While it’s not really topical anymore, I did have a rather strange weekend. Sam has already recapped some of it, but I figured I’d recount a bit of the jackassery I engaged in these past couple of days:

Once a month, the Sinai temple has something called Friday Night Live. I’ve heard about this thing for about 2 years: “It’s horrible”, people would say. “It’s one big meat-market”, they’d scorn. “I contracted malignant lymphoma there”, they’d complain. But just like the R. Kelly video, the Olympic Triple-cast and Vanilla Coke, I simply had to see for myself. And much like Vanilla coke and the R. Kelly video, Friday Night Live met and exceeded all expectations. In fact, there might even be some startling similarities between the latter two, but we’ll get to that in a second.

So after a nice rush-hour drive to Hollywood, I picked up Sam and we made our way to wherever, exactly, Sinai Temple is (Beverly Hills or thereabouts). We got to the synagogue, and after the cursory “Hey, you have any large-scale explosives or Haitian immigrants in your trunk?” check, we entered what has to be the most confusing underground parking structure ever. On our way to our parking spot we passed an innocuous enough looking girl in a SUV. As Chris Farley said in Wayne’s World, “It seemed extraneous at the time….”

Upon entering the labyrinth that is the temple, we were met by a 4 year old kid. More aptly, we were met by said four year-old’s dirty hands, which he presented to us for inspection. “They’re dirty”, he said, with obvious pride. Ah, the vivaciousness of childhood. “My sister thinks you’re sexy”. Um, excuse me?

We turned around and were met with the aforementioned girl in the SUV. She sheepishly walked past us and chastised her [apparent] brother. I just sorta stood there. She was cute, actually. And wearing fishnets.

And decidedly not legal. In any state.

At this point I realized I had no business being at the damn service. Actually, to be more accurate, I realized I had no business being there sober. (Did I mention Sam and I intentionally missed the actual religious portion of the evening’s proceedings and only showed up for the social afterwards?) But there I was, and there didn’t seem to be much I could do about it. So I cowered along the wall of a hallway, babbling to Sam about poker and desperately wanting my mommy.

Just when I think things couldn’t get any weirder (an expectation I now know to be so far off as to be comical) I hear from the lobby outside the sanctuary, “Yeah, well you look FAT!” Then the aforementioned minor stormed past us and into the lady’s room.

Um, what?!

And we haven’t even gotten to the retarded guy or the satanic imagery. God bless the chosen peeps, y’know?

To be continued…