner time being at 7 p.m., that should have given me plenty of time to finish my Dodger story for a game that began at 1 p.m. Usually I would be done by 6 p.m. which would have given me time to watch a little bit of the annual media game before I headed out. You know, get some blackmail photos.
But no. The game dragged (as Don Mattingly admitted to us) and it went into extra innings. 4 hours, 39 minutes. Fortunately I was only five minutes late.
Angie and Carter was there with their little bundle of joy Marisol.
I hate children, but Marisol didn’t grate on my nerves. Just to show what a Korean I am, the first thing I comment about her is her huge eyes — a status symbol amongst Koreans. But look at how big those eyes are! Like a giant squid!
For some reason Michael wasn’t happy, but he’s never happy. What a grumpy fag.
We ate and gabbed. Ate and gabbed. Then got kicked out because evidently reservations of parties of more than eight have a two-hour limit?
Angie, Marisol and Carter went home since Marisol was getting tired. Then there was a schism: dessert? Michael wanted mochi and everyone else wanted Yogurtland. So I stood in solidarity with my fellow queer and went to get Mochi with him.
Eventually we all reunited at Yogurtland. A couple of sheriff’s officers looked like they really wanted so Yogurtland, but when they saw the line they could not hide the look of pain on their faces. They said it was an emergency. So I told them to detain everyone in the building, get their yogurt, then undetain everyone. Right? That’s what I would do.
They left dejected and soon I moved on to better things. Like Catherine’s tits!
This was an accidental picture and all, but when I reviewed it my jaw dropped.
This was the picture I was trying to capture.
Soon we set off to Catherine’s and Tyson’s homestead, but walking to our cars we got talking about Gay Jesus. Of course Michael, the coarsest person I know, talked about giving the Gay Baby Jesus gifts of gold, frankincense and sperm. And that got me giggling.
Unfortunately when we got to the homestead the battery of camera died so I couldn’t document what happened in their backyard. They had a rooster running loose in their backyard. Mind you, they don’t live in the boonies. They live between Eagle Rock and Highland Park close by Occidental College, not Fresno!
Tyson said, “It’s not our rooster. It’s the neighbor’s.” Like that makes it any better.
Beer was had. Jager/Red Bull was had. Cookies were had. And a gothy skully Jenga was sort of had.
And then the night was over. All in all it was a good evening of socialization, a rare occurrence for a loner like me. And despite the warm humid air, I didn’t notice the humidity. Although after having a bout of nipple sweat in the Dodger dugout earlier in the day, I guess nothing could be as bad.