Bosby Tune of the Day: "Change" by Blind Melon

Sorry for the lack of Bosby posts recently but it has been pretty hectic with the holidays and all. Expect a Bosbypalooza of rapid fire posts immediately following Xmas. Till then, enjoy this sick acoustic version of "Change" by Blind Melon.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Back Like That Remix" by Ghostface Killah

Celeb Phone Calls and Unemployed Idiots

So what has the Bosby learned since landing this new job?  Well, I learned that Bobcat Goldwaithe doesn't actually talk the way he does in the Police Academy movies.  He stopped in yesterday to drop off a tin of cookies for my boss and was actually a very down to earth dude.  Pretty disappointing.  Next thing you know I'm going to learn that the black sound effect dude was lip synching.  What else did I learn? Ah yes, don't fuck with Marvin Gaye's widow.  She'll call about once every couple of months and demand to speak to one of the managers.  If he's not immediately available she'll start throwing a hissy fit over the phone.  For example, when I informed her that the person she was looking for was in a meeting, she replied with "Is he realllllyy in a meeting.  What could be more important than my phone call?"  Waaaaahhhhhh!  Everyday I speak with clients over the phone.  Most are very polite.  Robin Williams is the most somber man ever on the phone.  When I ask whom is calling, he always calmly responds "This is Mr. Robin Williams."  Pretty bad ass.  Other's like VH1's Patrice O'Neal always makes up fake names like Scatman Crothers (the black dude from the Shining).  Phone etiquette with celebrities is a tricky thing.  You can't skip a beat even if someone like Bin Laden calls.  You just have to say, "One moment Mr. Bin Laden."  The worst is when then person they're looking forward is unavailable.  For example, years ago when I was interning at Sony and covering the front desk when a man called.  He muttered over the phone and said his name was DW@#$? Maguire.  I told him the producer, who was my boss, he was looking for was unavailable.  He sounded confused and hung up.  Well, turns out it was Toby Maguire and I got in deep shit for not tracking down the guy he was looking for.  That's when I learned always to make sure you know who you are talking with on the phone.

Scatman

Everyday hundreds of recent college grads get off the bus to pursue their Hollywood dreams.  How you find your first job is a tricky thing.  Be that as it may, I saw the most absurd effort at landing a first job today.  Waiting to cross the street in West Hollywood, I noticed a cheap piece of computer paper stapled to a telephone pole.  On this sheet of paper was an advertisement for a $1000 reward to whomever could find this random dude a job.  The kid was a recent engineering grad out of the University of Delaware.  The ad stated that whoever finds him his first job, will receive $1000 out of his first paycheck.  Like this dude's going to make anywhere near $1000 per paycheck.  This thing even had his picture.  It looked like an ad people put up at public swim clubs advertising their babysitting or tutoring services.  On the bottom were tabs containing all his contact information.  This guy's either going to land a sick job, orrr get raped and murdered.  But hey, whatever works...

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Hands of Time" by Groove Armada ft. Richie Havens

Little story about this song.  I brought a girl over once and we're doing the business when this song comes on in the background.  We both get really into it along with the music.  It was glorious.  So I decide to make a 'lets get it on' playlist with this song as the lead in.  About a month later a girl's coming up to my room so I dim the lights and put this song on lightly in the background.  We start making out and she stops us.  "What the fuck is this," she says referring to the music.  My soul was crushed.  Still a great song though.

Bosby and the Tale of the Supercuts Guru

Hey what do you do?  I hate hate hate hate that question.  Remember when you first started college and you asked everyone, "Hey what's your major?"  The main difference between the two questions?... You pick your major, you don't pick your job.  Especially in a time when the economy is suffering so badly, nobody really picks their job right out of college.  I don't care what you do for a living.  I really don't.  Odds are your working some bull shit job to pay your loans and make sure you stay out of your parent's house.  What you do for a living probably probably bears no reference to the type of person you are. The reason why this question is so prevalent in Los Angeles is the reason why most people dislike this city.  People who hate LA claim that it's because everyone is fake.  This is true but what do they really mean?  Everyone is fake in LA, or at least the entertainment biz, because it's all about 'what can you do for me?'  The notion of Hollywood networking is foreign to nobody, and I have become the most jaded of all.  I don't believe anybody really cares about what I do.  Girls will try and talk to me at a bar and the minute they say "What do you do?" I walk away.  Seriously.  Some girls find this intriguing and follow.  Others call me an asshole until my friends explain the disdain I have for bullshit small talk.  My annoyance probably stems from the fact that I'm not satisfied with what I'm currently doing.  I never ask people what they do for work because I don't want them to reciprocate the question.  This may somehow be linked to how I also am never able to remember peoples' names until I've heard it 20 times.  What I hear:  Hi!, my name is BEEEEEEEEEEEEP.


What brings this tirade about?  Wellll I'm getting my hair cut at the local Supercuts last night when the barberess, a middle aged Asian woman who speaks broken English, asks me what I do.  What could I do?  The woman's holding a sharp pair of scissors two inches from my jugular.  I tell her the abridged story of Bosby, and she responds with "Well, what do you want to do?"  Another GREAT question...  Not quite sure, I'm not 100% sure at the moment.  "So your kind of in a haze right now," she says.  Finally somebody gets me and she works at a Supercuts on Venice Blvd.  She then pauses and gives me her wisdom on how to finally turn my life around.   "You need to eat a big meal."

WHAAAAAAATTTTTT????  That's what was running through my head, but remember she's got the scissors.  So I just stare wide eyed at my reflection.  She then proceeds to tell me that drinking lots of alcohol makes your hair grow faster.

So now you know never to ask Bosby "What do you do?"  Warn your friends, family, and human resource employees.

Another Bosby Moment of Absurdity

Please fast forward to the 1:40 mark.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Stand by Me" by John Lennon

Party Ideas for the New Year

Tomorrow is the holiday Christmas party for the office and I don't even think I'm invited.  They've had me picking up all the booze and decorations, yet no one has formally asked me to come.  This time of year there are millions of holiday parties going.  From the classic formal get together to the very popular ugly sweater party, it seems that at this time of the year the party themes get a little redundant.  Thankfully, I'm here to impart some creative new party ideas.  Remember, the key to a great themed party is total participation by those attending.  There's nothing lamer than a themed party where only a portion of the people are participating.  For example, Fuzzy would throw themed parties in Boston where it seemed like only the people living in the house were dressed up.  Don't be afraid to turn away those that aren't dressed as the theme.  Make it clear in the invitation that proper attire is required for entry.  In addition, make sure you give enough advance notice to let people prepare their costumes.  Don't spring some theme on people the week of the party.  Here are some of the more successful parties that I have thrown in the past.

1.  Anything But Cups Party AKA Two Girls, No Cup Party

The theme is all in the name of the party.  Guests must bring their own receptacle to drink out.  The catch is that this receptacle cannot be something you would find in your kitchen.  That means no glasses, no mugs, not even a pot.  It may seem difficult but the options are endless.  I've thrown this party three times in three different cities, and each time people have brought crazier stuff.  Gas cans, mailboxes, whiffle ball bats, syringes, and more.  Kegs are recommended, as well as hiding all the cups in your place. 

Boot was stolen from a bowling alley.  Also notice the rocker tee on this guy.

2.  70s Porn Star Party

Everyone knows how girls like to dress up in the sexiest outfits for parties.  If you told them that it was Tiger Wood's Mistresses themed party I'm sure they would oblige.  So put a fun spin on it and make it a 70s Porn Star Themed Party.  Think Boogie Nights.  The options are endless for both girls and guys.  Mustaches, real or if necessary fake, are a must for guys.  Throw on some classic 70s  funk, and you'll be bumping and grinding in no time.

Give weeks notice so as to allow mustache growth.

3.  Jr. Prom Party

This party takes a lot of work, but is probably the most fun and memorable.  Require people to find dates and set a formal theme that people vote on before hand.  Have people vote for a prom song as well.  Set up a picture taking area with a backdrop for people to take formal prom pictures with their dates.  Trust me, people will get very amped about this party.  It will throw them right back to high school and make everyone gossip over who is taking who.  At the party, have people vote for prom king and queen.  The winners will slow dance in front of everyone towards the end of the party.

4. Roller Kingdom Kegger

The best party I have ever attended, however, was called Roller Kingdom Kegger.  Once a year, these guys in Boston would put this party together where every guest must pay $30 and sign a waiver.  After the guest list is set, a dozen buses would take 200 people to a roller skating rink over an hour outside of the city.  There you will find over a 15 kegs surrounding a skating rink.  You can figure out the rest.  What makes the party great is how everyone dresses up and goes balls to the wall.  Below is the video of 2007's Roller Kingdom Kegger.

So let's make a vow for the new year.  No more toga, ugly sweater, black and white, ____ pros/joes/exc. and ____ hos, or supreme justice themed parties.  Be creative and make your party something new and exciting that people will look forward to and talk about long after.

A Rolling Bosby Gathers No Health Benefits

Christmas in July.  That's what it feels like out here.  The sun is out and it's 75 degrees outside.  Still LA is covered in Christmas decorations.  The 9000 Mexican radio stations are playing "Feliz Navidad" and "Donde esta mi regalo, porque yo quiero una bicicleta."  Old aspiring actors that never made it are sweating their balls off on overheated promenades.  Chestnuts are roasting on an open wildfire that is reaking havoc twenty miles south of the city.  The only snow is falling out of Paris Hilton's bag at LAX.  And Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is some creepy transvestite prostitute who lives in Macarthur Park and specializes in something called nasal sex.  As you can see, it's fairly difficult to get in to the holiday spirit out here.  Thankfully, I'm going to be able to make it back to the northeast for the holidays. 

So what did I do today.  Well I guess the high point was picking up a package for Everclear.  Yes...Everclear of the late 1990s.  They are still together and unsuccessful as ever.  Still, teenage nostalgia brought me back to the days when you would listen to the radio and genuinely get excited when a song you liked came on the radio.  This was the only way you could hear a specific song without buying the CD.  Then there were those who recorded their favorite music off the radio onto a tape.  Ahh good times. 

O Everclear, tell me where did you go?  Yeah you had the world inside your hand but you did not seem to know.

Well when I got back to the office, I had to help a lifetime assistant down to her car.  Lifetime assistants are those people who lost their aspiration to rise above the assistant position.  They're often women in their 30s or 40s who have been at the same desk for over twenty years.  On the way down she offered some advice that I really took to heart and would like to impart to ya'll.  She advised me to not get stuck at a particular company.  I could see the pain in her eyes as she said that.  She went on to emphasize that I put in my time and then get out of this company.  Although I already shared this notion to an extent, I realized just how difficult it is to drop the security of a job and move on.  To essentially halt all the progress you've made at a company and start from scratch at a new one.  Loyalty in the workplace is an overrated attribute in modern society.  With the future in such social and financial uncertainty, it's easy for someone to put in twenty years at a job only to suddenly learn that they are unemployed.  When you are working at a company, restaurant, or any job for that matter you feel like it's your entire life.  Your coworkers feel like family and you feel like an essential employee and friend.  Now leave that job and come back two years later.  Everyone has moved on.  The work you did has been forgotten and the people you worked with now feel like mere aquaintances.  That's why you need to create your own accomplishments and not let your life be defined by where you work.  You truly are swimming with sharks out here.  Those that stop moving, start dying and eventually become a barnacle on a desk.  The highlights of your year soon become office birthday cake parties and some half assed holiday bash at the Sheraton.  I need to keep motivated and unsatisfied.  Who cares if I don't stay at the company long enough to get dental?  Let's hope we all stay this way. 

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Into the Mystic" by the Swell Season

Did I Mention that the Bartender Hates You!

So this is day two of working double time at my two jobs.  I get to work in Beverly Hills at 9:00AM, then shoot straight over to the bar at 7:00PM, and then get out of work around 3:00AM in Hollywood.  This gives me about 4 solid hours of sleep a night.  While this lifestyle is no stranger to anyone who went to college, it does shorten my patience with all the drunk idiots that roll into my bar after I've been working for 16 hours.  And with that I'd like to present you with a new edition of The Bartender Hates You!  

1.  Never ask the bartender for things that are out of his control.  Furthermore don't ask for things that you want but would affect everyone else at the bar.  What I mean is you don't ask the bartender to turn up the AC or the heat.  What am I supposed to do?  Put ice down your shirt?  Blow on your neck?  Don't complain to me if you're waiting an hour for a table.  Waaahhhhh!  But worst of all is when people ask the bartender to change the music.  Do I look like a DJ?  "Hey can you guys put on a song from my Ipod?"  Are you kidding me?  This isn't your friend's basement.  No one wants to listen to your shitty acoustic cover of "Party in the USA."  And who carries an iPod out with them at the bars anyway?  Answer: socially retarded douchebags who think girls are going to say, "Hey this song is really great, and because you are the one who introduced it to me, I want to bang you."

2.  Don't ask the bartender what's a good bar to go to.  It's like being in a job interview and asking what's a better place to work.  People do this all of the time, especially in Hollywood where it's all tourists and vampires from the valley.  I'm not a tour guide.  Do you go to parties at your friend's house and ask them if there are any better parties in the neighborhood.  Usually guys ask me this question, "Hey where can we go to dance?"  Welll, in your horizontally striped polo and boat shoes, you can probably only get into the hooters and masturbate under the table while eating some chicken wings.  Spicy.

3.  Do not pay for a five dollar drink with a credit card and then ask to close the tab. I know this is unavoidable sometimes, and I understand it happens.  What kills the bartender is when you come up to the bar throughout the night and keep paying for individual drinks with your credit card.  Time is money, and when I'm waiting for the credit card machine for 2 minutes so you can leave me a dollar tip...You get the point.  Carry cash. It's the best way to never leave your credit card behind and bartenders will start to avoid you if you're getting cheap drinks and paying with credit.  This rule also applies when you try and pay for multiple drinks with several different cards.


4.  Do not order some obscure drink you had while on a cruise ship or you learned when you were in douche bag bartending school.  People do this all the time.  They'll order bullshit like a Silver Orangatan Gangbang or a Nazi Julie Andrews and then scoff at me when I ask them what's in it.  They never actually know what's in it, so they then proceed to pull up the drink on their iPhone.  It almost always has 900 ingredients including obscure shit like tangerine schnapps or essence of Mormon.  After I take twenty minutes to match the drink recipe perfectly, they'll tip me a buck and say it tastes different than when they had it last time.  FUCK YOU!  Next time I need a bunsen burner to make a drink, I'm just going to tell the customer to get the hell out of here.


5.  And lastly today's drink you are not allowed to order at a bar is.......JAGERBOMBS!  Jagerbombs are for college students who can only afford to go to some shore town in Virginia for springbreak.  I get how with the whole Jersey shore craze Jager had it's moment, but that moment is gone now.  All Jager does is make people fight their friends and then start drunkenly apologizing as they're thrown out of the bar.  I hope when you drop that shot glass in, it breaks and you swallow broken glass.  I definitely am coming off way angrier than I am in actual life.  Behind the bar it's all smiles and "here ya go."  But this is the Bartender Hates You, and I'm only trying to help ya'll out and let you know why there's human saliva mixed in to your drinks.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Street Corner Preacher" by Amos Lee

Bosby Lands a Job Bitches

I'm back.  I know it's been a while and we have some catching up to do.  These last couple of weeks have been a sort of a crossroads for young Bosby.  A big problem with Los Angeles is you start to find yourself going in circles.  Everyday the weather is the same, so it's difficult to gauge the passage of time.  Accompany that with an endless supply of cheap marijuana and you soon find yourself sinking into a daily unproductive routine.  Next thing you know it's December and "Feliz Navidad" is playing on all the Mexican radio stations in your car.  What am I doing?!  One of my best friend's, the Sea Bear, just had a healthy baby boy last week.  In addition, my high school reunion was on Friday.  Both events I missed, and both made me think what am I doing out here in LA? Ever since I was in high school I had a focus to my life and something to work towards.  Now I'm finally out here and I've done what I feared most.  I find myself settling.  I'm sinking to the bottom of the pool and slowly using up all the oxygen of my ambition.  While my old classmates are bragging of their accomplishments in New Jersey, I'm serving a tweeked out Ethan Embry different tequilas that he all claims to be "radically tasty". I say I can't hardly wait for his new movie.  He promptly leaves without tipping.

Nick Papageorgio AKA Ethan Embry

I finally realize I've hit rock bottom when I'm eating Mcdonalds by myself on Thanksgiving.  I was like Macaulay Caulkin in Home Alone when he's eating mac and cheese at the table by himself on Christmas Eve.  Don't start crying over poor Bosby.  Here's a tissue.  Next day I get a call.  It's a job offer from Robin Williams's company to work full time.  There's a catch.  I would have to work five days a week until 7:00 PM, thus putting myself in conflict with my bartending gig in Hollywood.  Alas, this is a problem.  I make more money in a couple hours bartending than I would working at entire day at this company.  Also, I would be risking my primary pipeline to the hot chicks in Los Angeles.  Then I thought, it's been over a year and what have I accomplished?  I need to move forward.  I need to choose a path and simply walk down it and see where it goes.  So after negotiating a raise before I even started, I accepted the job and I start working full time this Monday.  How I'm going to balance this gig with the bartending job?... I'm not sure yet.  Perhaps, I'll pull the sitcom solution and say I need to run to the restroom, race across town, bartend for five minutes and then say I'm feeling sick, and then proceed to race back and forth across town.  That or I recruit my twin to pose as me and work one of the jobs.  Who knows, it's Hollywood.  I'll come up with some solution.  Luckily, this new job means consistent Bosby posting from here on out.  No more taking the week off.  From here on out, I am a new man or at least I'm going to be the ambitious man I once was.  Tune in later for a new edition of the Bartender Hates You!

Bosby Tune of the Day: "People, Turn Around" by Delta Spirit

D List Actor Steals Girl From Bosby

Temping at new companies is always filled with awkward interactions and moments. You don't know who anybody is, and they could care less about you.  The president of the company could walk through the front door and you wouldn't know it.  I'm used to this and have learned to take any semblance of anxiety out of the equation.  I'm an even keeled machine that exchanges pleasantries with the new daily coworkers while going about my mundane tasks.  Still, even I must admit that it is terribly awkward when it is someone in the office's birthday.  Today was yet another birthday for someone I've spoken maybe six words to.  Still, everybody invites me into the conference room to sing happy birthday.  I forgot the guy's name so it's (Sing:) "Happy Birthday dear ... Larry?"  I choke down some chocolate cake (I hate chocolate) to seem polite and return to my desk to do online crossword puzzles for eight hours.

Now, about the title of this post.  First let me explain that in LA it is exceedingly difficult to find a girl to date.  I say this because for someone like me who is 23 years old and looks like he's 18, it's difficult for most women to see me as a viable option.  You see Los Angeles is a much older crowd than say Boston or New York.  The average age for women at a bar is low to mid thirties.  As a result nearly every woman I've hooked up with since coming out here has been about 34.  Still, 34 in LA looks like 24 nearly anywhere else.  I've had my run-ins and hook-ups with women with kids, and even one that was married.  Now if going older is not your style, there's always the UCLA and USC idiots, but they rarely stray from the frat parties on campus.

With all that said, last night I finally met a girl who I was digging and seemed to be about my age.  She was a damsel in distress, waiting at the valet stand in the empty parking garage.  We strike up a conversation while the valet is M.I.A.  She's freaking out that she doesn't have any cash to tip the valet.  I give her a few dollars....WAIT A MINUTE....I'm making this sound like she's a prostitute.  But trust me it was one of those rare guy meets girl scenarios that only takes place in movies.  I mean come on, how many guys and girls get together after meeting for the first time in a parking garage?  So we're talking.  I'm making jokes.  She's laughing.  She seems generally into me when....

...this guy creeps out from the shadows of some silver minivan.  His name is Page Kennedy and he's an actor you may recognize from Weeds, Blue Mountain State, and Leprechaun 2: Back to da Hood.  He literally steps right in between us and starts telling her how good she looks.  She says, "Don't I recognize you?"  And with that it's over for me.  He starts going into his whole, "Well I'm an actor..." spiel.  The valet pulls up with my car and away I ride. I check the rear view to watch her try and squirm away from this overly aggressive burnt out of an actor.  What was he doing in an empty parking garage anyway?  Is that where he picks up girls?  People always ask me if I run into celebrities in LA.  My answer is always that running into celebrities in LA is like running into someone from your high school in your hometown.  You might think "O hey!, that's so-and-so" but you would never freak out and start harassing them.  Still, I've also learned that the actors at the bottom of the totem pole or just as sleazy as every other wanna be creeping in the Hollywood bar scene.  I've even seen Jeremy Piven get rejected by four girls in a row and then duck out the back door.  In the end I was a bitch and should of tried to get the girl's number.  But hey how could I compete with "Twizzle" from In the Mix?

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Jolene" by Ray Lamontagne

The Bartender Hates You

This is a new weekly feature called the "Bartender HATES You!"  The aim of this new feature will be to provide you with a little insight on what the bartenders are really thinking behind those fake smiles.  I could write an entire book on bar etiquette, so today I'll just start with a few things people do that the bartender absolutely hates.  And yes, I speak on behalf of every bartender in existence.  Hopefully, none of ya'll do any of these things, but if you do please stop now because the bartender is definitely fucking with your drinks.

1. Never say the following:
1. "Light ice..."
2. "Just a splash of coke"
3. "Can I get that in a big glass?"
4. Or the all time worst: "Hey, hook me up..."

There is absolutely no subtle way to tell the bartender to pour you a strong drink so do not even try.  The bartender will just get pissed off and fuck with your drink.  9 times out of 10, the people who say the above phrases will tip nearly nothing, even when they get a strong drink.  The bartender knows this and secretly hates the customer.
 
 2.  The bar is not a fucking buffet.  That means you do not ask for extra olives or cherries and start wolfing them down like you haven't eaten for days.  If you eat that many cherries you are just going to look like you blew the Kool Aid guy.  Especially do not reach over the bar or into the condiment caddies and start grabbing your own garnish feast.  This happens more times than you think.

3. This is fairly specific, but if you happen to be a bartender do not start bragging about this at a bar.  I hate it when people tell me they are a bartender.  I don't care.  Do people who work at grocery stores tell people at other grocery stores that they too bag up customer's shit.  Most times when people tell me they're a bartender they say it like "I know a lot about drinks because I'm a bartender."  They then proceed to order a well vodka and cranberry and tip a dollar (this happened on Saturday).  If you say you are a bartender, and you really are one, then prepare to tip a lot because that is what a real bartender would do.  He also wouldn't be a hassle like all these other idiots.

4.  If it's your birthday, never say "Do I get a free birthday shot?"  Well if you have to ask, then the answer is get out of my bar and die because I hope this is you last birthday ever you dumb jackass.  OK that's a bit of an overreaction, but still never ever ask for a free drink from the bar.  Bartenders do not like being told what to charge for drinks.  If you are cool and tip well then most of the time the bartender will hook you up. 

5.  Lastly, I'd like to end every week's edition of the Bartender Hates You with a drink you are not allowed to order at a bar.  This week's drink is: Bacardi 151.  Bacardi 151 is for high school kids who can only convince Bernie's older brother to buy one bottle of alcohol. It serves no purpose other than getting people black out drunk and throwing up in your bar.  Nobody actually likes 151.  The guy who invented 151 doesn't even like 151.  Thank God my bar doesn't carry this stuff.  When I tell people we don't have it, they almost always respond with "Well, what do you have that's similar to 151."  I then usually respond with, "Get the fuck out of my bar."  If you cannot afford to go out to a bar and drink normally, then don't go out.  Buy a bottle of Everclear and get so fucked up that you can only hook up with other black-out drunks (that's what the majority of people who go out in Hollywood aim to do anyway).

Well I hoped ya'll learned something today.  Till next time...

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Fuck You" by Cee Lo Green

The Freaks Come Out at Night

Good evening dummies.  I'm sitting at the front desk for yet another temp job; so basically I dilly-dally all day on the computer while picking up the phone a couple times.  Today I'll give you some insight on the night scene in Hollywood.  Now I'm not talking about where the hot clubs are and where you can spot all the celebs.  I'm talking the real Hollywood.  Hollywood is essentially a shittier, more compressed version of Vegas.  That is without the gambling and open container policy.  It's a clusterfuck of international tourists and idiots from the Valley.  Everyone is overdressed for the clubs and underdressed for the weather.  What I mean is all the girls look like they're auditioning for an early 90s rap video and all the guys look like they're auditioning to be Diddy's new butler.  During the day, however, there is no one to be seen.  When the sun comes up it's like flicking on a light in an old house and watching the cockroaches scatter to the shadows.

Here's a little rundown of the gauntlet I have to run through in order to get my car after work.  I usually get out of the bar around 3:00AM and my car is only about 2 blocks away.  That's about a block and a half too far. Alright, here we go...

Bosby's Bar

1. Dodge the hoochie mamas and gang bangers loitering outside of Kitchen 24.  Kitchen 24 is located right next to my bar and it's apparently the hot spot for people trying to creep once all the clubs let out.  Make sure to hold your breath (or take a deep breath depending on your mood) as you pass through the haze of marijuana smoke.  Keep your eyes locked on the ground because you will become hypnotized by some of these girls' rear ends.  I'm saying some of these asses are so big that if one of these girls sat on James Franco's hand he would have to cut.....(alright that was terrible).  But I'm serious when I say do not make eye contact with these girls or their butts, or you're just asking for trouble.
2. Grab your keys from the Persian valet who also happens to be from Jersey.  Joke about your home state and politely humor his constant invitations to Vegas.
3. Make a wide berth of Bernard, the amateur pet salesman.  Bernard is a homeless black guy wearing a large trenchcoat.  Inside this trench coat are numerous puppies, kittens, and baby rabbits that he tries to sell to unsuspecting tourists.  This guy is crazy and if you don't buy the animal, he threatens to snap its neck.  I know this sounds horrible.  The cops have been trying to chase down this guy for years and apparently he has eluded capture.  I've talked to some people that have actually bought the rabbits, and they've said that they all died a few weeks later.  The rabbits died, not the people. 
4. Glance at six policeman as they violently stomp on a poor Mexican's hot dog cart.  In Hollywood tons of people try to sell hot dogs without a permit despite the warnings from the local law enforcement.  See the poor Mexican cry as the tools of his trade are destroyed right in front of him.  Don't worry, he'll be back the next night with a brand new cart and more delicious hot dogs to sell.
5. Hop over the sleeping crackhead.
6. Walk through an empty parking lot and brush off the stray cats napping on your car roof.  
7. Make your way home (still a 40 minute commute at this time of night) while dodging countless drunk drivers and turning down hookers at nearly every other street corner.

And that was only last Saturday night.  As you can see, Hollywood is a mess.  Good thing my bar looks like a foreclosed strip club from the outside or else I would probably have to deal with all these characters all night.  Thankfully, I only work in Hollywood, and you wonder why I try and live so far away from it.  

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Turn Back Your Clocks" sung by the Dads

Hilarious video that I'm sure everyone who talks to their parents over the phone can relate to.

So Ridiculous

Bosby Walk Across America and Fails

Sorry that this post is coming so late but I recently moved to Santa Monica and have been without the internet all week.  I am currently writing this post at the front desk of a Hollywood management company, still burned out from a late night of bartending.  Last night I had to bartend the after party for the official premiere of a movie about Muslim punk musicians.  So you can imagine what a gas that was.  With the cable guys coming tomorrow, I can assure you that the City of Broken Dreams will resume with its normal updating schedule.

So we have a lot to catch up on.  Let me warn you that I am very susceptible to phases.  By that I mean every week or so I have a new grand idea.  These have included the following:

1. Buy around-the-world plane tickets.
2. Get a work visa and move to Australia.
3. Move forward with my rib clips idea.
4. Start a chain of fast food salad restaurants in the Los Angeles area.

Basically, I get very excited about something, do tons of research on it, and then give up on it once the first major obstacle presents itself.   I'm a big idea man, but terrible when it comes to the execution.  Which brings me to last Friday, when I started contemplating the idea of walking across country.  That's right, walking across country.  I have already driven across country three times, so naturally the next step is to walk from the Pacific to the Atlantic.  I figured out the time and money it would take, and determined that I would start the journey after my current lease runs out (so about a year from now).

All jazzed about my new plan, I decide to go out with Fuzzy to the bars in Venice Beach (something I rarely ever do.)  About an hour into the bar and a half a dozen drinks later, I finally realize why I hate going to random bars in Los Angeles.  What better time to practice for my walk across country than to walk back to our apartment from the bar?  So I let an inebriated Fuzzy know that I'm leaving (he knows better than to question me when I'm on a mission).  Just a side note:  I have an uncanny ability to always find my way home, no matter what state or condition I'm in.  I could be high on heroin and get run over by a car and still find my way home.  All my friends know that at least once during the night I will walk off on my own without telling anyone where I am going.  You may call it shady, but I call it an adventure. 

So the bar is about four miles from my apartment, and I figure as long as I pick out a star to the east and follow it I should be fine.  Long story short, two hours pass and I am nowhere near my apartment.  In fact I am almost farther than when I started.  I now figure that I was probably following a plane.  By now I am so tired that I just stumble onto someone's front lawn and pass out under a tree.  I call all the usual suspects to pick me up, but it's late on a Friday night and everyone is either across town at a bar or too inebriated to even comprehend my situation.  As a last resort, I call the Electrician, which is the resident drug dealer in my neighborhood.  Not only can this guy get you any drug you want but he's also the most gracious host I've ever met.  And yes he's an actual electrician.  To my surprise, the Electrician says he'll pick me up, and a half hour later he shows up in his pick-up truck blasting German techno. 

So we roll through the night at 3:00AM blasting some remix of Du Hast.  By the time we get home, he convinces me to chill at his apartment for a little while.  I'm exhausted beyond belief but I can't say no after the guy just picked me from some random person's front lawn.  So I go into his apartment where soft core porn is playing on the TV and a small mountain of cocaine is on the coffee table.  After turning down doing some lines with him several times, I'm forced to listen to some guy (who I swear is my age but has gray hair) espouse his theories on Afghanistan.  He tells me that over the last couple of decades the US military has been peddeling Afghani heroin throughout the US.  And now the Afghani people have had a stroke on remorse and want to convert the poppy fields to food crops, but the US government wont let them.  The eyes are literally rolling into the back of my head as this ambiguously aged cokehead is making no sense.  Between this guy yammering, the sniffling of the Electrician, and the moaning of the naked coeds making out on the TV, I'm slowly going insane.  I regret ever contemplating walking across country.  I couldn't even make it four miles.  Finally, I find a moment to ditch the apartment and retreat to my bed.  Like I said, I always find my way home.  LA sure does have a way of constantly making your life feel like a scene in a movie.

Till Tomorrow Dummies,

*Bosby*

O have any of you seen this video I posted above?  It's absurb.

When Michael Caine Met Sally

 

 Ran into Michael Caine today at a pharmacy.  It was exactly like this.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Who's Lovin You" by Lauryn Hill

Watch as the Apollo crowd boos a 13 yr old Lauryn Hill.  Also watch the world's creepiest MC at the beginning.

A Day in the Life of a Hollywood Runner

One of the many temp jobs I work out here in LA is that of a Hollywood runner.  What a runner essentially does is all of the out-of house chores for the company.  Sounds boring but it allows you get into all of the studios, agencies, and productions companies without any hassle.  You basically have a security pass to get into any building in the city.   It's just you and the open road...clogged with a million cars that move an inch an hour.   All last week I worked as a runner at a top management company for some pretty big names.  Here's a rundown of Friday's events.

1. Pick up a prescription for one of the managers.  His credit card doesn't work so I pay cash.  The manager's assistant then reimburses me with cash and a handful of dimes. "Sorry that's all I have," she smiles.  You're kidding me right? Dimes?  She was like the female John Stockton dishing me out all these dimes.  So I jingle jangle out of the office to complete my next errand.
2. Pick up four 12-pack wine shippers and boxes.  Basically these are huge boxes with Styrofoam that allow you to mail 12 wine bottles securely.  I don't know why they thought I could fit all that in my little car but I couldn't; so I had to put the top down on the Stanger Banger and pile the boxes up in the front passenger seat.  So I'm driving ten miles under the speed limit with my right hand on top of the boxes when one of them flips out the back of the car and onto the road.  I pull over and watch as two cars nip the side of the box and send it flying.  Oh well Bobbin Williams, I guess you'll have to mail your wine in shitty boxes.
3. Drop off a script at CAA, one the biggest agencies in the world.  The building literally looks like the deathstar.  I'm actually friends with the guy who works the front desk, whom I first met when I unsuccessfully interviewed for a job at CAA.  I may not have landed that job but I was able to recruit a bunch of its employees as high tipping regulars at my bar.  So we shoot the shit over the weekend's potential Halloween parties and I'm on my way.
4. Go to the Tonight Show in the valley to pick up a copy of last night's episode on DVD.  Bullshit with the limo drivers for all the celebrities appearing on that night's episode.

So basically as a runner you're a little errand boy for the company.  It's not all bad though. You get to befriend all the other people at the bottom of the food chain in the industry.  From receptionists to limo drivers, studio pages to celebrities' assistants, everybody's in the same boat as you.  Plus you can always use the LA traffic as an excuse for running late on a run.  There have been times when I have just stopped in a bar and grabbed a beer after picking up a script from Warner Bros.  As long as you are competent, which few people in this town are, and get the job done, you're bosses never give you shit.

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Eighteen with a Bullet" by Pete Wingfield

Bosby Bleeds All Over the Club

Oh hey, I forgot ya'll were there. Before I get started I'd like to give a shout out to my brother Albus who last week got pulled onto the court during the Sixers vs. Heat game. You know, one of those hit a basket, win a vacation type deals. The video is below. Basically he had to hit one NBA 3-pointer in 45 seconds. Sounds easy, but he had no practice, thousands of people yelling at him, a shitty McGregor ball to shoot with, and a creepy half-man, half-rabbit mascot named Hip Hop looming over his shoulder.

Thatta Boy Albus

I know this is the first post in almost a week but it was quite the rough week. I was pulling double duty working as a runner for some big time actors' management company and then going straight to the bar to work the late night shift. I'm pretty sure I can't name the actors but lets just say their names rhyme with Bobin Williams, Crilly Bystal, and Schmoody Allen. More on those escapades tomorrow. I'd rather use tonight to vent on one of the most miserable nights I've had in LA. The night Bosby bled all over the club.

Bobbin WIlliams?

So let's set the scene. It's Friday Night. Los Angeles. The City of Fast Food, Fast Times, and Fast Women. Bosby has just spent all day running bullshit errands for Bobin Williams. Finally work is over and it's time to let loose. Take into mind that that day Bosby suffered three nosebleeds. Bosby has no idea why for he hasn't done any "skiing" for months. Still he makes it through the day and starts pregaming at a neighbor's apartment when his nose starts bleeding again. Time is 10:00PM. His buddy, fellow bartender "El Paso" calls and tells Bosby he's picking him up for the club in an hour. "Why that's more than enough time to get rid of this nosebleed," Bosby says as he retreats to his couch to lay back and let the natural healing begin its course. EL Paso, late as usual, shows up and Bosby gets up to go to the car (his nosebleed now gone). Oh, take into account that El Paso is dressed as a Twister board (this being Halloween and all) and Bosby is dressed as that asshole who shows up at a costume party without a costume. Ten minutes into the car ride, Bosby's nose resumes bleeding.

El Paso's costume looked nothing like this.

The two idiots get to the club and Bosby gets by the bouncer only by pretending to give him that upward nod "What's up" type gesture. His nose is still bleeding. He then makes a bee line straight to the bathroom where he proceeds to burn through a small rainforest's amount of tissues. Nothing will stop it. So Bosby shoves some tissue far enough up his nose so that no one will notice. All is good. El Paso's waiting with some beers and shots of Jager. Bosby goes to talk to some cute chick that's checking him out when his nose starts bleeding through the tissue and all over his shirt. Girl is disgusted and runs away. Bosby takes two more shot of Jager in frustation, blood dripping down his chin, and returns to the bathroom. Now what should Bosby do?

1: Go outside and deal with this shit? No, this is downtown LA and a guy stumbling around with his nose bleeding will either get arrested or his ass jumped by some homeless vampires.
2: Call a cab and go home? Hell no, cabs from the club to Bosby's place are going to be 50$. Plus no cab driver would pick up a dude with blood all over him.
3: Lie down on your back in a bathroom stall for a half hour and hope that your nose stops bleeding?

Bosby can relate.

If you chose option 3 you are unfortunately correct. Bosby lies down on his back in a fairly disgusting rock club bathroom. He trembles as dudes shake the door and yell "Hey, hurry up and finish shitting already." Twenty five minutes pass. Bosby stares at the lightbulb swinging from the ceiling when the face of a bouncer appears over the stall door. "Get the fuck out of there," he yells. Bosby gets up and explains his dilemma. The bouncer for some reason completely understands and merely says, "Don't bleed in the club." OK! Wait a second, during this conversation Bosby realizes his nose has stopped bleeding. Hooray!!!!

Bosby returns to the club where El Paso is waiting with yet more shots of Jager and more Dos XX. All is right in the world when....yep. Old Faithful, AKA Bosby's nose, starts going again. Funny thing though, nobody gives Bosby shit or is that disgusted because it's Halloween and everyone think the blood on his shirt is part of his costume. Bosby goes on to get wrecked at the bar with his nose bleeding at all.

In case you forgot I AM BOSBY, and that night was absolutely horrible. El Paso drove me home after the club closed with my nose bleeding the entire way. I finally just laid an old towel on my bed and went to sleep with my nose still going. The next day I was fine, though extremely weak after losing a quart of blood, and till this day nobody knows what caused that nose bleed. Hey what a spooky story right?

Well since ya'll waited a week here's your first glimpse of Bosby:

Bosby Tune of the Day: "Crazy" by Alice Russell

Bosby Tune of the Day: "For Emma" by Bon Iver

Thanks to Fick from San Francisco, CA for submitting this.

Bosby vs. the Reefer

No call from the temp agency this morning + some kick ass dreams led me to wake up at 2:00 in the afternoon today.  I know that's horrible and those working a 9-5 with long commutes must hate me.  But I assure you, I do work a dozen different jobs most of the time. Just not today.  So on days like these I venture to my hang out spot, Venice Beach, to play some basketball.  It was during a pick up game when I noticed no defenders were marking me on a fast break to the basket.  That's because they were back on their end of the court hitting up a bowl of Cali's finest medical marijuana.  I have grown so used to this and so has everybody else in the area.  If you've ever been in Venice you would know that marijuana is the least of its problems.  Try staying outside after dark when all the tweekers rise up from the sewers and crawl out of the ocean looking for a fix.  I've had numerous friends from the east coast come out and visit, and they are astounded by the lax approach to weed out here.  Think of Cali's outlook on weed as the same thing as how beer is treated in Cancun on spring break.  In Cancun beer is so cheap and so available that everyone shares with everyone.  Creepy homeless Mexicans are giving beers to American toddlers.  The same thing goes for weed in LA.  As a result, I smoke very often but almost all of the time it's in a social setting.  The guys working the tattoo shop next to my bar will smoke me up when I go out back to take out the trash.  Even the losers on the basketball court will smoke up the winners after a game of pick up.  And this ain't your ordinary college weed you pick up from some shady business major with a name like Gopesh.  This stuff will make you arrive at epiphanies, make you laugh till you cry, or put you on your ass depending on the strain you purchase.  And don't get me started on the names: Rush Limbong, Harry Chronic Jr., Kareem Abdul Jabong, and of course Splifford the Big Red Bong.  My particular favorite is a strand called Valley Girl that my friends and I shared on pretty insane trip to the Red Wood Forest in No Cal.

Does anybody else not get this?

Now why am I bringing all this up? Because in a few weeks California residents will have the ability to vote on Proposition 19, which would allow anyone over 21 to have up to an ounce on them, smoke in a private residence, and grow up to 25 square feet of marijuana plants.  Proponents of the proposition advocate that it will bring tons of tax revenue to the indebted state while pushing out the Mexican drug cartels and allowing cops to focus on real crimes.  Now this all sounds well and good but I am against Prop. 19 for these reasons:

1. No matter what you say marijuana is a gateway drug.  Find me one pothead who doesn't go on to other drugs.
2. There's no buffer generation.  People will be thrown straight into this new world where pot is everywhere.  With legalization there will be commercials and advertisements.  It would be like if you went to a country where alcohol never existed and suddenly gave them a lifetime supply of tequila.  Let's see how those first few days, weeks, and even years go.
3. When smoked enough, marijuana impairs your ability to drive just as much as drinking does.  There is currently no stigma regarding smoking and driving, so of course tons of people will think they are ok to drive after "only a couple" of bong rips.  Cops will have no ability to definitively judge whether somebody has just smoked or not.  
4. This will only have a negative impact on society.  Very few people are productive after they have smoked.  Now this is when the functional potheads start giving me shit about how they are even more productive after they smoke.  Congratafuckinlations, but not everyone is like you.  And while you guys may think you are being productive, very few people will agree that creating the concept of rib clips while high is positive social work (....Bosby!)  When pot is everywhere and readily available all the time, people will then smoke all the time.  There's no hangovers for pot that prevent you from toking up daily.
5. Why fuck with a good system.  I don't see anyone complaining in LA about the state of marijuana legalization.  If you want some you can easily get it.  Nobody's stingy, everybody shares, and there's always just enough.  By that I mean you smoke a bit and go on with your day.  Plus the cops rarely give you shit.

Now I can hear the screams from all the potheads disagreeing with my points but they are all true.  I know functioning cokeheads, functioning rollers, and functioning acid droppers but nobody's beating  down the door to legalize that shit.  Just because weed doesn't kill you doesn't automatically mean it should be legal.  In the end, this thing is not going to pass in November.  Years down the line it probably will.  But come on, the people who really want this thing passed are the people who will forgot to go vote.  

Alright I'm going to go hit the Ecko Cooler (our piece) and pass out.

Sweet dreams fools

*Bosby*

Bosby Tune of the Day: "I'm Broke" by Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears

Bosby and the Receptionist

It was a relatively low key day in Hollywood.  Mondays are the one day shift I work at the bar during the week.  It's kind of the dues you pay to work the weekend shifts.  I say dues because no one and I mean absolutely no one comes into my bar during the day on Mondays.  My bar is in the middle of the Hollywood party strip and to make matters worse it has no windows.  It's a cave during the day, and nobody wants to return to the scene of the crime of their weekend debauchery to grab some tacos on Monday.  So I spend the day cutting limes and cleaning bottles in solitude.  That is until 1:00 when I call Nikki.  Nikki is the receptionist at the temp agency I work at.  You see, everyday at 1:00 I call and let the agency know whether or not I am available to work the following day.  That means at 1:00 everyday I get to speak the wonderful Nikki.  Nikki is about the fourth receptionist in the last 6 months there so the job must be terrible.  But by the way her voice perks up when I call, I know I must be making her day.  Over the last few weeks our conversations have been getting longer and longer.  Granted we just talk about how much her job sucks, but just give me time.  One of these days I'm going to go into that temp. agency and ask her out.  Now some may interpret this as creepy but I view it as a classic early 90s rom com scenario.  She's got one of those voices where you just know she's hot.  I'm only telling you this so that you can all be in on the ground floor if we turn out to be the newest Hollywood power couple.  Just think: Bicky! or Nosby!  The only thing that's stopping me is if she had some terrible deformity like a hunchback or an orb head (I'm talking a head with virtually no facial features)?  NAH it can't be. She probably looks like this:

Nikki:

This is honestly the hottest police sketch I could find.

Now for a new weekly feature called "Bosby's Billboards."  Los Angeles is overpopulated with billboards advertising the new TV shows and movies coming out.  Every traffic light you stop at you are forced to look at these often ridiculous billboards.  This week's billboard is a couple weeks old but I managed to see it as I was getting off the highway on the way home.  It's for the new A&E reality show called "Teach" starring Tony Danza.  Yes Tony Danza.  The show actually follows TONY DANZA as he teaches high school English for the first time at an inner city school in Philadelphia.

My favorite part of this billboard are the random words written on the chalkboard.  Homework!  Soliloquy! Do Now! Also the title makes it look like the name of the show is "Teach Tony Danza."  What could you possibly teach the omniscient Tony Danza?  Lastly what is that look he's giving? What is he thinking?  'Hmmmm I wonder who is the boss?'

But hey at least its not as bad as...

Alright cronies, see ya tomorrow

*Bosby*

Bosby Tune of the Day: "The Perfect Space" by the Avett Brothers

If you dig this definitely check out all their albums because all of their shit is great.  Also, check out the Delta Spirit video link at the bottom of the "Bosby's World" post.

Bosby Goes to a Gay Club

What's going on dummies? Long time no see.  Sorry for those who checked on the blog over the weekend only to find that there were no new entries.  I'm trying to build up a steady entry schedule and writing over the weekend does not seem to be in the cards.  Anyway welcome to all the new readers, and thanks to all current readers who shared this blog with their friends and coworkers.  You'll have to give them the exact URL because when you type Kill Bosby into Google, an awful band out of Omaha pops up.  Fuzzy and I spent a good ten minutes listening to their music on myspace and we can testify that they are terrible.  There some shitty Femo (Folk + Emo) group that doesn't even exist anymore. They're most recent fan post is from this chick named Mustang Vicki from 2008.

Yeah. Exactly.  HEY! Notice the use of pictures??? Fuzzy finally discovered this blog and appears to be very supportive.  So supportive in fact that he wants me to add a weekly feature called "Fuzzy's Facts."  A little overboard Fuzzy, but he's planning a presentation as we speak to pitch his ideas to me and Kluie (our third party judge).

So Friday night I went to a gay club. Wait...WHAT?  Yeah that's right, Friday night was the first night I ever went to a gay club.  Now don't start jumping to conclusions. Here's how it happened. I wake up from a long nap Friday afternoon amped and ready to go out.  So i get on the hotline and start throwing out the mass texts.  You know the ones I'm talking about: "Hey what you up to tonight?"  Some people are out of town. Some are staying in for the night.  I look at Kluie on the coach watching yet another rerun of the Nanny (Wheres does he find this stuff on the TV).  He's new in town and doesn't know anybody.  So long story short, we head over to my old roommate's (whom I used to live with years ago in LA and who also happens to be gay) place in West Hollywood to pregame.  I assumed I would go from their to a straight bar to meet up with friends while Kluie can head out with J For and get orientated with the LA gay scene.  All my other plans fall through, however, and I'm drunk so I can't drive anywhere.  So I head to Factory (Yes: Factory) with the Gat Pack.  So we get there and I tell my buddies to strap on their Stradar to find the one straight chick in the place.  After a ton of tequila and redbulls and a ton of dudes slapping me on the ass, I went creeping like I've never crept before.  I finally track down a group of chicks who appear to be straight.  Now what I'm about to say will sound extremely creepy, but just take into account that I was extremely drunk desperate for any contact with straight women.  So I stroll up to cutest chick in the group and just let her assume that I'm gay. We dance for twenty minutes or so and then I move in to hook up.  Cause girls always make out with gay guys right?  I know this logic sounds dumb as hell but I was a wreck.  So I go in for the kill and she immediately stonewalls me.  "Not gonna happen, I know your straight." I don't even think I replied in English.  I think I just went "mehhhh."  Still the night was not a total loss.  I got to meet up with some old friends and Kluie and I played a few challenging rounds of "Is that a guy or a chick."

Hey did you know its National Shitty Transition Day?  So I was at the Halloween store today and something got my attention that I can't believe I hadn't ever really noticed.  What the fuck is the deal with baby costume models.  You know what I'm talking about.  Those pictures on the cover of baby costume outfits.  Are there overbearing stage moms that berate their infants to smile for the camera to become costume models?  Or maybe there's a crooked orphanage that mistreats their children and steals all the profits from their costume modeling to buy meth.  Which brings me to the point: why would you ever make your infant wear a costume?  Babies cry when they have to burp and shit, so why would you put them in a restricting costume you sadistic assholes.

Really? How do you even carry this baby around?

Really? Babies in blackface?

You gotta be kidding me? This is horrifying and it looks like the baby's being murdered by a porn star with a huge boner.

YES!

Alright ya'll I don't know how you made it through the weekend but now you have a whole work week to look forward to the ramblings of Bosby.  Hey, let's try and get a dialogue going.  Please feel free to comment and lets get some new topics rolling.  There's gotta be more creepy baby costumes out there and I'm sure ya'll have some interesting gay club experiences.  Everything is free game on Kill Bosby. 

Night dummies,

*Bosby* 

Bosby's World

Fuzzy's out at the club.  Kluie's sleeping soundly on the couch in the living room.  That means it's time for Bosby to post up on this modest blog.  First, I would like to address some of the feedback from the readers.  Lil' Yon from Hawthorne, New Jersey alerted me of a new class of cougars that I completely forgot.  These are your older cougars. I'm talking fifties and up.  The term he so aptly uses for them is "Sabretooths" (PERFECT lil Yon).  Can you use it an sentence?
          Bill: "Hey Mark how hot are the varicose veins on that chick."
          Mark: "Bill, this Sabretooth fetish of yours has gotta stop, but I could probably titty fuck that broad         from about two feet away."
By the way, DO NOT look up varicose veins on Google images.  Also, coming soon will be an accompanying dictionary for all the new vocabulary originating in the Kill Bosby blog.

Some more Kill Bosby feedback comes from the Tan Man out of Stamford, Connecticut.  Tan Man writes, "Really enjoy the blog Bosby, but what exactly are your intentions with it?"  Fair question Tan Man.  "The City of Broken Dreams" is meant to capture the spirit of a generation trying to cope with the realities of the real world.  Virtually nobody I graduated college with is now pursuing the dreams and hopes I heard them once talk so optimistically about.  And I'm only out of college less than two years.  It's seems as if everyone  immediately settled once they got out of college.  In a country where jobs are scarce and student loans are bearing down on you, its completely understandable that overqualified college graduates seized onto the few paying jobs that were available.  Others panicked and decided that grad school was the way to go.  "For what I want to do, I need to go to grad school."  Others try to convince themselves that their current jobs are merely temporary.  But how long is temporary?  That's why this blog is called the City of Broken Dreams.  Everyday I encounter dozens and dozens of people, some my age and many much older who for some reason or another just gave up on their ambitions.  This is not a sad tale however.  Life is all about what you rebuild out of those broken dreams.  Sorry for the rant Tan Man, but what I hope to convey in this blog is all of the indecisiveness, concerns, joys, and experiences of that period of our lives where the road is not yet mapped out.

FUCK that was depressing.  So where did we leave off yesterday.  Ah yes, my goals for this my second year in Los Angeles.  In no particular order here are my four goals.

1. Act in something.  I know this sounds vague but I have considered doing some acting for some time now.  So far I have had two bizarre close calls with acting in Los Angeles.

• First, I was walking to my car when a neighbor of mine stopped me to ask some questions.  Next thing I know the guy's telling me his life story.  I'm fading in and out but I pick up some part about him doing the sound mixing for one of the later Devo albums.  SIDENOTE: people in LA have a tendency to overcompensate and exaggerate any achievements they may have accomplished.   You know inside they are sad that they haven't accomplished more so you just humor him.  When I finally gain consciousness after this twenty minute conversation, the neighbor is talking about some reality show pilot he's shooting.  Think hidden camera show.  And he wants me to be in one of the segments.  According to him I would be running through downtown LA during lunch hour while a dozen supermodels chase me and try and rip off my clothes.  The budget was really cheap and he needed a cheap actor for the part.  I agreed (unfortunately).  This guy was super creepy by the way.  Like "it puts the lotion on it's skin" creepy.  Next thing I know he's asking for my clothes measurements and shoe size.  Luckily, one day he disappeared and I never saw him again.  Also, NEVER tell your mother you got cast in a pilot because she will begin to tell everyone in your hometown that your a star when really your just an actor in your disturbed neighbor's Boner mixtape. 
• The other time I was walking to dinner when a female casting agent a little older than me stopped me and started asking questions.  I thought she was hitting on me when really she was seeing if I would audition for a new game show on the E Network. The pay was $500 and I never turn down new experiences so I said why not.  So I go to the audition and quickly realize that it's a new version of the show Blind Date and it's sponsored by Jerry Springer.  I asked to go to the bathroom and then proceeded to sprint to my car in the parking garage

2.  Write a complete script.  Every guy out here claims to be a writer, but I would like to FINISH a screenplay.  Fuzzy's already shot down my idea for an action comedy starring Al Pacino and Sean Connery as commercial airline pilots called The Buddy System.  Guess it's back to the drawing board.

3.  Move forward with my rib clips idea.  What are rib clips you may ask??? Well, think corn cob holders but for ribs.  Now you can enjoy the great taste of ribs without any of the mess.  Fuck you if you try and argue that being messy is part of eating ribs.  Just look at my first infomercial.  Picture a bride trying to enjoy her favorite food, ribs, on her wedding day.  But oh no! she's getting barbecue sauce all over her beautiful dress. POOF!  She appears eating her ribs with the help of rib clips, her dress still perfectly white. "Thanks Rib Clips!" she exclaims.  The infomercial will end of course with her tossing the rib clips over her shoulders to all the hungry bridesmaids trying to eat ribs next.  Do not even think of stealing this idea.  I have a patent pending and I've seen the Social Network.

4.  Lastly, I will try and seize on to every opportunity and adventure that presents itself over the next year.  Ambiguous I know, but since I've come to LA my goals in life have been demolished and all I know is that I want to gain as much different life experience as possible.  I'm hoping to be like a non-retarded version of Forrest Gump.

Well Bosbonites, we've had some laughs and we've shared some tears tonight.  Keep up with the feedback and please share the blog with your friends and coworkers.  I know this blog reads like the Wall Street Journal with its lack of pictures.  I'm working on it.

Till tomorrow, 

*Bosby* (Tune of the day: "People, Turn Around" by Delta Spirit  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iTX8_FC9tp4 )

FUZZY IS FREE! and resolutions for the next year.

Whattt uppp! Bosby in the house!  Alright I will stop referring to myself in third person, but to my credit I am exhausted and delirious.  I just got home from work and after tiptoeing past a slumbering Kluie, I am now safely in my room writing this entry with a tub of orange sherbert in my hands.  When was the last time you had orange sherbert? Its delicious.  And fuck people who call sherbert sorbet.  "Sorbet" sounds like a french condom.  "Wi wi sir, I would like to fuck you but only if you are carrying a sorbet." or "O shit my sorbet had a hole in it.  Now you're pregnant."

Anyway, for those who can't sleep at night because of the notorious Fuzzy vs. the People of the United States case, be at ease. Fuzzy is free!  With only a 500$ speeding ticket, his driving record is as clean as his genitalia before he started college (far different case now).  Just kidding Fuzzy.  But come on doesn't the nickname Fuzzy bear a whole new meaning now?

I'll admit I have been drinking tonight, hence the now half empty gallon of orange sherbert in my lap.  I work at a bar that has a bit of a don't ask don't tell policy when it comes to drinking behind the bar.  What happens nearly every shift is that I go in with the intention of not drinking.  Then the parade of clowns ensues and I slowly sink into inebriation to cope with nonsense.  Hollywood should be called the USA network: "Characters Fuckin Welcome!"  Today I underwent an onslaught of cougars trying to reenact Sex and the City.  "Cosmos please!" There are several different classifications of cougars (this is a fact, I saw a special on it when I was high watching Animal Planet).

1. There are your standard true cougars.  These are cougars whose sole purpose in going out is bagging young horny men to satisfy their sexual needs.  True cougars usually travel in pairs (the most efficient pack number to bag dudes).  True cougars will never by their own drinks and rarely have to. 
2. Then there are your hyenas.  These are the women dragged out by the cougars to either keep them company or more likely to make the cougars look more attractive.  
3. Then there are your iCougars.  These are cougars that are ipod compatible.
4. And lastly, there are your Noogers (new name is patent pending).  These are your most common form of cougars.  Noogers are regular middle aged women disguised as cougars.  Noogers often have husbands and boyfriends, but when they go out with their girlfriends they become Noogers.  They'll drink, they'll dance, and they'll flirt with young naive men.  Rarely will Noogers go home with the man, but this does not prevent them from making complete asses out of themselves.  Your own mothers have been Noogers at some point I'm sure.  Wow, Nooger sounds absurdly racist.  I will need to come up with a new name.

So I was Bear Grylls tonight amidst all these cougars.  Instead of building a bed high up in threes to survive, howere, I had about 6 six shots of Don Julio just to get by.  Then the Elvis impersonator started his routine...  That's right an Elvis impersonator.  Some people were throwing a 50th birthday party and decided it would be fun to hire an Elvis to perform.  More shots ensue for Bosby.  Next thing I know its 1:45 AM and the bar is empty except for me and Elvis.  I start arguing with him about whether Elvis impersonators try to convey themselves as actual Elvis or if they view themselves as Elvis's little helpers (kind of like how mall Santas do).  Also never tell an Elvis impersonator that he looks like anyone other than Elvis.  I learned this the hard way when I insisted that he looked like Gene Simmons (he really did).

Hey more big news.  Fuzzy and I found a new apartment in Santa Monica.  No more elephant graveyard.  This new place is only a couple blocks from the beach and more importantly a couple blocks from the bars.  By committing to a new year lease, however, I am committing to another year in Los Angeles.  If I am going to do this I need to set some goals for myself.  Here are my three biggest goals:

Fuck it, it's almost 4 in the morning and I'm exhausted.  I'll tell you the goals tomorrow.  Before I go, I'd like to thank Jonesy in San Francisco for suggesting a new font.  Apparently the current one I had was too hard to read.  It took me about fifteen minutes to figure out how to change the font but here we are.  I hope it's easier to read.  Fick, an old roommate of mine has offered to upgrade the look of this blog so expect some changes in the future.  

Till then, you are all my little idiots.

I love you,

*Bosby*