So I have this friend, Andrea. I've
known Andrea since the very first week I was in California, back in
2000. At the rate of sounding like my (all since recently deceased
grandmas), she's a funny old gal. I can get away with calling her
old because we've been friends so long and because she knows damn
well that even though she's 9 years older than me, I've never thought
of her anything but the same age as myself. We used to knock around
quite a bit, way back then. I'd go as far to say as we were
inseparable for those first two years – it was rare to find one of
us without the other – but then, as things go, life happened. I
moved away, she shacked up and got knocked up. I moved back, shacked
up myself, and she moved to some god awful inland town that seemed
too far to drive to on a regular basis. I moved away again, blah
blah fuckity blah. We always kept in touch though, as previous
inseparable friends do, and since our lives once again mirror each
other (married with kids) we've managed to see more of each other in
the last two months than we have in the last 5 years. She still
lives in some god awful inland town but the distance doesn't seem as
bad as it once did.
It was with hesitation that I answered
Andrea's text to me a little over a week ago. It simply said, “Are
you free next Sunday?” If you are friends with anyone with
children under the age of 10, always approach the Are You Free's with
caution. “Are you free?” almost always translate to, “Can you
babysit?” Andrea and I have set up a sort of babysitting exchange
so I was pretty much counting on an evening with America's FunniestHome Videos and Andrea's bairn when I responded back with a positive
yes, I was indeed free. I was quite surprised when she texted me
back asking if I was interested in going to Los Angeles for the
evening...to drink!....and she'd drive!
Yes please.
Because Andrea and I are both Married
with Kids, the spontaneous trip to L.A. wasn't completely
spontaneous. Her eldest was going to a concert up there and we'd
have to pick him up when the show was done. It really didn't
matter. It was L.A. and there was drinking to be done and since we
are both Married with Kids, staying out until dawn wasn't in our
repertoire anymore anyhow.
The evening started out with dinner
because it's stupid to go out drinking on an empty stomach. I found
a place online called the Escondite and I'm telling you about it half
because I want to remember it myself and half because if you're ever
in L.A. you should go here. It's not one of those places you will
ever stumble upon; you have to know about it's existence. The
neighborhood itself will make you question if such a place even
exists but I assure you it does. It's great food at reasonable
prices and they have the best bloody marys I've had in California
(sans pickle) and I still like them even though their stupid saloon
doors on the ladies bathroom ripped a hole in the sleeve of my
sweater.
After dinner I convinced Andrea to
drive to Tiki Ti, which is still my favorite bar in Los Angeles (even
though I haven't actually been there in over three years). Sadly,
they are closed on Sundays so we resigned ourselves to having
cocktails at the Mexican restaurant lounge that was right next door.
It was at this Mexican restaurant lounge that it suddenly occurred
to me that we were sitting in a swarm of beards.
Beards. Like facial hair beards. And
we aren't talking the “I forgot to shave for a week” beards, we
are talking the, “I'm not shaving EVER” beards. I mean
seriously. One moment I'm talking to Andrea about some leopard skin
incident from the past and the next moment I'm grabbing her arm
whispering\shouting, “What the FUCK is up with all the beards?”
It was like some sort of Twilight Zone moment when look up and
everyone around you is holding a chicken.
Because Andrea is Andrea and because I
am me and because Andrea and I are some sort of something when we are
together in this sort of capacity, we made a decision to try to take
as many pictures of beards as we could without any of the beards
realizing that is what we were doing. Andrea had some sort of flying
fancy that we should approach the beards with this story of doing a
sort of web article on facial hair in Los Angeles and “here's my
business card” type of thing but I shot it down with a very simple,
“I'm not drunk enough for that yet.” I'd like to point out that
the camera we were using wasn't a simple iPhone camera or even a
point-n-shoot, but instead it was a big ass SLR camera with a super
zoom lens that may as well been 10 feet long for how obvious it was.
And thus is how Andrea and I spent our
night. Drinking in various dive bars and taking pictures of
beards...candidly (we at least thought they were candid through the
haze of vodka). I'm sure we just looked like two middle aged women
sitting at a bar giggling like middle aged women do when they spend
99% of their time with their children and they finally get a night
out – but I had fun. No, I had a blast.
I can't possibly give you all the
beards from the evening, but here are some highlights:
This is what we consider 'candid'. Aiming the lens at the other person while trying to capture the beard in the background.
My, what a little beard you have.
When "candid" goes out the window.
I believe this was a "via a mirror" shot.
I think this is the only guy who managed to pull off a full beard properly...
...this guy sure didn't.
Sometimes, you just have to try and fit in.
