Archive for June, 2011

*all the blogs linked in here are because they explain how I ended up where I am.

Maybe I should not put three exclamations in the title line.  Someone once told me that is the equivalent of shouting.  I could have put it in all caps too.  I’m not trying to shout at anyone in particular, but to shout out to all of you my faithful and truly loved readers, your friends, family and diverse spheres of influence.  I…well we, need your help.  Sit back, relax, read on and find out just what it is I ask of you.

Well it all started over a glass of port back in early April at a small little beatnik hole in the wall off State St.  It was right around when I wrote: “The House of Lisanti is in Disarray“, wow that seems so long ago now.  I went downtown with my friend Jules to pretty much cry about my desperate situation.  Early on in the evening she ended up bailing on me for one reason or another leaving me sitting all by my lonesome looking rather pathetic at this tiny little table in the corner.

While there weeping in my $8 glass of less then stellar port this group of four people came up and asked if they could join me.  There were plenty of available tables yet they were rather persistent.  The ringleader of the group, this strange looking Australian dude just would not take no for an answer.    Too distraught to put up any type of fight I agreed.

They asked what was a matter and my response was” you don’t want to know” To which they insisted to hear my story of deceit, heart ache, despair, destruction and ultimate heart break (although at that time I still believed I had a chance). You can read about that story in “Bowing Out.  They were pretty genuine people and all seemed like worthy and respectable individuals, traits very uncommon amongst many today.  With their careful prodding and fun input the story took on a life of its own and when all was said and done I had four new friends.

Turns out the Aussie, Nick was throwing a party at his house the following day and invited me to come.   Although my plans were to stay in bed for the next five days or so I decided to attend.  The party turned out to be a ton of fun where I met heaps of wonderful people.  About a month later right after “One Last Perfect Day” was dropped, Nick had another party, which I also attended.  Trust me if you ever have the opportunity to go to one of his events make sure you grab the bull by the horns and show up.  They are just about unsurpassed.

Since my life went down the crapper everyone loved to tell me that everything happens for a reason and other bullshit cliché stuff of that variety.  Up until now I did not believe them and just frankly wanted to bash skulls in each and every time I heard that type of stuff.  Now looking back I realize there may have been a lot of truth in that adage.

The thing about these parties is that I seldom know anyone at them because everyone is rather new to me.  It is a completely different circle then I am used to traveling in.  The majority of the attendees are really positive, hardworking, professional people all around my age, instead of the typical burnt out waste of space characters I usually choose to keep around me.  I must admit it is a very refreshing change.

At this particular event I began talking with this pretty chill guy Ken, who ended up with in the course of a few casual question most likely just to be polite and make conversation got wrapped up into a string of tales from Lisanti Land.  Poor guy.  As it turns out he is a musician as well and we had very similar musical roots.  Ken apparently runs this theatre company here in Santa Barbara with his lovely girl friend Kyra called Proximity.

Through the course of the evening Ken said he thought he could use me in the company.  We exchanged numbers and then I cruised out to meet up with some friends at the Wild Cat, after all is there any other way to end a perfectly good Saturday? I think not.  I was thinking it a 50/50 chance he would hit me up.  I was sort of hoping he would though, because I have just recently been wood shedding on my horns hardcore and would love to work my way back into the arts.

About a month passed and I figured that Ken was no longer interested.  It was no worries I was not sure if was ready to play in that capacity anyway.  Then I got a call from him that he was having a potluck dinner meeting with the group and if I would like to join.  I still sort of thought he was just trying to get me over so I would cook a banging dish for his group (I did my usual go to pot luck dish: Baked Ziti, it feeds a large number and is absolutely scrumptious, don’t worry I promise to post some new recipes soon).  Turns out he was pumped to have me and so was everyone else there.

What an amazing group of people he had assembled for Proximity.  With out even seeing them in action I could tell these artists were very talented (after experiencing their capabilities, I can vouch for the entire group).  They were all so passionate about what they have going on.  I had not seen passion like that since my early Berklee days and it was refreshing.  It’s not about the money or the accolade, but just about the pure love of putting on an incredible performance and that warmed my heart more then anything has in some time.

Important!  Read Here:

Why have I wasted your time with this pointless boring story you ask.  First off you should all know by now I am rather long winded much like Hawthorne, except I am not paid by the word.  Second I, we at Proximity need your help.

We are a very small group who are doing this for the love and not the money.  Proximity is also a nonprofit organization (its legit and tax deductible!)  This summer we are putting on a pretty big production of an original show written by group member Karina Richardson entitled Shandy Wilkes.  It’s a pretty cool story that I will not get into here but will furnish a link to it at the end of this blog.   All I can say is that it is guaranteed to be an excellent show.  The plan is to run it here in Santa Barbara from August 10-12 at The Center Stage Theater and take it to New York City from August 18-20at The Robert Moses Theater.

To put on a performance of this magnitude it is not going to be cheap and this is where I am personally reaching out to each and every one of you.  We are looking for donations (like I said before whatever you give can be used as a tax write off) from anybody looking to support something great. You can give as little as $1 or as much as you wish.

It’s not like me to go soliciting for money or I would have a donation button here on my site. Considering that, you have to think I must really have high hopes for this project.  All I can say is that this group has given me something to believe in again, has helped me get my life back on track and allowed me to once again enter into the music world, a place I once swore I would never take part in again.  I am very excited for this, but we can’t do it with out your help.  So if you have anything to spare even if it is just $1, throw it in the pot cause every little bit helps.

You can donate and learn more about the project here: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/kenurbina/proximitys-shandy-wilkes-in-sb-and-ny

Check out Proximity and what we are all about here: http://www.proximitytheatre.org/

Support this cause for no other reason then to get me back on the sax.

Thank you for listening.

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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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Looks like a good one eh? Nope, its a left close-out at Hammonds, a right hand reef break. I could have taken the right but decided otherwise and broke my board.

This is the last UCB of the Spring Quarter.  I know it has been a bit of bullshit quarter, but what the fuck do you want from me.  It’s been the worst few months of my entire life.  Sorry if I missed a few weeks.  At this point 2011 may go down as the shittiest year in the history of Lisanti Land.  God I hate fucking Lisanti Land.  Why can’t I get a vacation from it?

Everyone else gets to visit and leave.  What sucks about being Chris Lisanti is that it’s always Lisanti Land 24/7.  I can’t leave. It’s like being on the fucking Truman Show.  All things considered I guess I should not complain.  I am still alive after all, have my physical health (my mental health went out the window a few weeks ago), there is a roof over my head and I get enough to eat.  Things could be worse I suppose.  They say no one dies from a broken heart, although I would beg to differ.

John Mauriello wins this UCB with the topic PGCB.  I know more then a few readers when they saw his request were thinking “What the fuck does that mean”.  Well PGCB is a term that Scotty B and I coined back in the first round blow out days of our almost “pro” carreers.  The whole movement started courtesy of Ventura Professional Surfer Sean Hayes and his segment in “The Decline of Surfing Civilization: Lost Across America II”.

If you have not seen any of the early 2000 …Lost surf films you are missing out and I highly recommend watching them.    They are some of the gnarliest surf films out there both in surfing and lifestyle.  …Lost single handedly defined the punk rock, “I don’t give a fuck” surfing movement of the mid 2000’s with the production of these films.  I know I personally thrived on them.

There is a segment mid way through the film just about completely filmed in both Ventura and Santa Barbara.  The bulk of it is at some pretty flawless yet excruciatingly crowded Rincon.   Towards the end the segment shows a brief clip of Hayes surfing triple overhead maxed out Ventura Beach break.  He is just pulling into these massive closeout tubes and getting destroyed.

Finally the segment ends with him pulling into a bomb, saluting the beach before getting completely owned.  Watching that as a kid I just thought what a crazy motherfucker, now that I have surfed that spot in the film I have a new respect for his feat.  That place packs a punch when it’s four feet let alone fifteen!  As he is walking back up the beach to the parking lot he says “I don’t know why none one else is out here; there is nothing but Perfectly Good Closed-out Barrels”.  Thus the term PGCB was born, which if you are dense and have not figured it out yet stands for Perfectly Good Closed-out Barrels.

Then I realized that the majority of my favorite surf spots and conditions were nothing more then gnarly, heavy closed-out beach break.  In NJ that was very understandable because that was the case with the bulk of our swells.  Since then I have moved to the land of the right point breaks, Santa Barbara California. Even in such an environment I still have some of my most fun in perfectly good closed out barrels.

I guess there is a certain kind of rush one gets out of pulling into a stupid barrel he knows he is not going to even come close to coming out of.  I know I do.  Plus close outs just have so much more power then regular waves.  All those huge airs and crazy flips you see being done are pulled mostly on heaving closeouts.  That is just the way it is.  I suppose the surfer in me loves point breaks more then any other type of wave in the world, but my heart will always be for the heaviest, most angry, gnarly, back washy stupid close out there is.  Long live the PGCB!

My favorite part about closeouts, airs!

This is the infamous spot where the term and life long search for the PGCB began,on another day that was nothing more then Perfectly Good Closed Out Barrles 🙂

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I am going to come clean.  I am a craigslist personals reader and even on occasion participant.  I know its gnarly, but it can be rather exciting and definitely entertaining.  Shit, to my chagrin I have yet to be stabbed by a random blind meeting.  I have always wanted to be stabbed.  I feel like it would be pretty bad ass to take a blade to the gut.  Nothing fatal or permanently damaging, but I’m talking clean in and out, no arteries, just a plain deep wound that requires like fifty stitches or so.  How bad ass of a scar and story would that be?  As far as gun shot wounds go I don’t want any part of that.  Too gnarly.  I don’t want doctors fishing around my system for any excess lead.

My favorite part of the Craigslist.com personals is the missed connections section.  Its so interesting the types of things people write in there.  First off the majority of them are these asinine posts that read like this: “hey I saw you on State St riding a cool green bike on Friday at 1 pm.  You were hot, hit me up” or “We had a nice conversation in the super market about your fruit selection but I forgot to get your phone number”.  I really wonder if any of those people ever actual find each other through Craigslist?  If anyone reading this has or knows someone whom that has worked out for please leave a comment for me.  I would love to hear about it.

It would put a smile on my otherwise somber face.  Once some dude wrote this funny ass story about some dude who tried to steal his bike seat on mothers day.  That one was so humorous I almost shit my pants reading it.  Then there are all kinds of other crazy shit.  Bottom line, if you are bored or have too much time on your hands like myself (honestly if you are reading this crap then you most likely have too much time on your hands) I would spend a moment or two reading the missed connections section of your local Craigslist.

I just gave it a perusal came across the following post:http://santabarbara.craigslist.org/mis/2441269370.html

” I’m aware we crossed each others paths recently. I hope all is good in your world. My world is really looking up. I just landed my dream job in the city of Angles. My patience, tolorence and good work ethics are panning out. I never lost hope. Hope can carry a long ways as long as you never give up and keep on putting one foot in front of the other. For me I have a faith that keeps me centered and has always helped me get through some of the toughest times in life. I know you are not a believer and thats ok but really when all else fails where do you go from there? I know there are lots of opinions here on that and that’s cool. Actually some of your opinions have really made me think. But anyhow I won’t bore you with that. I forgive you for the things you said and did towards me. I hope you can do the same. We worked well together most of the time but our diffences are really what ended things. So I miss the person I once knew. I think you let a good catch go although I’m sure you disagree. I do hope the best for you. I wouldn’t try too hard here as instant gratification is usually a temporary fix which can distract people and create a real “missed connection” that only appears for a brief moment then poof it’s gone. Take care my dear and it’s ok to wave from a distance.”

Upon reading it I thought man this guy is pathetic.  Immediately after I thought hmm…is that what I have sounded like the past two months?  I think we all know that I am pathetic anyway.  The problem with being a hopeless romantic is the hopelessness.  I guess my story is not all that unique and I am just another poor sap who lost at the game of love. But hey it could be worse I could be like this guy above and posting random shit on craigslist for attention.  Oh wait I don’t need to because I have my own blog to accomplish that task.

Just because...

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Well this morning we have a very special UCB for all you little kiddies out there in cyber world.  John Mauriello wins this week or I guess it really should have been last week, but I dont really give a fuck cause its my shitty ass blog and I will do what I want to.  Anyway he asked about my new found passion for lurking.  Sure he posted it about a month ago, but it was very appropriate to the situation.  If this is a bit incoherent it is because I have a little bit of the bad medicine in me (rum).

I think first off I will start with the dictionary meaning for lurking and it reads as such: ” to lie or wait in concealment, as a person in ambush; remain in or around a place secretly or furtively”.  If that is what dictionary lurking is let me explain what Lisanti lurking is. Its really grand and super classy.  It also follows the same principles as the above definition.

Lurking is the derogatory name I deem to going out to the bar, club, party or any place for that matter with the sole purpose to pick up a chick and fuck her.  After which you will never see her again and most likely never even have gotten her name.  Don’t you know that is the best way to interact with your fellow humans of the opposite sex, especially ones you should be looking to pair up with and spend the rest of your life with.  At least in the animal kingdom the male just flat out rapes the female and gets it over with.

No, as humans we find ourselves more then superior to our four legged foes.  Instead we use our cunning intelligence to out smart the female using a combination of looks, intelligence and of course alcohol to achieve such desired results.  In all respect the female does the same.  Fuck she is probably a more ruthless predator then a man.  At least men are for the most part obvious about their intentions.  Women on the other hand act all innocent, nice and decent.  Then once you give them your heart they turn around and fuck you over.  That is because every last one of them is nothing more then a filthy stinking whore.  Fellow males out there if you have a girlfriend, fiance,  or wife and think she is happy guess again.  If she has not fucked some guy behind your back yet, well she probably will later.  Especially if you treat her well.

Here is how a lurk works.  I get dressed up in my best cloths and I go out to the bar.  Immediately upon entering I case the place out to see what talent lies with in.  Then I figure out the game plan that will work best for me to prey on some unsuspecting female counter part.  End goal: to get her back to my place where I can hopefully objectify her by fucking the shit out her all night with out ever getting her name or caring to learn a thing about her. If I can get her out of my house in time for a mid day surf  and never see or hear from her again even better.

How is that achieved, by saying and doing whatever it takes to make it happen.  Your kind of a con-artist.  If you have a good wing man then you most likely have an entire repertoire down.  It is like when lions hunt they pick out the weakest zebra in the heard coax it out and then nab it.  When you lurk you find your mark and basically do the same with out the eating alive part, unless your some kind of psycho killer.

Yeah I claim to be a gentleman, but I guess that is a load of bull shit!  I’m just a mother fucking scum bag like every one else out there trying to get mine before it gets me.  Except there is one catch I don’t lurk anymore.  I cant lurk anymore.  As a matter of fact it makes me nauseous even to think about such a thing.  I find that to be a funny fact because I used to thrive on such an act.

No, I think I’m fucking done.  I had my time and it passed.  I don’t want to lurk.  I don’t want to drink.  I don’t want to feel terrible anymore.  I’m tired and I wish my time here would end.  For some reason I cant die.  Believe me I have tried and wished, but here I am still breathing air.  I can not take my own life cause that would be too simple, but why cant I have peace?  Do I not deserve serenity.   I am exasperated with jumping through hoops.  Maybe I will just move up into the pacific northwest in the hills and become a recluse.

I have had everything I could ever have wanted in life already.  Then I lost it.  I don’t want anything else.  Why can’t you see how wrong this life is that you created for us.  I know your not happy. Stop lying to yourself and be what you always told me you were. My faith in humanity was small when I met you and now after it has diminished even more.  Fuck everyone.  I’m over  all of you and your shit.  Stop laughing at me cause its not funny.  It never has been.  While you laugh I cry.  Thats how its been my whole life.

What the fuck more do you want from me?  What more do I have to prove? How much more suffering should I have to endure?

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About a two weeks ago I was running a muck all over the streets of San Francisco with my boy John Muariello.  We wreaked havoc doing the tourist thing, surfing shitty Ocean Beach, enjoying the nightlife (or just getting frustrated with it) and we also did some skateboarding.  I thought I had retired the skateboard once and for all about a year ago.  Every time I think I am out I just get pulled back in.  When I informed John of my intentions to come visit he said to bring my board and we would bomb some hills.

It quickly escalated from a few mellow grade 16 city block hills in the Ocean Beach area to me bombing Lombard Street Now Im not going to get into that bomb here because there is an entire detailed first hand account on it at “I Bombed Lombard Street” and then just hit the bread crumbs on the top left hand corner of the screen if you want to read about the rest of my SF adventuring.  John actually made a short little video of the pathetic attempts we made of fucking shit up skating all over the city.  There are also a few more photos from a skate we had at Fort Miley.  Enjoy.  Don’t mind the commentary, I was still feeling rather bitter about things.

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Its 3 fucking am and here I am writing some pointless drivel for you to read.  Its all fucking bullshit, all of it.  What happen to us?  The human race I mean.  We were once so decadent, so respectable,  so human.  Now look at us.  We are all fucking pathetic.  All of us.  You may think your not, but you would be lying to yourself.  How does one feel so alone in a crowd?  How does one feel so lost amongst friends?  Why can’t we make shit work out?

I just don’t understand.  I had it all once and wanted more.  Now I have nothing and want even less.  Whats the world worth if the most important thing in it does not give a shit about you?  How do i have everything and feel like absolutely nothing? Why am I happy but yet so sad?  Why am I not drunk enough after a night of drinking?  Why cant I let all the pain go?  Why do I still care and hope.  Why????? Why????? Why?

Humanity died when we gave up love for lust…………

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This week’s UCB or last weeks actually considering I did not get a chance to write it till now, makes a winner of Nick the Kook.  He asked that I write a tale about him.  Now there are literally hundreds of stupid Nick the Kook stories in the Lisanti memory bank.  Besides the fact that you can almost count on Nick doing something completely stupid eight out of ten times, but the guy spent probably more time with me then I spent with my ex-wife circa 2003-2007.


The kid hung around the surf shop all day long 7 days a week when I worked there, usually surfed with me after, then went skating with me that night.  We even started traveling together.  Kook and I have racked up a ridiculous amount of friend hours and I would have to say a retarded story would take place involving one or both of us 95% of the time.


When asked to pick a story its not very easy.  I mean I could write an entire segment, maybe start a new blog even about the adventures of Chris Lisanti and Nick the Kook.  There are that many and since we still get together from time to time there are more to come.   For this blog I thought I would tell the tale of a Cinco de Mayo party, a bottle of Agave and an incident of ill treatment to a piñata.  Yeah you’re going to want to keep on reading for this one.  I know I did not want to tell negative stories here anymore, but if a story of my own stupidity and immaturity deters at least one person from drinking too much then it was worth the humiliation.


For a span of three years I was on this wild house party kick.  In New Jersey that is the staple for most alcoholism especially in the winter months.  I guess this took place around 2007.  I could be wrong on the exact date so if anyone out there remembers feel free to correct me in the comments.  My good friend Nick Kiefer one of the most talented graphic artists/photographers I know, now turned hipster musician was throwing a Cinco De Mayo party at his parents house.


Now when I roll up to a party I also come with an entourage, rapper style.  This was actually the very end of my house party days thus I was rolling lighter then usual with just Nick the Kook, Sindia and myself.  I also brought along in proper fashion for the occasion a bottle of Mexican Agave (which is like 80 proof) a gift provided by my parents from a recent trip to Mexico.


Upon entry I open the Agave and it is shots all around till the bottle was cooked.  Let me mention that Kiefer’s parents were in attendance at this party and had some friends of their own at there as well.  Now Agave for those of you who don’t know is the sugar component put into tequila.  I think by now most of you know what happens to me when tequila is involved, I get crazy.  Well Agave has an even higher sugar content meaning an even nuttier Lisanti.


After four shots I was feeling pretty good, and ready to take the party up to high gear.  At this point it may have been about ten at night.  Kook and I decided to get people dancing in the living room.  I think Kiefer’s sister and maybe two of her friends and Sindia briefly humored us.  Shortly after it went from a dance circle to a drunken Nick the Kook vs Lisanti dance off, which basically ended in Kiefer’s parents big screen television nearly falling over crushing the both of us and ruining the set.  Luckily Sindia stepped in being the responsible one and put a stop to our stupidity.  Literally we looked like complete buffoons failing around at a lame attempt of a break dance off.


From there I am pretty sure I ran around the house making imbecilic, incoherent conversation with random people while chugging way too many beers.  Sindia was embarrassed, Kiefer was sorry he invited me and I am pretty sure his parents contemplated calling the police on more then one instance that night.  The Kook tried to get with Kiefer’s now ex-girl friend (not from that event) and as a result was never allowed over Kiefer’s house again.  I’m not certain but I think he also tried to get with Nick’s younger sister and mom as well.


We were a pair of real classy guys him and I.  Finally the night ended with the unveiling of this sombrero piñata.  Nothing makes a drunken Cinco de Mayo party better then smashing a piñata except I think the only people drunk there were the Kook and I.  A few people got their hits in on it and then it was my turn.  Now why anyone at my level of intoxication would have been handed a wiffle ball bat and blind folded is beyond me, but that is exactly what happened.


I came out swinging like a mad man but was way to inebriated to even come close to hitting the thing.  I am pretty sure I fell over in the process also.  Angry and a bit humiliated I ripped the piñata off the ceiling and smashed it against the wall.  Candy fell out all over the place and then I slipped and fell on top of it all, smashing most of it under my body.


Ten minutes later I found myself throwing up all over Kiefer’s bathroom, followed by the front lawn and the entire car ride home, while Sindia drove.  We left Kook behind who as I stated earlier perpetuated the losing task of attempting to get with any lady left at the party.  I got home, fell out of the passenger seat of the car and passed out in the marshland besides my house.  Sindia left me there, pay back for the embarrassing evening and leaving her in the backyard a year ago when she got embarrassingly drunk.


The funny thing is I used to be proud of this story.  I thought it was a really winner to earn me browning points with others.  I always thought when I told it people were laughing with me, well I finally know now they were merely just laughing at me like I was some type of circus clown.  Part of me still thinks partying hard is a ton of fun, until I sit down and read what I write.  Then I realize all I am doing is making a fool of myself.  “He who walks in the darkness does not know where he goes” John 12:35.

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Alia looking all innocent and cute because she was.

I don’t know what my deal is with stray animals in distress.  How they always find their way to me and why I even care.  There is just something about animals caught in an adverse situation that brings out the hero in me.  Yeah I suppose I would help humans in their time of misfortune the same.  Still I will always be a sucker for animals, maybe not so much pigeons they sort of just rub me the wrong way.  I think it was because one stole a churro out of my hand at the zoo when I was eight.

I love churros, who doesn’t.  Fact of the matter is if you don’t like churros leave this page right now and never come back cause I don’t want any non churro enthusiasts reading my speak.  This blog is not about churros or Mexican food, although I did make the best Mexican rice yet on Thursday night.  If I ever resume the Recipe D’Jour portion of SurfingRuinedMyLife.net I think there is a feasible chance I will post it.

Thursday night is always my favorite downtown and I brought my new roommate Bryan with me.  We cruised where else but the Shitty Kitty and as it turns out Bryan is as well versed in the place as I.  The plan was to keep mellow, just have a drink or two and get home at a reasonable hour.  The Wild Cat is a place of surprise and adventure and one never knows what he will get himself into.  Lets just say we made a night of it.  I forgot how much fun it is not to have a girl friend in Santa Barbara.

The next morning I was driving home around 11am and there was this adorable puppy that looked like a boxer wandering around my street aimlessly.  I almost ran it over with my car (by accident, angry Chris is gone forever).  Realizing the gravity of the situation I went out to the end of my driveway and called to the dog to which it came running.  Upon scanning the street to see if anyone was in search for the pup.  I could see no one in sight.

I could not leave it there or on my block loaded with crazy college students.  There was no telling what the dog’s fate could have been.  After further inspection I realized this was a pure bread boxer pup and a female.  I took her inside not sure what to do as I was transitioning from still a bit drunk into to hangover.  After some further coherent thought I figured this is an expensive dog and whomever lost her would be bound to come looking.

Besides she was a really fun puppy bouncing all around the apartment, fighting with Alfie.  Alfie was pissed.  He finally got a reprieve from constantly being terrorized by Mustafa and then this hyperactive puppy shows up.  Unlike with Mustafa where Alfie got all submissive, he went nuts on the dog and actually sliced open her ear with his claws.  Bryan came home and he was pumped on the pup and we decided to call her Alia.

At that point she had kind grew on me and I thought, well if no one claims her I guess I could raise her.  I had been thinking about getting a dog anyway.  After playing with Alia for a while and figuring out a course of action in my mind on how to handle the situation I needed to head over to J7 and get some ding repair knocked out.  Bryan said he would take her for a run over to City College and leave her out back when he went to work.  I only had a few hours of work to handle anyhow so she would have only been left alone for little over an hour.

Turns out the dog went nuts as soon as Bryan left all barking and shaking, even did a little vomiting.  I have never owned a dog just cats.  The closest K9 connection I have ever had was Cory’s dog diesel who was more like a cat and laid around on the couch all day.  Apparently puppies are like a baby and you cant leave them alone for extended periods of time.

Bryan texted me at work telling me he had to leave and the dog could not stay alone.  I was in the middle of a hot coat and had to get the work done.  Luckily he is a sweet talker and Alia an easy sale.  Bryan managed to pawn the dog off on some girl named Lisa from Boston and her gay roommate for the day.  I guess they had just moved in a day ago in the next building over from us.

They loved Alia so much that when we told her that we were going to have to take her to the pound tomorrow cause we just did not have the time to take care of her they jumped at the chance to take her in.  Bryan and I were amped.  I really did not want to have that on my conscience (as small as one as I may possess).  Lisa and her roommates were stoked cause they had an awesome new pet.  Alia was stoked cause all she wanted was a safe loving home.

I was able to bring about all that happiness just by doing one small good deed.  Im glad this worked out a lot better then when I found the baby possum last summer.  I realized that I am like a human half way house for people and animals alike.  Creatures in need come to me for whatever reason and I impart my wisdom and backwards ideas and ethics on them.  They take what they need out of the warped lessons and find themselves in a better situation in life.

Nothing pleases me more then to see such transformations take shape.  All I did was give Alia a safe place to chill for the day and then through pure laziness found her a good loving home.  If that is my role in life so be it.  It is my cross to bear.  Always the fixer and never the one to be fixed.   Such seems to be my fate.

Hmmm Churros

Hmmm Churros

The only time I find pigeons to be cute is when they are flat.

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