A free pitcher of Sam Adams all to myself

I did my 21st day of upper body pull muscles at the gym. Finally! (Again, I try a new regiment after every 21 days.)

Guitar practice was cool.

Then it was time to work again recording Paul and Martha's band at their 2nd performance in Simi Valley (see entry 6/25/10). The same jackoffable chick at the front, who had that rare look of Latina who kind of looks Asian, was there again. That jackoffable bartender Trish, same short shorts and high socks, was also there again.

Martha had finally gotten a day job and - for more boner points - brought a couple of her jackoffable coworkers. One of them was a white chick named Sheryn, tall for a chick but shorter than me, as all cute chicks should be. She's in my database.

I met Paul's youngest son/Martha's youngest stepson Khan. The dude's white. I never thought I'd meet a white guy named Khan.

They gave me a voucher worth $25. What did I get? A free pitcher of Sam Adams all to myself.

I had to drive Khan, who was really fucked up, back to their place.

MARTHA: Why didn't you talk to Sheryn?! She was into you!
RYAN: You're telling me this NOW?

KHAN: I was talking to that chick "Samantha" all night--
MARTHA: There was no one named "Samantha!"
RYAN: I think he meant Sheryn.
KHAN: Oh shit.
PAUL: And you kept calling her "Samantha?!"

Khan and his sister Sable made a Del Taco run. I got a macho burrito at Del Taco.

KHAN: Dude, I was about to fuck that waitress!

Then I watched Khan inhale nitrous. Martha walked in on one of his hits. Uh oh. Then chased him around the house trying to get the nitrous away from him.

PAUL: Khan seems high. Did you give him some acid?
RYAN: Um, no.
PAUL: Oh, I just thought maybe you did.