I've had quite a few depressing nights recently, but none can compete with the Saturday night I had a few weeks ago. My Arizona State Sun Devils were playing Oregon State at 7pm, so I was meeting up with some other alumni at a bar to watch the game. Okay, all of what I just described is depressing, but that's not the depressing part.
The bar was in Hollywood. So I had to drive my ass all the way from Hermosa Beach, about a 40 minute hike. I get there, we watch the game, and it goes exactly the way all of ASU's games against ranked opponents have gone for the last 15 years.
With the game out of reach, everyone was sad and I was tired, it was time to go home. I hit the road for the long drive back. As I'm pulling into my driveway, my phone rings.
It's a friend of mine who rarely if ever calls me. "Hey. What are you up to?" "Nothing", I say. He says, "You know that Eddie Murphy Special they're doing for Spike TV? I was at the taping tonight. Anyway, I have an extra ticket for the after party, do you want to go? It's in Hollywood".
As I watched my garage door close, I exhaled. FUCK. I just got home from Hollywood. I was toast. I politely, and regretfully, declined.
But I haven't even gotten to the depressing part yet!
I was so bummed about this. Eddie Murphy?! After Party? Come on, ain't no party like an Eddie Murphy after party cause an Eddie Murphy after party has trannies.
It was around midnight. I brushed my teeth. Took my contacts out. Settled into bed. And that's when the texts start coming:
"I was just talking to Martin Lawrence and Tyler Perry!"
"The after party moved to Eddie Murphy's house! I'm at Eddie Murphy's house!"
"Um, Stevie Wonder is here"
"I'm on a couch sitting between Judge Reinhold and Tracy Morgan!"
"Eddie is playing us his favorite R&B concert videos...no big deal".
Seriously. Seriously? Seriously.
Judge motherfucking Reinhold!!!