Stupid Tanned Hot Chicks

Always bringin me down!

By Tuesday, if you have any money left from your weekend splurges, spend it on dollar drinks at Johnny's in Huntington Beach. Any seasoned barfly knows that a proclamation of dollar drinks generally means you'll be reduced to Dixie-sized cups of rot-gut well liquor mixed with President's Choice cola, but does it really matter when you're imbibing in a bar that's unabashedly in love with Johnny Cash? I didn't think so.

And lastly, on Wednesday, take a hump-day breather. Dim the lights, bust out a bottle of Trader Joe's two-buck Chuck and pop in that Steely Dan CD you tried to sell back to the record store but couldn't. Call your ex from college while "Rikki Don't Lose That Number" plays in the background and pour a libation for all the poor souls at Wednesday's Steely Dan show at the Pacific Amphitheater. Getting nostalgic on cheap wine? Without having to sit through Donald Fagen's self-important stage banter? Count me in! I'll bring the weed. But don't you dare bring a blacklight.

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