Evening Events and a place to crash.

So Marie and Karyn had spent the previous night sleeping in their rented SUV they drove down from San Francisco, and none of us had figured out where we'd stay the next night. They had no tent, and mine only fits two people. We figured we'd probably split a campsite and save a few bucks. I suggested we go to the store, get some food and beers, set up camp, cook our dinner and maybe we'd find somebody with an extra tent.
Marie had struck up a conversation with a local Vietnamese guy (not pictured), who told her story after story, of the restaurants his family owned, the properties he was looking after, the fashion magazine he was putting out from his studio, and on and on and on. Personally, I had the guy nailed for a second class bullshit artist from the get-go, but he said there was a beach bbq to go to up by Carmel, and an extra place jutting up to a state park he had where we could all crash or camp, whichever we chose. Blah, blah, blah. I should've known better than to get involved, and just done my own thing back at the campsite, but I figured I'd go along for the ride, and besides, Marie and Karyn said they'd feel more comfortable if I was there, so I went. Big mistake, but a funny one.
The dude lied about absolutely everything except for the big house in Pebble Beach where his friend lived. His friend did in fact live with his parents in a big house in Pebble Beach, where we promptly picked him up and took off never to even set foot in the house...
We started off at his "friend's" bar in Carmel, where supposedly, we'd get hooked up, but the two shots of tequilla that the guy claimed were paid for ended up on the girls' bill! No beach bonfire, and the bbq he claimed to have all set up- he actually got off his phone and said he was having it fired up as we spoke- and that he could get the girls anything they wanted- lobsters, clams, steak..- was at a small messy ranch house nowhere near the beach, where these guys had started the fire by priming the coals with WD-40 (pictured). And the culinary delights that evening turned out to be two styrofoam packages of chicken. Amazingly enough, his friends were actually all pretty cool, and there were some other people from the gorge we'd met earlier, but when it came down to it, there was no way we were trusting this guy to go anyplace else, cut our losses and headed back to the campsite to crash (Which took forever, and was full, so we had to cross our fingers and grab a reserved site, figuring, if the people hadn't showed up by quarter to one in the morning, they probably weren't coming...