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Our friend Tad emailed us this story as a word attachment, with the following two sentences as the only text of the email. "Spelling and grammer are not my stongs suits so feel free to edit. Also feel free to add of subtract as need." We did not correct a word or punctuation mark of the following story.
The year after I graduated high school my friend Adam Green and I took a trip up to Pepperdine University to visit our friend Sneaky Dave Brosnan. The weekend was a holiday weekend, either Memorial Day or Labor Day weekend, so we had three days to spend in Malibu with Dave. The first couple nights were your standard college party nights for freshmen and their pals. We drank in dorm rooms and just hung out. Sunday night rolled a round and there was no party to be found. Somebody told us about a bonfire at the beach but it was BYOB. It sounded like the best prospect for us but we needed to get the beer. We went down to the Pavilions to find somebody who could buy us the beer.
We were walking up and down the aisles looking for somebody that would be cool with buying us the goods. Down one of the aisles was an unshaven, 40 something dude with kinda long hair. It didn't hit me right away that this dude looked somewhat familiar, but Dave noticed right away. "Hey guys, I think that's Patrick Swayze." The man was looking at a box of Triscuts, which happen to be my favorite snack cracker, so I moved in for a closer look. I picked up a box of Triscuts and asked the gentleman, "Have you ever tried these with jalapeno jack cheese." He looked over at me and agreed that Triscuts are best eaten with jalapeno jack cheese. It was totally Patrick Swayze. So I asked him
Me: your Swayze right?
Swayze: yeah, I am.
Me: you're 21 years right?
Swayze: I'm a lot older than that.
Me: well, do you mind buying us some beer.
Swayze agreed to help us out, so I handed Patrick Swayze $40 and told him to get us two cases of Coors Light. I walked back to my two friends and told them that it was indeed Patrick Swayze that I was talking to and that he was the man that was going to take care of the beer problem for us. We went outside to wait. Swayze came out with the beer and put it in the car for us. I told him to keep the change, not thinking that a movie star would actually keep the change, but he said OK and put the money in his pocket. I thanked him for the purchase and was feeling pretty bold so I invited him to come with us to the bonfire.
He again surprised me, he said he would come.
The next thing that I know, I am riding shotgun in Pat Swayze's blue ford ranger headed down to the beach. The bonfire was nothing big, just a few guys with guitars and a few girls, maybe six people in all before the three of us + Swayze arrived.
This was about eight years ago so the events that took place once the beers started flowing are not completely clear. I do however recall that Swayze was a very funny guy. All of us agreed that our favorite of his characters was Bodie from Point Break and just to entertain us he fell into that character for extended amounts of time. He pulled a football out of his car and we played on the beach. He caught a pass from me and said "nice throw Utah." After I was good and drunk we sang the duet song from Dirty Dancing (Swayze sang the female part). The one that goes "I had the time of my life, and I owe it all to you," When I sang it I meant it. When Swayze ended up leaving the beach we all waved goodbye and he turned around Said "Addios Amigos."
I first told this story after a largely uneventful weekend visiting my friend Dave at Pepperdine. Adam and I were asked how the weekend was. Then somebody asked jokingly if we meet any movie stars up in Malibu. I said well, we meet Patrick Swayze and I started ad-libbing this story. The legend of this story grew to a point that I was telling it three times a week. I would be introduced to friends of friends as the guy from the Swayze story. Another group of friends referred to this story as the greatest story ever told. I think it was about four years ago that while working as a merchandiser for the band Something Corporate that I told the Swayze story to (guitarist/male model) Bill Tell for the hundredth time, and watching how much joy this story brought him, I started to feel guilty. I called the sound guy (Foeofall), the guitar tech (Milkman Milloy) and the tour manager my brother Arvis into the back room of the bus and told them that the Swayze story never happened. The three of them looked like they wanted to kill me so I decided to wait to tell other people. Over the years when telling people that the story is false I feel like I'm breaking up with a girl that is in love with me. I can actually feel people's hearts breaking when I tell them that it never happened. Some people are in denial and still ask me to tell it, but I have lost the ability to tell a fabricated story with any heart. Knowing how much joy this story brought to people I sometimes wish I never told anybody that it didn't happen.
Two cars driving to Vegas: one from Orange County, one from LA. We united in Barstow (for those not familiar with the drive, it's the half way point where it is mandatory to stop for In N Out or Del Taco). Upon finishing our double doubles, while loitering in the parking lot waiting for some bathroom stragglers, I was inspired by the surrounding commerce that is two large outlet malls. As a crew of 8 dudes, my immediate thought was that we all needed to get matching outfits to better dominate in LV. The first notion that popped into my head was matching track suits. We searched and searched but to no avail.
Out of desperation, we made a last ditch effort and stopped in a discount store with morale and expectations at a low point. One bin off to the side of the store caught several of our attentions. Overflowing from the bin were $5 board shorts, all red with yellow stripes down the side. There was dissention in the group as the majority was over the shopping escapade, and ready to get back on the road. We had all but given up, but one man kept the vision alive. This man was the Penguin... Jeff Penguin. He raised his voice and stopped the group, insisting that we all splurge on the matching trunks.
We pulled up to the Wynn, made our way up to our rooms, suited up and hit the pool. I'm not sure if you have ever been in a crowded Las Vegas casino when 8 shirtless dudes roll through wearing matching shorts, but it causes quite a stir. We get outside, and the Godfather (one of our best friend's step-dad) has a cabana ready and waiting for us, stalked with burritos and coronas.
As the commotion that we have become stroll by an innocent onlooker lounging at the pool, she questions, "Why are you all wearing matching red trunks? Are you some sort of diving team?" Obviously, we answer yes. Not only did we answer yes, but we felt obligated to take on and embrace this alter ego for the duration of the afternoon adding to and embellishing the story each time we were asked why are all wearing matching trunks. And yes, we were asked countless times.
As any group of twenty something men would, we get restless drinking and eating in the cabana, with the knowledge of a "European" pool only a few steps away. I will have to finish this story at another time, but I will say that things got a little interesting up at the "European" pool... a bed lounge in the pool, one of our friends, two scantily clad women that were asked to leave the pool for their lewd behavior, and I will leave it at that.
It all happened on a fateful New Years Eve, December 31, 2004 to be exact. A group of best friends were looking for something out of the ordinary to do on the most over-hyped night of the year. Disneyland was the choice for some good clean fun (well, if you leave the clear 'water' bottles that were smuggled into the park out of the story). A stormy night kept most away, but for these six kids, it made the night even better.
While on the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride, a seemingly unfortunate malfunction took place that rendered the ride motionless for some time. Making the most of the situation, the group of six quietly started singing along to "Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A pirate's life for me... " the song that plays in the background to the ride. As the group starts singing louder and louder, slowly other shipwrecked patrons join in. Before long the friends are leading the large crowd of boats in a 15 minute rendition of the swashbuckling favorite. It was a real bonding experience between strangers.
So inspired by this turned fortuitous event, one of the boys decided he wanted to become a pirate. Seeing as how "The Happiest Place on Earth" sells absolutely everything, it was clear that the immediate purchase of a costume was in order. The young man donned a pirate hat, an eye patch, a large gold clip-on earring, a hook (which was later lost somewhere on "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride") and most importantly, he carried a large plastic sword. He felt it was his duty, as a pirate, to scare the crap out of all those who crossed his path. He took his role quite seriously, and spared mercy on no one.
The most popular ride at Disneyland that night was surely Indiana Jones, and it was incredibly crowded. The ride was so crowded, and so late into the evening in fact, that the ingenious "Fast Passes" which the park created to alleviate waiting in lines, were no longer available. This pirate wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, and used his weapon as a threatening tool. The drunken pirate pressed the blade side of his plastic sword to the neck of a kind, Disneyland employee (who was a woman by the way) and demanded, "Arr... you know you have 'em, now give me a Speed Pass." His threat fell on deaf ears because there were simply no "speed passes" to be had. Not sure when they became "speed passes," but something tells me the "water bottles" had something to do with that mistake.
Happy to have not been ejected from the park, the pirate and his cohorts continued with their night of fun, accosting passersby for "Pirate love" (a dare of course, with a free churro as the prize), flying as low as possible on the rocket ship ride waiving his sword and yelling at people on the ground, jumping into an existing break-dancing circle in Toon Town and celebrating with the rest of the park patrons at the stroke of midnight. The infamous sword remained on the floor of my car for several years after fateful night.
Ah yes, 'I was trying to catch the big fish." It was such a simple explanation for a complex ordeal. I guess you could say it all started the morning of a friend's bachelor party. I had just bought a sweet 89 Chevy, Full-sized Van the night before. Affectionately nicknamed "Lester", and capable of trapping at least 20 children, this fucking van was the kind your parents warned you about when you were young and the kind the Pigs would pull over for random drug searches. I later added a finishing touch by placing an "I'd rather be masturbating" sticker on the back left window. I was the shit.
Most everyone was coming back to our hometown before the party and we had decided that some of us would head over to Lake Mission Viejo for a little fishing/pre-game. I had one friend, however, who couldn't wait to get the night started. He had driven down from up north all through the night and had drunk quite a few, as he put it, "road sodas". When he showed up to my house, he was pretty drunk, and by the smell of him had not showered in enough days to make him stink like shit. Upon arrival he insisted we smoke a joint in my backyard. It was 10am, and my parents were in the room. I knew this was going to be "tricky" to try and get him out of my house without further incident. I believe he made some sort of lewd comment towards to my mother about the size of his dick being close to that of a soda can. I did manage to get him out of the house. We proceeded to the lake.
When we arrived at the lake and went to the dock he could not stop looking at all the huge fish that swim around in the "No Fishing" area. He tried to catch a few, but an employee of the lake made him stop. We got our boat, went out, had a few beers and a smoke and came in without incidence. We headed over to the party.
I don't remember much about the party except that we drank a lot of car bombs. This was back when we all drove drunk so we really got after it at the party. After the party we headed over to a buddy's condo to continue the evening.
My friend from up North had been getting more and more shitfaced; he had whipped out his dick. He once again commented on the size and I believe was using it kind of like a cattle prod to get the few girls we had over there to move where he wanted. At the time I thought it was a little strange, but looking back on it, it was pretty fucking bizarre.
So after a while, the mood starts to sour. You know how it is when a drunk, naked guy gets in everyone's personal space threatening you with his "meat hammer". At this point, he has also been up for well over 24 hours as well as drunk for well over 24 hours. He needs to go to sleep. I am more than happy to loan him my van, with the fold down backseat as a place to crash. We continue to party into the night...
The next morning I wake up and go to check on my friend. I light up a morning cig and head over to where I had parked the van thinking up all the ways I'm going to bust his nuts for his poor behavior from the day before. Wait, let me put 1 thing out here. Although his behavior was probably some of the worst shit I've seen and he was a pain in the ass all day, I don't mind. We all have those days. So I get to the parking spot, the Van's fucking gone.
You know what the worst part is, all I could think was "Dude, where's my car". Then I get back to the condo and tell everyone what happened. I've never heard more "dude, where's your cars". But dude, where the fuck was my car?
My friend who had stolen my Van had no cell phone. He had not checked in at his parent's house. My Van was not at my parent's house, where his car was parked earlier, but his car was now gone. It didn't make any sense; how could you drive 2 cars at the same time? We checked all the landmarks of Mission Viejo, he was nowhere. I called everyone I knew, again nothing.
Finally, the bastard came back. He explained what had happened. He told me that he was going to go to sleep, but he couldn't stop thinking about the big fish in the lake. So he stole the van and drove it to the lake fields to "try to catch the big fish". After getting out, he was so drunk that he managed to lose the keys in the grass. After an unsuccessful attempt to break into the lake, he gave up a defeated man. He couldn't find the keys so he left the van and walked 2 miles to my parent's house. He thought everyone would be asleep so he went in to sleep in my bed. But my family was awake because they were leaving for the airport. There was some kind of awkward exchange and he made it to bed. In the morning he had gotten up to run a few errands and had forgotten to call me.
So in the end, it all worked out. I found my Van, found my keys, told my parents that I told him to sleep at their house. But this is no skin off my balls, it is the price you have to pay for the pleasure of owning a Van.
It was New Year's Eve, heading into 2001. Chad, who I have known since Kindergarten, was in Seattle to visit "friends". He was accompanied by Jeff from Orange County, also in town to see "people". I had never met Jeff before, but couldn't help but notice his resemblance to "Saved by the Bell's" favorite curly-haired jock, AC Slater. I guess I should have known that both were really in town to see their girlfriends, and that their girlfriends would try to turn New Years eve into a couples dinner party, that I would end up at couples night missing the desired accessory for such a party. I think inviting a single guy to the couples dinner party seemed like a nice thing to do at the time but ended up like dropping the Baby Ruth into the crowded swimming pool.
I guess I should have also known that bringing 22 oz. cans of Colt 45 wasn't all that appropriate of a drink for a dinner party where Jeff's girlfriend (at the time - no longer now, possibly due, in part, to what we did to her parents' birdbath later that night) had set out her parents' silver and crystal and put on a cocktail dress. Once you realize that I had brought "16 years old and drinking at a park" to a "we are grown up now" party, it probably wouldn't shock you that nobody listened to me as I tried to start off the evening by giving a toast, and that would make me really, really mad.
Look, I had some really good things to say that night. I still remember them, and would be willing to send my thoughts via email or hard copy, given that you pay postage. Mentally, I weighed every single option of how to react to everyone's disrespectful treatment, from screaming and wiping everything off the dining room table with one sweep of my arm, to just throwing my own plate against the wall. Still, no one was listening. I decided to go the patient route. I even attempted to inject a little class by dinging on my crystal glass with a fork, ala the wedding toast (only it was a can of malt liquor which, in hindsight really doesn't make enough noise when you tap it). I finally decided on a method that was always reasonably effective for my middle school substitute teachers. I stood there and I waited, but just to let everyone know how really patient I was being, I repeated "I'll wait. I'll wait. I'll wait. I'll wait... "
No one ended up hearing what I had to say that night, which I can assure you is their loss. I'm pretty sure I imparted my wisdom on Chad and Jeff later on, which is why they've gone on to make the finest shirts and golfing attire in the history of leisurely dignity, but rest assured that the other halves of the couples have digressed as they're not together with Jeff and Chad anymore. Speaking of which, does anyone else notice that Chad and Jeff have been single for quite a while now, and have been spending a lot of time together in that office? Kind of makes me wonder what I ended up telling them that night after all.
There once was a beautiful red headed girl. I was fond of her looks, and after we talked, found her personality was quite intriguing as well. I found that when I was in her presence, my personality would falter a little bit... alright... a lot bit. Due to this dynamic, I would often leave her feeling foolish, and a bit insufficient. I would always act like a complete idiot when I would interact with her. Whether I was calling, or receiving a call, I just couldn't seem to keep it together.
All of these horrifying interactions culminated in one tragic phone call. Like any other, I mustered up the courage to give a call in desperate hope that this call would be the one to get a call back. The phone rang and rang as my suspense grew stronger and stronger...
As it were, she had one of those standard outgoing greeting messages where she leaves her name (which I will soon create a term for... a "name leave"), and it is followed by a recording saying "said name is not available."
A standard voicemail on my part was not enough. I felt I needed to leave a bigger impression than just a simple "hi... call me... bye." I wanted to leave a mark. Paying no attention to the consistent air balls I had been imposing on her, I incompetently proceeded...
"Hey... Nice name leave. Sexy... Seductive."
This was followed by some very uncertain words, and a humble request for her to call me back.
As I was leaving the message, I realized that I was adding yet another failure to my ever-growing resume with this girl I so badly wanted to impress. Things quickly went down hill with this beautiful red-headed girl. She never returned my call, and we have not spoken since. I have since forgiven myself, and have taken a valuable lesson in humility from this experience.
