Since I expended so much energy yesterday compiling my list of favorite records from 2009, I’m going to take today off from blogging. No mix tape tonight, duh. Yesterday’s entry was technically a huge mix tape, and I pointed you towards 100 albums you should be listening to by about 90 different artists. I’m done for, man.

But not completely. See, here are some pictures from my miniature Christmas vacation. I stayed in Los Angeles, yeah, but it was still nice to have a three-day weekend. It allowed me to sleep-in more and stay out later. Also, there was a strip club involved, and that old Christmas tradition I like to call, “Dress up in a mouse costume and run amok in Hollywood.” The strippers loved it.

These are terrible camera phone pictures, but there should be more available from a nicer camera in the future. I don’t know if I’ll remember to post those, but if there’s anything really amazing that I think needs to be seen I’ll probably post ‘em for nostalgia’s sake.

There’s Shaun and I, excited about leaving for the night. You can’t see me smiling, but I was. It is worth noting that I couldn’t see anything the entire night. Since Thursday I keep hearing about these amazing moments from Tom, Quiggs, John, Marin, Shaun, Ken and Katie, but I don’t have any recollection of them occurring because, well, I couldn’t see anything.

The night began at Seven Grand, where we shot some pool and I tried to use my costume to score free drinks. The owner or manager took photos of us and sent them off to his wife as a means of showing her what she was missing by staying home on Christmas Eve. He’s one of the good guys.

My man the mouse is from the street. He lives on the street. He grew up on the street. He IS the street. His stroll is so casual, so cool, it attracts lady mice from all over the city. He passes like an apparition. You’re not even sure you saw him, but he was there, man. Cool as fucking ice.

The bar we went to last year was closed. Oh well. THEIR LOSS.

Instead, we went down the street to a certain silly-named Hollywood strip club. I took a seat right in front of the stage and tried to watch for the reactions of the girls as they came out do dance. Some of them laughed, and others seemed pissed off that I was getting attention from everyone in the room. One girl came out in a cat mask and grabbed me by the head. I couldn’t tell if she was using me like a pole or trying to beat the shit out of me.

How can she be focused on the poll when there’s a giant, sexy-ass, fuzzy mouse man standing no more than five feet away from her? That’s dedication.

This might have been the girl who was dancing on me. John kept putting dollar bills in the mouse mouth and the dancer would come by and rip them out with their teeth. I wish I could have seen it.

I think this was their big Christmas routine. I don’t remember there ever being more than one girl on stage. Funny story: Ken and Katie almost got me on stage. Two of the three decisions involved (the dancer and the bouncer) both agreed that it was cool, but the head honcho lady said “No way in hell.” Bitch.

They shouted “Last Call!” and everyone began migrating to the parking lot. As I got up to leave, I heard people chanting, “Mouse! Mouse! Mouse!” as I moved towards the exit. When I got outside, a small crowd of strippers and patrons began another chant, which grew to be pretty loud. I danced around and made as if I’d just won a huge sporting event. High fives and bows aplomb. It was one of the best moments of my life. They were cheering my name! Well, not me, the mouse. Same thing…

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