So apparently things sometimes get all mixed up. On Saturday night I went to Livewire with the belief that there was the chance that Stimy would be around and play a surprise set with Inch for the 15th anniversary of Livewire. No such luck. Even if he was there, (and no chance I would recognize him from the few times I was lucky enough to see him perform at all ages shows when I was still in high school), Livewire doesn't have a 'cabaret' license and could get shut down for having live bands.
Still, it was cool hanging with Mr. Hip Hipster Larry and Max and just having a couple beers while djs spun old school Drive Like Jehu and Rust and Lucy's Fur Coat and Uncle Joe's Big Ol Driver and such.
But then the texts started coming. I decided to leave and was on my way to the Ken when my friends sent a text that they were on their way to Livewire, so I circled back to Livewire only to find my friends were still at the Ken. Whatever.
After enough text messages and voice mails, I headed to the Ken around 12:15 and finally found my friends and promptly switched to some stong vodka tonics to catch up (since I'd only had 2 beers in about 4 hours.) Oh, and a couple shots. Whatever, right? At this point I'm walking home anyway.
So bartime comes and everyone is getting told to go home and another herd of us head to my house, and in my drunken delight, we watch Reality Bites AND Beautiful Girls while drinking beers and shots and mixed drinks and hangin out and having a grand ole time. Eventually it came down to three of us (as the sun was rising), and I warned of my evil loud snore and we all passed out.
When I finally awoke, there was a coffee and a danish on my table, my friends were gone, and San Diego was about to burst into flames. I was glad we had the time together before all hell broke loose in this city that we all call home.