Thursday, May 08, 2008

Hot Pants, Ferrari Shoes and the Miz

The Dirty Burrito and the Hottest Guy On Campus started the Los Angeles trip with the most orgasmic sushi lunch ever at Sasabune. Be sure to stop there. It will change your life. (Citysearch informed me that Sasabune is a chain with an Upper East Side location, but much more expensive. Stupid Manhattan prices.)

Following lunch, we went on what can only be described as a very homosexual shopping excursion. We started with the goal of finding new shoes, but the goal eventually evolved into finding super-tight shorts. First, we scoured some boutiques in Santa Monica, where I found the tightest (figuratively and literally) hot pink shorts. Rest assured, The Dirty Burrito will rock them all summer.

Next, we headed to The Grove, where our behavior got extremely questionable. We visited a variety of stores and tried everything from Hugo Boss hot pants to tight khaki shorts at Banana Republic, and we definitely hung out in the dressing room to critique each other on the merits of each item of clothing.

The highlight of The Grove trip, however, was the HGOC's sage advice regarding Puma Ferrari sneakers:

"Why would you ever get Ferrari shoes? Either you own a Ferrari, so don't fucking get Ferrari shoes, or you don't own a Ferrari, so don't fucking get Ferrari shoes."

The night's activites led us to S Bar. We didn't run into The Hills gang, but we did see the Miz. My first reaction was to size him up to see if I could take him in some sort of Inferno challenge. I decided that he would destroy me. He is about six inches taller, much wider and has one better knee than me. (I imagine going up against him would be similar to that time when my Greek roommates needed someone to wrestle for their fraternity at 8am on a Saturday morning in the 165 lb weight class. I went up against someone taller and 20 times more muscular and agile. The only reason that match went on for ten seconds was because I was able to avoid him for the first five seconds of the match.)

Later on in the night, he sat in the chair behind me and started hitting on a girl in our group. I tried to eavesdrop to get a sense of the Miz's game, but I couldn't hear over the music. Once he left, I followed up with the girl to find out more about the Miz. Apparently, he is very nice and didn't actually talk about his Real World career at all. He eventually offered her his number, which she politely accepted. However, when she tried entering it into her phone as "Mike," he requested that she put it in as "Miz." You gotta love the LA experience.

Lastly, The Homewrecker was aching for some lovin', so she wandered around the bar looking for a man. But not just any man. She said, "I'm gonna find a black guy." Unfortunately for her, the one black guy she found was gay, so she ended up talking to a group of nerdy, white IBM salesmen from New Hampshire. It was Dockers, tucked-in button-downs and Blackberrys-on-belts galore.

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