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Posts Tagged ‘Shitty Kitty’

Well on day one Lisanti went into the Wild.  On day 3 Chris Lisanti got fucking wild at the Wild Cat.  Its only fitting that I started Day there at the Kitty.  Last night, gay night was especially gay.  I am pretty sure with the exception of my friends Mark, Adrienne (not my ex-Adrienne) and maybe a handful of other people everyone was playing for the other team.   At first I was taking things in strides. I was a little bummed about how the weekend played out getting blown off by that chick I mentioned in both the surflog and yesterday’s blog “Busy Bee, Spring Break Day 2“.

I was determined not to let the instance turn me to depression drinking.  Then boredom kicked in and around 1am with no real prospects cruising around the club Wild Cat Adrienne said “Get a shot with me”.  I am on spring break after all and have not really gotten hammered in a long time.  I’m lying I got hammered on Friday night with this UCSB graduate school chick I met.  I thought I might be able to pull her, but then she was kidnapped by her friends in the last minutes of last call and taken home to Goleta.  Goleta chicks are near impossible to bring home and visa versa.

Its a solid $30-50 cab ride, pain in the ass bus ride or long, long walk (trust me I walked it once) home for both parties.  Rule of thumb downtown: if she wants me to come home with her and it is back to Goleta I pass and when I try to bring them home to the Mesa it is usually the same effect.  Its just too far, thus the best one can hope for is digits and shoot for a follow up date.  I got her number, now I just have to decide if she was worth giving a call.

Man that got off track.  Anyway, Adrienne and I got a round of Fire Ball Shots (whiskey).  Now I don’t drink whiskey because for whatever reason whenever I do it brings out the worst drunk I can possibly be.  I get angry, emotional,  and crazy in a scary way.  Everyone who parties knows there is no such thing as doing one round of shots no matter how drunk you are.  They are addictive.  There is something about the bartender pouring your choice of poison into those little glasses and the looks on your face and those around you.  Everyone knows that you are on a one way ticket to being out of your mind.

Yeah, one round led to three, the last one taken at last call.  That my friends is the last thing I remember.  What happened after that is beyond my reasoning.  I went to black out town, population me.   This time there was no Kooky to help me put the pieces together.  Somehow I managed to get my jacket from coat check and sign out my tab.  I also managed to walk home, but barely I think.

Fast forward to 9:30am.  I woke up on the floor of my apartment directly adjacent to my front door to a text from Lindsay about if I wanted to surf or not.  I was fully dressed, jacket, shoes and all.  My pants were torn at the knee and the hip and I had a few bruises on my body.  I assume I must have fell down a few times on the walk home, but that is speculation, anything could have happened for that matter.  I checked my outbox/inbox of my phone to see if I sent or was received anything.  Apparently I sent Wild Cat Adrienne a very incoherent angry message, which I apologized for and she was cool with.  That was the only lead I had and she had no recollection of anything after that last shot either.

Whatever, I am still alive.  Since I was up I got changed and decided to go for a surf and it was a good thing I did cause Rincon was breaking.  It was tiny, waist with the occasion chest high set through the Cove, but it was flawless.  I mean oil glass and running down the Cove perfectly.  Some how despite being a bit messed up still I surfed exceptional.  I am talking a top notch backside performance anyone would be proud of.  The crowd was myself and about ten other people.  I was super stoked for the session.

From there I had just enough time to scarf down another bowl of cereal and run to class or nap time as I like to call it.  Unfortunately we had to do group activities in class cutting into my sleepy time.  It was fun and I found out about this cool jazz show that went down tonight of which I have just got back from.  On another note before I get into the show I think this will be the last semester I am going to spend in the Culinary program at Santa Barbara City College.  The program is very unimpressive to me and I just feel that I am wasting my time.

Instead if you remember back to a few blogs ago I mentioned something about how I really wanted to go cook in Italy.  That is exactly what I am going to do.   There are a few different culinary schools out there that offer intensive three month programs where I can earn a master chef certificate in Italian and European Cuisine, a stage 2 sommelier certification and a pastry and baking certificate.  Basically I will do in three months what will take me at my current rate years if ever at City College.  The last five weeks of the program I am required to cook in different restaurants all over Italy.

Who knows maybe I will even meet a nice Italian girl and bring her back with me to America.  There will be more on this in blogs to come as I figure the whole thing out.  It is about time I do something positive for me for a change.  I think a break from both the Wild Cat and Santa Barbara may be good for my health.

Back to the jazz show.  This girl in my group mentioned she was going to a jazz show at Soho, my all time favorite venue to listen to live entertainment at in Santa Barbara.  I took the stage there once myself and all I can say is that it was one of the best sound stages I have ever performed on (check out the blog “About Last Night” for more on that performance).  I asked her about the event and it turns out it was at 7:30 that evening.

I cruised and my buddy was working the door so I got in for free.  Turns out all the cats were local and they burned.   The majority of the cats on stage were so hot they had me hooting and hollering the entire time.   As it turns out they do these “Jazz Jams” as they call them every few weeks at Soho and anyone is invited to play.  The next one is April 2nd and I will guarantee that they will be joined by jazz saxophonist, Chris Lisanti.  I can’t wait to get up and blow with those guys.

I am even more stoked that it is a fairly regular thing.  Hopefully they like my stuff and invite me back to play on other occasions.  I guess I am going to have to do some heavy woodshedding over the next two weeks.  They had another saxophonist with them and he was exceptional, but in a completely different style then I play.  the group was ironically very “West Coast Cool”, where as I am definitely “Harlem Eclectic”.  West Coast Cool is a style of jazz that is more lay back and relaxed such as Wes Mongomery or Bill Evans.  Harlem Eclectic is more in your face hyper active like Sonny Rollins or John Coltrane.

That brings me to right now sitting here on my couch under my leopard blanket putting the finishing touches on this piece while Alfie lounges in felicity on my lap.  Goodnight everyone and stay tuned tomorrow for more Spring Break action.

I am sure I can find a bar just as gnarly as the Shitty Kitty in Italia.

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I have written all this before and am beginning to sound like a broken record.  If such is the case so be it.  You know what one of the definitions of insanity is?  Doing the same thing over and expecting different results.  At this point in my life I have stopped expecting different results.   Maybe that means I am no longer insane?  Or at the very least not in the that sense.   I think I still classify for the derangement of the mind meaning.

I am not going to lie to you people I have been blowing it hard lately.  You know that New Years proclamation I made about  drinking less and putting my efforts toward more positive actions.   As it turns out since the first I have been partying harder then ever and drinking like a fish.  I must say that at this point I am for augments sake a functioning alcoholic.  I guess it was only a matter of time.  Then again through out my entire life I have went through periods of heavy drink followed by periods of relative sobriety.  Maybe this is just an up turn on the drink side.

Last night I went out to the Wild Cat full on expecting to get shit house wasted and throw an after party at the palace despite the fact that I knew it was the first day of school Monday and that I had a 7am class.  End result of the festivities was finding myself doing vodka shots at 6am while Kooky prepared to go to work.  Needless to say I did not make it to class instead sleeping the entire day away.  The good news is I won the urban indoor golf game we played at 4am to the enjoyment of all my neighbors trying to get some sleep on a Sunday night for their Monday work days.

A few weeks ago I would have been shocked that I would do such a thing. Not this morning.  Nope, everything that went down all the way to this chick I was sort of into hooking up with another friend of mine right in front of me was not surprising at all.  I have truly become one of those Santa Barbara loser idiots I used to make fun of.  At this point I am working on becoming a complete waste of space.

I had this realization of how hard I am currently blowing it in life as I  stood there mid point this afternoon at El Capitan watching five guys enjoy small little waste high plus peelers.  I sat there holding my wet suit still a bit drunk taking it all in.  The green grass rock speckled ground under my feet, the setting sun and subsequent orange sky, the fact that I could not see anything around me but trees and rolling green hills with a llama ranch on it.  And of course the waves.  El Capitan is perfect.  I mean perfect.  Watching the waves break there is mesmerizing.  I don’t think there is a surfer alive who would shake a stick at it.

The cool wind felt amazing on my face.  I took a deep breath of the fresh air.  This is what life is really about I thought at that moment.  This is what I should be doing.  I am better then some alcohol swilling miscreant of the night in a vain attempt to drink my problems away.   Why had I let myself get to this point.  The in shape motivated 22 year old professional surfing Chris Lisanti would slap the shit out of me if he got into a time machine and saw me, himself and what I have let myself become.  I don’t know if I have found rock bottom yet, but I am for the most part at the moment  existing at the bottom of the barrel.

I tugged my wetsuit on and jumped into the water.  My head hurt a bit from both hangover and dehydration.  I stroked into my first wave, a clean waist high peeler and cracked off three solid turns.  Then I started catching a bunch of fun ones dismantling each with a solid backside attack.  Things made perfect sense out in the water. If only I felt the same way on land.  There in lies the problem perchance.  I have been spending far too much time on land and far too little in the water.

Towards the end of the evening as darkness was settling in Kooky and I post change stood there in solitude watching one last perfect little set peel down the point.  I looked at him and said “you know I am better then all this”.  He gave me an approving nod.   We turned away and walked through the dark to the car.  I don’t have answers right now, only questions.     I can’t promise anything.  What I do know is that I can do better…

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This week’s Kooky’s Korner, Kooky Kyle lets everyone in on some of his recent nights at the Wild Cat Lounge here in Santa Barbara and the official bar of Lisanti Land.  Enjoy.

For any regular reader of this blog, you are familiar with Chris’ favorite haunt and if you have visited Lisanti Land the Santa Barbara Chapter, you have probably been to the Wild Cat. The first time I came here I had the opportunity to have such experience. I barely remember walking in the door. Reliable sources have told me I walked up to two girls and told them I wanted to lose my virginity to both of them in a threesome.  Some how that was not met with a slap instead it received laughter. Long story short I ran away that night and almost made it home but over shot it by about a half mile away from the Lisanti Palace(For more on Kooky’s first visit to SB read Kooky Kyle’s Chris Lisanti Adventure Tour and Kooky Kyle Speaks Out).

 With the beginning of our relationship starting in such a manner you can only imagine the insanity that the place has about it. It is so much better than that stupid hipster bar we went to in San Fran, seriously only, “only obscure” late 50’s early 60’s R&B? Fucking hipsters. Wild Cat is the unofficial hook up bar and the unofficial gay bar of Santa Barbara. With that being the case, I have been approached a few times by some people I would never want any sort of sexual encounter with.
The Swingers
 About a week ago Chris, his boy Ryan and I were out on a lurk at the Kitty. I went ahead of them to get a space at the bar to order more drinks. As I am standing waiting for a space to open up this older guy, whom I would guess was in his mid to late forties came up to me from one of the little tables by the bar. He was tall and a little overweight. I figured he was getting in line to get a drink too.
“She is a real looker isn’t she?” He said gesturing to a similarly aged fat woman with short blonde hair seated at his table. This woman was gross. She was clearly tipsy and was in jovial spirits. “She looks like a real keeper.” I said. I figured that it was either his wife or girlfriend and I didn’t want to insult her.
“She thinks you are pretty cute.” Well that was weird. I’ll take a compliment like that any time but this was starting to get a little bit on the strange side.  “Thanks, I like to think so” I replied.  “Do you want to come back to our place?” he asked. WHOA WHAT THE SHIT! Did that really just happen? I was shocked; I barely could put a reply together.
“Uh, baaaa, huuh no?” I answered and got the hell out of there as fast as I could.

Gay Night
Sunday is Chris’ Friday so what do you do at the start of your weekend? You go out of course. Sunday also just so happens to be Gay Night at the Wild Cat. You may question the logic of why two straight men would go to gay night. Well, if there are any girls there at all,  they are either trying just to dance or they are looking for a one night stand. Also straight guys tend to stay away. Chris’ old boss, Steve, was in town and we all went out.

Chris has been a fixture at this bar for a while so the gay guys know he is straight and not to try with him. Me being a fresh face though, no such luck. I had been getting looks all night, but had yet to be approached. Chris was off somewhere leaving me on my way with Steve to grab a drink from the bar.  As we were crossing the dance floor a gay guy with a bi-chromatic fohawk appeared in front of me blocking my way. I was instantly eye raped. Feeling a little awkward he then tried to slip a hand down my pants. WHAT THE HELL!! I thought.
As I sit here writing this I am trying to justify why it happened? Was I being a cock tease? My handsome self at gay night, that is like dressing like a slut and going to a Guido bar and not expecting to get groped. Whatever, I still didn’t welcome the advance. I quickly stepped back and pulled his hand away from my dick. “I’m not gay, man, sorry.” I steadily got away from him. But the ordeal was not over for the night.
Towards the end of the night we worked our way over to the dance floor and were tearing it up. There was this gnarly cougar dancing with three gay guys thinking she was the hottest thing out there.  She was straight gnarly. Twenty-five years ago she was probably smoking hot, but the years of partying had clearly taken a toll on her.  One of the gay guys saw something that was actually of his preferred gender (me), came over and unbuttoned one of my shirt buttons. “I’m sorry, I just had to do that.” He stood there expecting some sort of reciprocation from me. He only received a look of utter dismay and mild disgust.
Now about a month into my stay I am pretty much one of the regulars at The Kitty. Chris has the bartenders in his pocket and while we normally stagger away from there our tab is rarely over twenty bucks. Who knows what the future holds for me at the Wild Cat, hopefully I have dodged enough gnarly swingers and overly forward gay men and some gorgeous women will start falling into my lap.
Kooky Kyle

Post press: Last night Kooky and I hit the Wild Cat with a vengeance.  What was suppose to be a fun night with a mellow buzz became a “lets get fucking shit faced” night.  Bottom line by the end of the night we were fucking wasted.  Kooky Blacked out most of the night.  What ensued was him terribly hitting on girls, stealing the hat off the head of a Bacardi Promo Girl then proceeding to dance like Micheal Jackson wearing it.  The night ended with us nearly going home with three gay guys that luckily my good sense at the last minute saved us.  Good times. 

What Kooky has yet to score at the Wild Cat, a cracked out wild chick.

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I used to work at a surf camp in the summertime back in my late Jersey years and one thing we always taught all the kids was that a friend of mine is a friend of yours.  In surf culture it works like this:  I have a good friend Rick and he knows someone who lives on Maui.  As it turns out I am traveling to Maui and being a broke ass surfer trying to turn a dollar into fifteen cents I reach out to Rick and ask him if maybe he could hook me up with his boy out on Maui.

Rick calls his buddy Keoni and says “hey bud I got a really solid friend here who I can totally vouch for.  He needs a place to stay on the island.  Can you help him out”?  Now Keoni and Rick go way back and he knows and trusts Rick’s judgment.  If Rick claims I’m cool that is all Keoni needs to know and more times then not a person in his shoes will put up a total stranger based on the word of a friend.  That is how friends of friends become friends in the surf world.

I have spent the majority of my travels couch surfing on friends of friend’s couches and have always put up friends of friends in my own abode as well.  It’s a reciprocal process.  You can’t take advantage of the system unless you plan to give back to it or the whole thing will come crashing down.  Hypocrisy in the surfing underground railroad just does not work.  If you take a couch then you must be willing at some point later in life to offer a couch.  That is just how it goes.

So when I got call from former roommate and brother from another mother Cory Kisiel wondering if I could put up two of his friends I was more then happy to oblige even though I already had and currently still have my boss sleeping on the couch.  In this case they were suppose to be two nice ladies from Jersey just looking for a place to crash on their summer graduation cross country adventure.  As it turned out there were three of them, Melissa, Devin and Danielle, but like I always say the more the merrier.

Turns out these were some of the most chill women I have ever had the pleasure to spend time with (get your minds out of the gutter folks they were very respectable females and actually helped restore my faith in their kind a bit).  They were cruising up from L.A. and being it was their first time in California I had them take the PCH up through Malibu for the best scenic results.  While they were driving up I prepared an amazing pork roast dinner, which I slow cooked for nearly 12 hours.

It came out remarkable, the best pork roast I ever cooked.  The bones came out clean being pulled with my bare hands.  I coupled it with a Lemon risotto with cranberries, corn on the cob and mash potatoes (don’t worry I promise to have some new recipes up soon).  It was quite the feast.  My Roommate Bryan and his two friends also joined us as well rounding out the dinner party to eight, the biggest one I have ever hosted here.  It made me realize to my own embarrassment that I need to buy new plate and glassware, not having anything matching and not nearly enough wine glasses to go around.

Next day the girls were cruising up to Lompoc to go skydiving, which went off amazing for them, despite the fact that they were a bit apprehensive.  I gave them some classic Lisanti words of wisdom “Girls you miss 100 percent of the pitches you don’t swing at”.  If you’re a regular reader then you have definitely heard that one pounded into your skull a few thousand times.  I coupled it with “Well I reckon if you jump and survive it will have been a good time and if it doesn’t work out then SPLAT! No Worries”.  They did not die and were glowing from the experience.

Meanwhile I was off slinging drink all over town.  I tried to send the girls on a fun valley adventure to Ostrich Land, Solvang and few other choice locales there, but they decided to cruise back to the Barb and enjoy the beach.  Later they called me and asked how they could get to Montecito to see how the other half lives. That night I cooked the best version yet of a new dish I have been working on I like to call Pasta alla Rosado.  It’s a pasta casserole dish similar to baked ziti but utilizing a tomato/roasted red pepper puree.  I think the dish came out rather incredible, as did everyone else who partook.

After dinner I just could not let the ladies leave without a night experience of the Santa Barbara Downtown party scene.  Devin and Danielle were exhausted from the day’s excitement.  Melissa on the other hand took it like a champion, got dolled up (she looked exquisite by the way) and rolled with my boss Steve and I.  It was a Wednesday leaving us no other option but Sharky’s.  By the time we got there the line was crazy long and the cover was $10.  At one time I had some swing there but these days after taking an almost two year hiatus from the scene Im back to square one.

When all else fails I go to my standard drinking joint the good old Wild Cat.  Wednesday is hit or miss there, but luckily for us the place had a healthy mix of folks.  I looked rather proper walking in with a woman of Melissa’s standing.  Truth be told what Lisanti Adventure would be complete with out at least one night at the shitty kitty?

The next morning the girls packed up and headed up San Francisco.  Having no place to stay there either I took the liberty to call my minion turned partner in crime John Mauriello and asked if he could put the ladies up for a night to which he obliged.  Once again I sent them up PCH to get the best vistas and adventure for their buck and even set them up with this little burrito joint in Santa Cruz that in my opinion makes the best burritos I have ever eaten in my entire life.

There you have the surfing couch share system working in full effect again.  Cory set the girls up with me.  I in turn set the girls up with John.  At the end of the day everyone was more then stoked.  Melissa, Devin and Danielle have been on the road for almost two weeks and I believe have another week or so to go before making it back to New Jersey.

They keep their own blog of the tales from the road less traveled upon.  I highly recommend giving it a view: http://traveltheus.myblogsite.com/.  If you want to read their take on the time spend in Lisanti Land this link will plug you into it directly: http://traveltheus.myblogsite.com/entry18.html#body.  I always think it is interested to read the same instance described from two different points of views.  Their blog will also be featured on my link bar if you care to visit it in the future as well.

The Jersey Girls and I

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