Since The Death Of The Chhao, Here's What's Happened

April 20 - April 22, 2012

Some cat time at Lt. D and Capt. Comrade's house while they're out of town, Lt. D visiting a friend in Arkansas, Capt. Comrade on adventures time in Orlando with her kids. Pudding Squirt comes up and jumps on the trampoline and we shop and drink wine and eat artichokes. I teach her to eat the stock. That Sunday night I spend over at New York's house with her, her baby daddy, and little squirt and it is fun. We all agree it's the end of the chhao, then they wish they could set me up with their temporary house guest and I say, Let's not.

April 25, 2012

I see Caveman at The Echo with New York and it is fun. Before the band starts we head outside and she sits me down next to a cute, but kinda chubby, Superman looking one, then bails. We talk a bit and he seems nice but not into it. New York doesn't give up and after the show when we go to Two Boots for slices (hers shrimp and pesto, mine vegan) we run into them, she tells the Superman looking one to take me for vegan dinner and he says, Alright. She says, how will we get in touch with you, he says, Do you have facebook?, and I say, No. He gives us each a card and says, We should hang out. It's the worst. New York is like, Why did you make that so awkward, and I'm like, Iiiiiiiiii made it awkward?, and we laugh. I drive her home but, inspired by the Tom Petty cd I've got in, we decide to drive around the neighborhood with the windows down and the music loud. I say, I'll take you home when the record's over, and we both say, Wooooooo, driving up and down the lush hills of the Los Angeles' midnight east side. It is fun and free and freeing.

April 23-27, 2012

Work fucking nightmare style. No daylight. Naps under desk this week: one.

April 26, 2012

My friend at work tells me a hot guy that works in my building maybe wants to go on a date with me. His name sounds like Nemo but it's not. It was one of my New Year's resolutions to go on a date with him. I look at his facebook page and determine he might be lame. My other resolution was to buy more tops.

April 28, 2012

I meet up a with a friend from my last job and she tells me some scandalous juicy gossip about a guy she's dating.

April 29, 2012

I spend the day at the Silver Lake reservoir with the roommate sitting on blankets eating fruit and listening to his ipod. We don't talk much but when we do it's to say, She's hot, or, He's hot, and we both joke that we're killing each other's game.

April 30 - May 9, 2012

Work fucking nightmare style. No daylight. Naps under desk this week: two.

May 2, 2012

I cast a wide net and email the Superman looking one and say,


Superman looking one: 
I'm the one that didn't want to talk about anything and ate my vegan pizza in record time. Look, getting someone's business card isn't typically the kind of lukewarm invitation I would take, but in the event I REALLY read you wrong, I'm writing to say Hi. Let me know if you'd care to grab a drink in the neighborhood. Next 10 days I'm buried, but when I'm up for air, I like to breathe it, describe it in allegorical detail, then I like to drink. Thoughts?


To date, no word. 


May 8, 2012

I see Off! play at the Whisky. There are like 3 girls there total, which is awesome. I have a full blown near fainting panic attack at the sixteenth song and go out side and take off as many layers as I can and sit on the sidewalk and pull up my hair and try to cool down. A punker in blue hair asks me if I'm ok. My body is tingling and I can see mostly only black. I muster the words, Yes - just a little light headed, and want to say, Can you get me some water?, but that doesn't come out, and he keeps walking. It's all the pressure from work, I tell myself, trying to convince myself I didn't get roofied.

May 10, 2012

I see Nick Waterhouse play at The Eagle Rock Center for the Arts and also see the world's hottest man and write a twitter rant about him when I get home at eleven thirty.

May 12, 2012

In the morning, I meet up with the friend from my last job and we talk boys and nonsense. She's brought her dog so we make time in the dog park at Silver Lake and I get lots of kisses and nubs and rubs from puppies there and it is fun. After that, I meet up with The Sweater in Beachwood where she's showing some of her art at the craft fair. I meet her mom and some artists with accents and some without accents. It is a sunny day in the hills and I feel like a ghost of my own mind. I leave around noon then sleep until after three.

At six, a guy from my work picks me up to take me to see Dita Von Teese at the House of Blues in Hollywood. It is fun. He is obnoxious. After the show we go to The Tower for a drink and a snack. He tells me he thinks the hostess is hot and I think, She is so not into you, but I offer to go to the ladies then wait for him in the lobby to give him some time, and he says, Ok. He comes out ten minutes later saying, She's got a boyfriend, and I'm like, Riiiiiiiight. We walk outside as Janice Dickinson is walking in talking loudly to the bellhops.

Sunday, May 12, 2012.

It is Mother's day. And that is never a good thing.

One More Time For Old Time's Sake

April 18, 2012.

The chhao and I have mastered not talking about our feelings and that's probably because the times we do, things explode. On Wednesday morning, I text the chhao to remind him that we have plans to see Wild Beasts at The Echo. He says he's down and we agree to meet at nine. He says he'll pick me up. I work that day and get ready but nothing feels cute. I feel sloppy and need a haircut and need to work out and feel like I have extra back fat. I wear black jeans, black long sleeve shirt, and flat brown boots. The chhao texts me at nine that he's on his way because that fucker is always late and then he comes at nine twenty.

I get in the car and say, Hi. He's wearing a weird sloppy shirt that needs to be pressed, some kind of light blue jeans, and white sneakers I've never seen before. Later he tells me how he came home from the gym, ate a frozen dinner over the sink, then passed out until his roommate woke him up to remind him to come get me. I then put it together that he hasn't showered and just threw clothes on and probably couldn't find real shoes so he wears those ones.

We are not clicking. I don't feel pretty. He doesn't look pretty to me. I am annoyed he didn't shower and I am annoyed he was late. We find parking and I get out of the car and start walking to The Echo. The chhao finds a single cigarette in his pocket and smokes it. We walk past a blond girl and the chhao says, Hey! Do you know me?, and she smiles and says, No, and he says, I think you do. I stand there probably with my arms folded with a scowl on my face because I'm just in that kind of mood, and she says, If I did I would tell you. That makes me smile. He says something to jog her memory and she looks at him like, Nah buddy, and walks away. He tells me, I went to the desert with her and like six other people. I say, Clearly you made an impression, and I walk to the door.

The band is not on until eleven so we decide to get a drink next door at Masa (not El Prado). We order a carafe of table red and start drinking. The chhao debates whether to order food but says he's not hungry and asks if I'm hungry and I'm not so I say, No. He talks to the bartender about appetizers and he says he's not really hungry and this would be dinner number two and then when he re-confirms I won't be having anything, he tells the bartender he'll just hold on to the menu. He then complains about gaining weight and tells me I look like an aerobics instructor, which is nice.

The chhao talks for a good hour and pours himself lots of red wine. I keep adding ice to my first glass because it is too warm. He tells me about his ex girlfriend getting dumped this weekend and how she called him to tell him about it and how she seems to really be handling it well. There are details and more details and then more and I look at one of the surfing videos on one of the screens and nod my head from time to time. After an hour the chhao maybe notices I'm not listening and he tries to talk to me about my dream job and before I get a chance to answer he tells me his. There is more head nodding and frustration building and I say, Shall we?, and he says, Ok, after downing his wine.

We get to the show, grab beers, and walk to the front of the stage. He's getting texts from his ex, some of which he responds to and some he doesn't and puts his phone back in his pocket. I finish my first beer and tell him to get me another one and plot how I'm going to bail. I think if I should call a cab and have it be waiting for me or would that be too obvious and should I just go now and walk but not down Sunset because if (big if) he tries to find me that would be embarrassing. I think I'll walk side streets or call a cab from some place outside. It's dark in my mind tonight and I think that I should have just come to this show on my own and as I'm getting drunker the thoughts are getting darker.

The chhao returns with a beer and the band comes on and they are good. The chhao tells me he's disappointed the one singer isn't a forty year old tranny. I think, This is your favorite band and you don't even know what the singer looks like?, and that, too, annoys me. The chhao stands behind me and puts his arms around me and face in my neck for a few songs and I just stand there, holding my beer.

He gets a few more texts from his ex and I keep plotting my escape until the show is over. I don't know why I'm here. He drives me home and kisses me goodnight and tells me about living in New York with his ex and how Los Angeles is sleepy. I say, I can't let you come in because I've got an early morning. He says, That's ok - tonight was perfect. And my brain is all, &(*^*&%^$%?^%$??, but I don't say anything.

I go inside and see that he text me a picture of his junk over the urinal at the bar. You can see his white shoes, too.

The Aftermath Of A Serbian Donut Is A Catalogue of Indecision

LB: Relationships are like canyons. They cut through the earth and are hard to fill back up.

Guy friend from work: Once you pull back the blinds it's hard to block the sun.

Friday, April 13, 2012.

At one thirty a.m., I get home after the conversation where I got juked and delete the chhao's contact information and all our texts since August 2011. I'd previously deleted our texts because I was afraid Le Miz would see them. The exchanges began again when Le Miz fled the res and I was looking for some solace in the chest of a furry architect. He then provided that solace and continued to do so until now.

I also delete the text messages from my mysterious text messaging partner in Portland for some reason, then I go to sleep. I'm up at eight, have to be downtown at eight thirty, which means I have to leave in ten minutes. I do, after brushing my teeth, and putting on clothes. I've taken a q-tip to my eye make up to wash off the spider eyes and run my fingers through my hair. I'm extra pale today because the love inside me that made me pink is gone, for now.

Today it rains and my dumb umbrella breaks and I fake it through work and well up when a woman tells me how she couldn't survive without her mother. I'm getting my period. The chhao texts me that he is so incredibly sad and he says other things and wishes he could take it all back and rewind. I say, There's no going back - only moving forward. He doesn't reply to that but at nine forty five sends me a picture of bread I made next to slices of salami.

I don't reply to that because really what would that accomplish? I spend Friday at home alone, Saturday running errands, and am back in bed at four p.m. on Saturday afternoon. I don't cry but I just feel abandoned, like I had a friend and now I don't. I didn't think I'd be this sad about the end of the chhao but it doesn't feel good and I also get my period and that doesn't feel good either. Sunday, I spend alone with my phone turned off all day. I get a manicure pedicure at three thirty down the street and am home by five. I turn on my phone and as I do, the chhao texts me he's in the neighborhood and do I want to have a glass of wine.

I reply, See you in ten.

I see him across the street meandering from Amsterdam Modern to the cross walk. He looks confused and clumsy and doesn't know whether to cross the east or west side of Sunset. I shake my head and close my eyes and lean against the light post next to a sign for a missing cat. He approaches me and says, Hi, and gives me a quick hug and I say, Stella is shut - should we try Cliff's Edge, and he says, Ok. We pass Intelligentsia and I don't look at any of the people and he says, I know I said I wasn't going to call but here I am, and I say, I know, then I say, I'm weak.

Cliff's Edge is not open yet so we decide Covel because we know it's open. I say, We came here together a year ago on a Sunday right about this time, and he says, God you just hate me so much right now, and I say quietly, Pretty much. None of that matters though because as soon as we sit down and have a sip of delicious pink wine we are both keen and we talk and talk and talk then decide to get some food at Stella. He gets muscles and I get lentils and roasted cauliflower and we each get two more glasses of wine.

Then he says, Can I ask you more thing about the leather pants girl?, and I say, You've got to be fucking kidding me, and he says he's not, then he asks what he owes her. I say, You owe her nothing. And I say, You don't owe anyone anything. Maybe it's because I'm pink wine drunk and not vodka drunk or maybe it's because I'm already so hurt but this doesn't ruin my night. Then he's quick to change the subject and he tells me funny stories about a guy we know and then the subject changes again to Freud and the psychological angst surrounding anuses.

The check comes and he says, Let me get this, and I say, Ok, and he pays. I ask if he'd like to come over, have some tea, and watch Game of Thrones and he says he would. At ten, I boil some water and bring him a cup of camomile in bed. I give him a brief synopsis of the show and change into black pants and black t-shirt in my closet. When I come out of the closet, he says, You look so hot right now, and I'm not wearing any makeup, have been holed up in the apartment all weekend, and have dark circles under my eyes like a mole person. I say, Pssssh. I get into bed next to him and he starts to rub up against me and I say, We're not doing that, and he says, What about anal?, and we both laugh. Then he asks me some other things and I say, No, to those too. He snuggles up next to me, kisses me a few times, and we watch the battle between the Lannisters and the Starks.

Turns Out There's Nothing Better Than The Serbian Donut

April 12, 2012.

The Serbian Donut night was pretty spectacular. The chhao and I danced and danced and he whispered in my ear that he loved me. That's not even that big a deal anymore since he does it a lot but sometimes I think he means more than other times, like when we're naked I think he might mean it less.

Supa V and I head home and take photos in our Cat Flag shirts and then we have brunch the next day at Good. For me, it's not so Good, but she likes the way they did her eggs. After she leaves, I have a brainstorm session with Pudding Squirt's husband and work until ten. The chhao texts me at around six asking if I'd like to go to the movies and I decline for writing then text him back at nine and ask if he'd like to come watch Game of Thrones. He's in for the night but we make plans to see each other Thursday.

Work is real worky this week and I've got some good stories for the chhao when I see him. On Thursday afternoon, he asks if we're still on and I say, Yah, and he says, Should we stay in or go out? and I say, Let's go to The Griffin - they have fireplaces, and I say that because it's a cold rainy day and I think it will be nice to be warm.

He comes over at eight fifteen. He's wearing the same outfit he wore the night we had dinner at Ginger Grass and he's also got a cute light blue jacket on that has soft material on the inside. I'm wearing a white t-shirt, dark blue jeans I got in Australia, grey boots, and my hair decided to part itself on the other side today. By the time he arrives, I've had one vodka soda and I pour another for myself and pour him a tequila over ice. We sit on the deck and listen to Girls then Mogwai. We tell each other about our weeks and the chhao tells me I should write for The Ethicist and he asks me to sit on his lap and he hugs me around the waist all tight.

This night when he looks at me, his eyes sparkle a little brighter and his teeth shine a little whiter and he clings to me like I'm going somewhere.

At around nine thirty, he says, Should we go? and I say, Sure. He asks if I'm hungry and I say I just ate, and he says he's starving. I say, Well you shoulda said!, and he says, I'm saying now!, and we laugh. Then he tells me he thought we were going to dinner and I say, Really? and he says, Yah. We think about places that might still serve food and I call The Griffin and the girl says, Shoot girl we serve til midnight - get down here!, and it's cute.

The chhao offers to drive us there. As we're walking outside, he says, Did I tell you about the date I just had where the girl wore the grey leather pants and matching shoes?

Before, we used to be able to talk about dating other people but tonight it stings. I snap at him that I don't want to hear it and I say, Don't tell me if it's going to make me mad. He stands at the driver's side of his car and looks at me expressionless but his lack of expression says he's either confused or sad and it also says he doesn't like to be snapped at. We get in the car that's full of ice and quiet. He drives up Sanborn to Fountain then I stubbornly insist he go ahead and tell me the story. I sit with my knees facing forward and my hands on my lap and don't look at him as he talks and talks. It is not a good drive.

We park outside The Griffin and I get out and walk across the street ahead of him and walk to the bouncer ahead of him and show ID and he says, Crap I left my wallet in the car. I stand there like I'm waiting for him to go back to his car and he says, Do you want to come with me?, and I don't but I go. I walk to a few feet away from his car, he reaches in and grabs it and turns around. I'm beginning to cross the street and there's cars coming and he says, Be careful, and grabs my arm. He's floundering through this night like a too small fish on the deck of a boat in a river caught on a line thrown by someone that just wants to watch animals die.

Before we get to the bouncer, the chhao stops me, grabs my hand, and turns me around to face him. The light is too bright and I don't want to look at his face. He says, The only reason I even brought that story up is because when I was with her I was thinking about how much more fun I have with you, and that I miss you when I'm not with you.

I mull over my response to the world's most fucked up way to give a compliment and I say, Thanks Chhao, that's nice. I miss you too when I'm not with you. I'm just a parrot that says what he says, then I say, Shall we go inside? and I turn around. A homeless looking man gets out of a yellow hybrid cab and we laugh.

We stand in line for drinks, me a vodka him a stella, then we sit next to two girls on a bench. I go the ladies and when I return the chhao is in deep discussion with them about I don't know what, books or film or something, and I join in and change the topic to Game of Thrones. The chhao orders food then the girls turn to talk amongst themselves. The chhao tells me he's reading the Maltese Falcon and that I'm like the bombshell in that book and we talk about stories from LA.

I'm still unwinding from being upset about the leather pants story and I unwind even more when the chhao tells me how I'm great, how I'm together, how I understand him in a way no one else understands him, and how much fun we have together. He asks me how do I feel and it's kind of a vague question and he's reaching and I say, I'm not comfortable telling you how I feel other than in a primal way - I can tell you how I feel about you sexually but because of our history I don't feel safe telling you anything more. He doesn't like that.

He says, What was I supposed to do? and he's referring to disappearing in Austin. I say, You shouldn't have disappeared. He says again, What was I supposed to do?

Maybe it's the booze or maybe it's the night air after a day of grey or maybe it's the way I'm sitting at the edge of the bench and he's reclined at the back but he says, I just don't see myself in a relationship right now.

Then I ask him if he'd like to be, Keep it fun everyday chhao, Moving forward chhao, or would he like to not call me for a while while he takes some time to think about what he wants. He picks the last one and drives me home past the oily black reservoir.

Serbian Donut?

Saturday, April 7, 2012.

Supa V is in town and we've made plans to hang out in the sunny neighborhood for the day and meet up with the chhao at night. We're going to The Echo for the funnest dance party in town.

At close to ten, we arrive at the chhao's new spot up on a hill in Echo Park. I've brought him housewarming wine, bread, and jam, and we drink a bottle and walk around the outside of his place and look in the dark up the hills at the places where in the sun you would see woods, pine, and rustles of brush. In the dark, all we can see are shadows and the loose outlines of people in living rooms across the way.

We are quite late arriving to his, so the chhao tells us about waiting and reading his roommate's copy of The Joy of Sex. He asks if we've heard of this canon of sex education and we say, Of course! He is, like he is with all things, excited by it, the newness of it, the line drawings, the graphics, the descriptions. To him, like all things, it is the best thing that has ever happened in life. He tells us about some positions and tries to demonstrate them and he tries to remember one of the position's names and says, I want to say it's the Serbian Donut?, and we laugh and he laughs with big white teeth in the night.

I keep laughing about Serbian Donut and we head inside and I pick up the book as he pours us ladies more wine. I find my favorite position and it has a french name and say, I put a marker in it. He picks up the book straight away and looks at it and looks at me sidewalks and turns the book, and I say, That's the one we did last Sunday, and he says, Ooooh, and I think, Mmmmm. I say, It hits all the right spots, because it does.

We call a cab at eleven and dance until one thirty. We take a break outside and the chhao tells me he wants to talk about us and I say, I love you Chhao, and he says, That's the first time you've ever told me you loved me without me saying it first, and I say, Yah?, and he says, Yah. We look over at Supa V who looks upset about something happening on her phone, and he says, Now's not the right time, and I say, Ok. The air smells like a cabin at the top of Mt. St. Helens.

Supa V comes over to us and takes a few photos and that's never a good idea. Then you have something to look at it when it all falls apart.

Hold It Lightly, It's Windy

Tuesday, April 3, 2012.

Just past eleven, the chhao texts me that he's watching, Louis C.K. Chewed Up, and that it's hilarious and that he can relate to every joke. I ask him where he is in the show and he tells me that he's twenty minutes and thirty seconds in. I turn it on and fast forward to that part. We watch it together alternating texting funny lines. At just before midnight, Louis talks about the difference between men and women and how women will shit in your heart. The chhao texts me, Please don't shat in me heart.

Me: Never!!
Me: Ever.
Chhao: Wish you were here. I just got my new mattress delivered. It's amazing.
Me: Me too boo. Glad we have Louie!
Chhao: Why are we watching this sold? It's too good.
Me: Youuuuuu. I don't have an answer to that. I worked until 11. We are kind of together. ??
Delay
Delay
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Chhao: I've not written and deleted 3 times.
Me: What did you delete!
Chhao: Sarge Last Name I send you a big kiss.
Me: Wow, you know my last name ;) Smooooooch! I'm watching Chewed Up from the beginning and going to sleep. Xoxoxox
Chhao: I can't keep txt/deleting. It's ridiculous.
Me: What - just text the stupid thing. It's funny.
Me: You'll end up on 'texts from last night.'
Chhao: Oh please Ms. Last Name, we've already got like 6 kids together. What are we gonna do about this?
Me: Don't oh please me. If I can translate what you just said - We have 6 kids together?
Chhao: I don't know love. I want to do this one on one, not via text!
Me: Hm. Are you confused by the thing I said that we are together? I mean we are together watching Louie.
Delay
Delay
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Me: Gawd!
Chhao: Oh Gawd.
Me: Yah, seriously. Don't be crazy! I'm talking about Louie, Chhao Cakes.
(At dinner on Monday, he said, The last thing I want to be is someone's live-in boyfriend. So natch, I'm reacting to that.)
Delay
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(re-read texts and gulp)

Me: I'm not being mean, am I? I was just reading through the texts and potential layers of messages. You know I would lay in traffic for you. x
Delay
Delay
Delay. I fall asleep.
Chhao: Non my dear I love you so.

Next morning:
Me: I love you, too Chhao. And was drunk and not good at texting or understanding.

Ship sails...

Chhao: Same same. Good luck in [ ] today!

Like A Real Married Couple

Monday, April 2, 2012.

Saturday, March 31, 2012, is The Sweater's husband's birthday and it is the funnest night I've had in an age. We close friends get silly, get stupid, get drunk, get low, and dance until dawn. Boys take their pants off and girls touch boobies and everyone does bendy yoga poses without shoes. In the morning, we throw on clothes and don't wash our faces and go to a kid's birthday party at Henson Studios and are saved by Coronas on ice. For dinner, we get deep dish pizzas, mine vegan, from Masa in The EP, and take them to the park and judge passersby. It's a night turned to day that us friends are ourselves and togetherness feels right, less like a noose than togetherness can feel. With them, I like to be tied up.

Monday, the chhao texts me in the a.m. and asks if I'd like to have dinner and a cocktail tonight. He's just moved to Echo Park on Sunday and sometimes I get tickley thoughts about him being closer and sometimes I get sick thoughts about him being closer. I tell him I'd love to have dinner and a cocktail with him and he says, We're so adult - I love it, and he puts a smiley face. I work from home today, take a walk from six thirty to seven thirty, and get dressed in the same outfit I wore yesterday, only I've washed the shirt, and meet him at Ginger Grass on Glendale at eight fifteen.

I'm standing waiting to put our name down when the chhao walks in behind me. He doesn't see me at first and then notices me and looks at me surprised then puts his hands on my hips, kisses my right cheek, and says, You're so tall. We look down at my feet and I say, I've got heels. I'm wearing new reddish wedge boots from Amsterdam and I put them side to side like Dorothy does when she gets her new slippers. The host tells us we've got a wait and sends us next door for drinks. The chhao gets a beer and I get a white wine and he tells me a bit about his new roommate and I tell him about Saturday night. He says, Was there a hookup involved?, and I say, Why are you asking me that?, and he says, You just seem so excited, and I say, It's because it was just one of those nights and it's not about a boy at all. Then I tell him that the low point was a boy and I tell him how we pretended to go to sleep at three then got back up and went back at it for two more hours. Then he tells me I look like a teacher in this shirt.

We're called to our table and we order, him a salmon with black rice, me two sides of veg, and one they bring out has sausage in it so I send it back, and they give me a free glass of wine. I look at the chhao and he takes my hands across the table and says, Look at us. We're like a real married couple, all out on a Monday night having dinner, and I laugh. I say, If we were married I wouldn't be wearing makeup, and he looks at me.

When he says things about us being adult or real marrieds, it's hard to tell if he's disparaging the concept or celebrating it. When I close my eyes, and ask my heart of hearts, the place that knows things without knowing them, it says, He likes it.

We have a nice meal and pay and we agree to have a drink next door at The Red Lion. The outside area is shut and we sit in the small bar on the top floor. There's one other couple in there and us. We sit knee to knee and I tell him about shithead, almost all of it, and he says, I'm so glad you are finally telling me this, and he says, When we met [The Flatmate] told me you'd just gotten out of something and it was gnarly and to not pry or talk about it. I say, [The Flatmate] is such a wonderful friend. It's funny how telling him about getting shit on makes him feel closer to me. He rubs my legs and high fives me when I tell him about the shit storm that brewed after we broke up. I think he really means it when he calls shithead an asshole and then he tells me some about his heartbreak and it makes him seem more like a man to me.

He draws a picture of how he sees himself then I take a picture and show him so he knows it's not true.

I tell him about Louis C.K.'s Chewed Up and his bit about underwear and how he feels like a fat guy. I tell him I watch that stand up at least five times a week and that he should watch it. He says he will.

We each have two beers then at midnight the bartender kicks us out. We walk to his car, then he drives me to mine which is fifty feet away. We sit in his car for a minute and say Thanks Yous and Byes and all that. As I'm driving away, I text him the above picture of him holding his junk and he replies, So gangster!. Then he tells me he's going to talk to the new roommate and he puts dot dot dot. I go to sleep thinking about how he told me he wants to know if the carpet matches the drapes. He really doesn't censor himself. And that makes me mad only I don't say so.

Silver Lake Super Duper

March 23, 2012.

I've made plans with the chhao to come with me to a girl's birthday party in Hollywood. It's a girl I don't know very well but I'm trying to be more social and extend my social group. I don't try very hard. At three p.m. I get my hair re-highlighted because it's gone bronzy since I washed it with baby shampoo in London. While I'm waiting in the lobby, the chhao calls to ask if I'd like to go for a walk around the reservoir then have a coffee. I say, I'd love to but I just got to the salon to have my hair done, and he laughs, and I say, I'd way rather be outside with you! He says, Ok, and we keep our plans to meet up around eight thirty or nine tonight.

After I get my hair done, I run some errands in the neighborhood, then take a quick nap until just before eight. I have a shower, then put on the new black onesie DI gave me (the chhao's never seen it before) and I put on makeup with extra under eye concealer because it's been a long week. Earlier the chhao jokingly asks what the theme of the party is and I tell him, Disco!, and then at eight fifteen I text him that I was only kidding. He replies that he's already in full disco attire and I reply, Good - that was a test. He hollers outside my back door at eight thirty, jumps over the deck rail, and I let him in. He looks at my outfit and says, I thought you said it wasn't disco!, and I say, This is how I always dress, because it is.

He walks in and hugs me and rubs me down but mostly rubs my a$$. I ask if he'd like a drink and he says, Yes, and I walk to the kitchen. As I do, he says, That outfit fits you so well, and he says, It hits you in all the right places. I do a little side to side dance and say, Thanks - I love it, and tell him it was a gift. He's wearing light jeans and I forget what shirt but I think it is also light in color. He looks good and not as shiny as sometimes he looks but he's been out all day at a craft fair with friends, at which he bought me some goat's milk soap. I accept it and say, Thank you, and I tell him that was very sweet. Later he realizes that I won't use the soap because it's made of milk and he swaps it out with some soap that smells like campfire.

We stand in the kitchen and I pour him a tequila with two cubes of ice and I pour myself a second vodka soda. I made oatmeal raisin muffins this morning and he grabs one and palms it and puts it in his face. He studies the muffin and he studies the texture in his mouth while he looks at me. He says that the muffin is delicious and finishes it before I've finished pouring the cocktails.

We sit on the deck and listen to music and catch each other up on our weeks. When we finish this round of drinks, I grab our glasses and head to the kitchen. I've forgotten to dust of the chairs before we sit on them and I ask the chhao if I've got dust on my bum. He follows me to the kitchen where it's light and says, Let me get that for you, and rubs my bum, and we laugh, and then he pulls me from hips towards him and rubs me all over. I turn around and face him then I jump up on the kitchen counter and straddle him and use the handles of the drawers with my feet for leverage to hit him just there. We make out in the kitchen for a few minutes then run into my room.

The second I kiss him, I think how terrible making out with the heklo pput was and I think how, primally, the chhao is just so much more of a man. Everything about the way we feel together feels like a million tiny lightbulbs flickering from land from the sea at a distance. It feels like electric plankton in the Golfo Dulce off Puerto Jimenez that light up the water with blues and greens and fill up the white wake off the boat like sprinkles on sugar cookies.

The chhao sweats something serious and says my name with his eyes closed and stares at my back and draws a line with his finger then traces the line with his mouth.

It's well past ten when I look at the time and I ask the chhao if I should fix my makeup and he does a quick circle motion around his face and he says, Yah probably, and we laugh. I head to the bathroom and do some makeup dabs and quick fixes and don't shower and put my onesie back on and my hair looks better now that it's all tousled.

I ask the chhao if he'd like to have one more drink out before we head to the birthday party and he says he would. We walk past Stella and it's packed and we choose 4100 and both comment that it's weird here. I'm hesitating to make it to the birthday party fearing slightly that Le Miz will be there and would prefer this ease to being in a room with a bunch of people that know that I don't talk to Le Miz anymore and I fear also slightly that people will think it's weird I've brought a new (not new) fella. In my head, thoughts can fester.

At just before midnight we call a cab and as we're getting in the cab we decide to go to Edendale, not Hollywood. We pay the cab and walk into the bar and it feels right. Hot bartenders and well dressed people fill the space. I ask the chhao what he'd like and he says, Did you see that guy leering at you?, and I say, No, and he looks annoyed. I say, Nevermind, and we order Stellas. We sit in the front and the chhao tells me some super duper juicy stories about his family that I can't reveal here and he's hungry but they've stopped serving food. He stares across the table at me, sometimes in silence, sometimes smiling, and sometimes shaking his head. I said, What?, and he leans over and kisses me more than once above the absence of words.

At one eleven, New York texts me, Where the heyell are you!?, and I write back that we got caught up and lost track of time, and apologize. The chhao's now quite hungry and we walk to the all night diner up the road. It's cold out and I've got my arms folded together and the chhao puts his right around me and wants me to put my arm around him so I do. We sit at a table under too bright of lights and he orders a tomato soup with grilled cheese and I don't get anything and I read LA Weekly and tell him what bands are playing. I tell him that Wild Beasts are playing at The Echo on the eighteenth and he tears out that portion of the paper and puts it in his wallet. I'm knackered at this point and have my head in my hands and we call a cab at three a.m. but it doesn't come for at least thirty minutes. The cab ride is a blur and we fall asleep as soon as we hit our heads to the pillows.

The next morning, we are up at eleven, then eleven thirty, then noon. We tell each other what's up and high five and make up new moves that we haven't tried before. We are pleased with ourselves, very pleased, and he asks if I'd like to get a coffee down the road. I say I would but that I have work then a wedding to go to at four so I can't stay long. He says, Ok. We get coffee and oranges at Casbah Cafe and put Wild Beasts into our phone calendars and then he walks me home and I send him off with a muffin. He eats it right away and then forgets and asks, Where's my muffin?, and we laugh.

He texts me a few times throughout the day and on Monday texts me that he can't stop thinking about our perfect Sunday morning. It was perfect and I tell him so.

PG-13 Drinks With The Heklo Pput

March 27, 2012.

I've made plans with the heklo pput one more time for no reason other than he's consistent. He doesn't make me feel particularly special or interesting or fun. He doesn't interest me other than to look at him and that he will hold my hand where ever we go.

I ask if we should try El Cid again on account of last time they were shut for a movie thing and he says, Sure. He's at my house at eight thirty, wearing a purple and black flannel, black jeans, and I forget what shoes. He's got a few days' beard growth and really does look edible. When I walk out my front gate, he's standing on the curb of the street reading a, Missing Cat, sign and I say, Yah that's sad right?, and he says, Yah. He stashes his phone charger in a plant and leans over to hug me, still standing on the curb, so my face gets squished into his chest.

Tonight I'm wearing grey boots, blue jeans, black top, and a short black jacket because it's cold out. My hair and makeup look good and I feel thin-ish because I've been taking long walks through the hills up to the tippy top of Silver Lake, where you can see the whole City on this side and you can see the whole valley to Pasadena and the Angeles Mountains on that side.

We walk to El Cid and grab a table outside, in the back. It's the same table where we sat before, cuddling and stroking each other and trying to stay awake under the trees and stars. Tonight it's easy to stay awake and we don't touch each other at all. I drink two Stellas and he drinks two Belgian beers that he likes. He says he's really hungry and wants to go to Garage Pizza. I say, Isn't that the place that you say always gives you a stomach ache?, and he says, Yah. I probably raise an eyebrow at him and definitely think about Friday Night Guy and his disgusting food obsession and I think about this guy trying to kiss me after he eats greasy melted cheese, except that never happens.

But it's so much worse than that. At Garage Pizza, the heklp pput orders two slices, one pepperoni and one with a name like, Ass Blaster, because it's loaded with jalapenos and spicy cheese. When the slices come out, he gingerly moves some of the jalapenos from the Ass Blaster slice to the pepperoni slice and eats them both with barely a word. If we talk, I don't remember what we say (running theme) and I keep thinking about the lighting in this joint and the wasted makeup and sleep.

After he finishes, he wipes off his mouth and says, I feel so much better now, and asks if I'd like to have another drink. He suggests Good Luck where we've also already been. I say, Sure. We have two rounds there and he runs out of cash on the second and I give him money. We sit in the back and there is a May December couple to our right (older man, younger woman), and a loud hessian birthday party to our left that are too loud for this night.

The heklo pput tells me about girls at work fighting over him and how he doesn't talk to them anymore and he tells me about a gay client that's always trying to say, What's up, to him and how the guy invited him to Italy for a week. I tell him he'd make bank if he cut hair in West Hollywood and he says he'll look into it. He also says he knows gay guys like him but he's not into guys. I think, Not yet you're not.
He tells me he saw a dead rat on the street and thought of me (because I showed him the flattened frog picture I took for Punky in Australia), and he texts a photo of it to me.

It's eleven and I'm so beyond bored at this point. I say, Let's get out of here. We walk to my house. I don't invite him in but he comes in anyway. I just walk straight to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. He asks if he can brush his teeth and I point to the sink and then head to my closet, change, and get into bed before he's back in my room. I say, Goodnight, and he gets in bed and spoons me. That part is nice.

In the morning, he's up with the first jingle of his alarm and I get up to walk him out and he says, You don't have to do that, and I say, That'd be rude. He leaves and I close the door after him. It's a flat line ending to a flat line night and a flat line month. Road kill rat flat.

At eight p.m. he texts me that I've been in his head all day because he did a lady's hair and she smelled like me, like coconuts.  

A Glimpse ... So Close

Friday, April 6, 2012.

I have given the heklo pput the slow gentle slip and he's going home for Easter this weekend because he is a child. He never quite made up for his youth with his face or his puppy pop up ways. It's not like the aaf to reflect but I've done just that here for you now.

Friday, I am going to see the real object of my desire, and just for a second hope for a brush up, a glimpse, a flash of hot breath, a drip of Murray's to land on my palm. And I do see him. And he sparkles. He sparkles in a way that I forget I shouldn't date greasers and that I've got all the real men in the world to sample from.

I'm with my girl, PC for now, and I know her from Le Miz and other people, and she is funny. She's got a thing for hek, too, and we oogle and gag and giggle and laugh at things like a friend she sees that's a lesbian that won't come out and a shirtless guy dancing and a guy in black wayfarers taking photos of himself and how our vagina hearts hurt sometimes when we go deep trollin' on instragram.

We've each had cocktails before we meet up at ten and we get two pints each of Stella at the bar. We drink those and my hair gets into both of them and also I spill some beer on my shirt and my feet.

When it goes quiet in my thoughts, and I'm thinking of magical wonderland times, and I've chewed off every single finger nail, I think, It's nice to want something so much and it's nice to just leave it at the wanting. Leave it at the wanting and not dating a twenty-two year old or text a lonely guy in Portland who sends you naughty pictures or tease a man for wanting me. Leave it at the wanting, a controlled desire that builds and builds.

Dads Are Just Children

When you realize who your parents are, you realize they are children of children of children.

That had futures and seventies hair. 

Or they were too young for hair.

But stood proud, twenty two years from becoming a dad with few words and long awkward stares.

A Statue At The Cemetery

Neighbours Isn't Just A Soap Opera In Oz

Sunday, March 18, 2012 - Thursday, March 22, 2012.

If you recall, the Hanni El Khatib looking one Puppy Pop Up Toy had his apartment broken into a few weeks back and he's set on moving. He's already told me he was planning to move east of Culver City and was looking at spots in the EP and K Town. On the morning of March 9, 2012, he tells me he's got  an appointment at 10:30 to see a place near LACC, which is quite close to me. I tell him good luck. 

I land in Los Angeles around six fifteen and turn on my phone and get a text from the heklo pput welcoming me home and telling me his new address. I see that it's in the same zip code as me so I put the address in google maps, realize that it is two streets away from me, just down hoover from Sanborn, and that makes me laugh. I screen shot the map and send it to five friends and they laugh, too. 

I text him, Welcome to the two double oh nine, and he texts me Monday, Soooo when do I get to see you? We make plans for Tuesday but I am too tired, take a three hour nap from five to eight, and text him asking if we can do it tomorrow. He says that's ok because he's beat, too, and I go back to sleep until six Wednesday. 

I have been working from home for the last month but go into the office Wednesday until just after six. I get a text from him at six fifteen when I am leaving saying, Sooooo eight? I say, Yes, and head home, start a cocktail and get dressed. The roommate's home so when the heklo pput calls to say he's outside, I grab my bag and meet him. I give him a hug around the neck and he smiles. He looks a little more blown out than I've seen him and when he later tells me about his weekend, I understand why. He's wearing the same red and white checked shirt he was wearing when we met at Thirsty Crow and his hair looks good but not great. He's got a few day old beard that doesn't hurt when it rubs up against my face. 

Me, I'm wearing a new black onesie that my girl from London gave me. I haven't thought of a name for her yet except yes I just did. She is going to be Dead Inside, DI for short. DI (say, Die) gives me this black low cut three quarter sleeve mid waisted pants onesie on the morning I left from staying with her for four days. I try it on when I get home and love it. I wear that, thin gold belt, gold sandals, gold necklace, gold ring, and no earrings. My hair is down, sort of wavy, and looks good like I just got off the beach. I am wearing coconut lotion and a little bit of makeup and lip gloss. I feel pretty for the first time since I left for my trip. If the heklo pput thinks so he doesn't say and he doesn't look down anymore when I look at him.

It's close to seventy degrees and the sun's just gone down so the city doesn't know it's night. We walk to El Cid to have a drink in the open air and they are having a film event with a cover charge so we shine it. We decide to check out Covel. A drunk girl with her t!ts out nearly crashes into me on her bike and we laugh and I say, That was almost the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me. The bar is packed but there's spots outside in the front. I get a Bordeaux and the heklo pput gets a Pinot and we cheers and drink and taste each other's drinks and mine is better.

Somehow we start to talk about our ages and I say, Yah I'm a bit older than you, and he says, Really?, but he's joking. He says it doesn't bother him if it doesn't bother me and I say it doesn't bother me and I think, Yet. Then he tells me about his weekend and he and his buddy that just got out of jail had a full party bender with Molly and acid and a full day of drinking and barbequeing with other mates in The OC. The reason the buddy was in jail was because he had warrants and his hotel room got raided by the cops. Yes, these are all things I deal with on a regular day to day basis. Yes, our ages have became distinctly apparent. Yes, I'd like another drink... are all things I think then I say, Can you get us another drink please? and he does, this time beers.

We drink our beers outside in the small front area facing Wacko and Umami and each other. He gets a call from his roommate that one of the cats got out but then he found her and then the heklo pput texts me a picture.

We maybe hold hands for a second here and there but not really and he tells me he's hungry and can we stop and get something on the way home and I say, Sure. We pay the bill, a round each, and start walking back to mine. He's changed his mind about eating and we get to my apartment before midnight. He asks if he can borrow a toothbrush and I say, It's still there, and he brushes his teeth and I change into a white wifebeater and pink booty shorts. I ask if he'd like music on and he says, No, then rolls on top of me and starts to kiss me. Only it feels a little off, a little too much head on with no tilt, a little too much of this without enough of that except I don't know what this or that mean. I tell him we're not going to have $ex tonight and he says he's ok with that and some other silly things.

We fall asleep spooning. I wake up at five on the wrong side of the bed and he's shivering and twitching and saying strange things. I push him and he says, I was having the worst nightmare. I say, About what? and he says, The leprechaun. Like the one from St. Patrick's day?, I ask, and he says, No like from the horror movie. Then I take my nearly strangled teddy bear from him, move to my side of the bed, and look at the ceiling.

Bango With Puppy Pop Up Toy

Thursday, March 8, 2012.

The Hanni El Khatib looking one puppy pop up toy wants to see me before I leave town and I tell him to come to mine on Thursday and he says, Ok. He tells me he needs a mellow night and I suggest we watch Game of Thrones and get him caught up before the new season and he tells me, That's perfect. On Wednesday, he calls me at nine-ish and tells me his house got broken into and they stole some stuff but thankfully didn't let the cats out and I say, That's terrible. I ask him to let me know if he needs anything and he says he will and I say, I mean it. I tell him to get out of that apartment and move and he says he was planning on it but now he will for sure. I text him some pictures of cats and go to bed.

He comes over just after eight and looks better than I've seen him. That hair. Those eyes. That mouth. He's wearing a blue button down shirt and dark jeans and vans and he brings me a bottle of wine from Paso Robles. I've already started a vodka soda and ask if he'd like to split it with me before we start the wine and he says he would. It's a strong drink and we laugh and drink it on the deck. I play Bonnie Prince  and Girls I think and we chat about the robbery and work and other things of no consequence in the night. Since we're staying in, I'm wearing black leggings, black tank dress, flip flops, and a thin grey sweatshirt with a design of astrological formations I just got from Pop Killer. I joke about getting dressed up for him and he says that he was thiiis close to wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt and I'm glad he didn't but say he should feel free next time.

After we finish the vodka drink, he cracks the wine. It's a delicious pinot from the Central Valley and we both like it and he knows a bit about wine for such a young one. We drink from tiny glasses, his purple, mine pink, and we finish the wine looking out at the road and the moon that's just to the right of the hill. Sometimes I look at him and he looks down and sometimes I look at him and he looks back and I look away. The game of no eye contact goes on for some time and it feels for a second like I know him less than before. It's hard to tell if he's nervous or I am or if it's just that I am fast getting drunk with the wine and the secrets. He speaks to me with a soft voice and when he laughs he leans back and puts his whole body into it.

He's brought some bango and I ask for a taste and take some and go quick into the spirit world. It's an ut-oh moment. I weirdly feel like I'm panicking and talking fast and say, Let's cuddle and watch Game of Thrones, then I go to brush my teeth while walking around my apartment. I think he might be in the spirit world a little bit too and he seems even more nervous than before. I turn off the light and get straight into bed wearing my clothes. He takes off his pants and shirt and leaves on boxers and a white t-shirt. My bedroom is cold because I've left the door to the deck open and we both scrape the bed with our legs like sideways runners and I hand him a white cashmere scarf to hug and he does. I bury myself into the blankets and try to play Game of Thrones but my fingers aren't working right and it takes a long time. I finally get it to go and I lay on his chest and listen to him say things like, Dang, and, I should be in that time, and, I want a horse. He says some other things too that aren't clear to me because my brain is not right and he laughs and says, Just kidding, and I laugh too just so he doesn't know.

I fall asleep after the credits and I've just cocooned myself on him for the last hour. I take the computer and put it on the floor and roll over and he rolls over behind me and spoons me until morning. His puppy arms are strong and are wrapped around me and he smells like nothing, just clean.

I have set the alarm for a seven forty five and I tell him he's got to go. He gets up right away like a good puppy pop up toy and then I say, Stay five more minutes, and he does. If we speak, I don't remember what we say, and he puts on his clothes and shoes and kisses me and walks out the door at eight. I go straight to work because I've got to finish some projects and pack and leave by eleven. I text him at eight fifty five, That visit was too short but fun, and he replies that it was fun and he apologizes for falling asleep on me. I tell him it was the bango and he says he'll leave it at home next time. I don't say but I think that it is a good idea.

I work until ten fifteen, then pack and miss my ride at eleven. I'm wearing the same outfit as last night, and wear it to the airport, then for the next twenty hours.

Sky

South Bank, Tate

Junction, Chimney Stacks

Day Night

Amsterdam From A Train

Saturday, March 10, 2012, 9:40 a.m. - 10:00 a.m.

Amsterdam's just had a rain. People with coats on on the train sit clutching bags and reading newspapers in earnest, glancing up to see if their stop is coming. When it does, they jingle and clack with boots and keys and disappear onto the platform into the grey. The rumble of the train rolls on and it sounds like a heart beat when you fall asleep on a dog's belly, breathing and breathing. A small neighborhood of single room shacks with large long windows and a long grassy garden sleeps still while joggers in Paddington and North Face brave the cold and head towards the Spring. Men and women in knee length wool stand with their hands in pockets nodding at pups in obedience training. A fat feathered black bird perched on an empty track shakes off mist, like a city bird, like a bird who's seen a thing or two.

You Gain Nothing By Saying I Love You

Puppy Pop Up Toy Time

Saturday, March 3, 2012.

I tell the Hanni El Khatib looking one that I should be home around five and that I'll call him then and I do at five forty. He's with a friend and they're going to eat then go for a run. He'll shower and come over around eight and we'll go for drinks in my neighborhood. I try to take a nap for a spell but don't sleep and get up for a shower at seven thirty. At eight, he texts me that he's stuck in traffic and will be a bit late. I tell him not to rush and ask if I should wear jeans or a dress and he says, Dress, and puts a smiley face. I put some makeup on and the black and white striped dress I wore to Llama's birthday this year and to her brother's birthday last year. It's short so I wear black tights and black flats and I put on the new elephant necklace Bean gave me and the cat earrings Capt. Comrade gave me and a gold ring. I slept in a braid last night so my hair is wavy and I don't brush it.

The Hanni El Khatib looking one calls me at eight fifteen that he's at my front gate and I meet him there. He's wearing dark blue jeans, black man shoes of some kind, and black t-shirt. He's shaved his beard and got a fresh haircut today so it's all clean and tight. The way he walks it looks like he's not used to his height yet and he moves with a slight head tilt like he doesn't quite trust these moments or like everything he sees is new. As we're walking back to my apartment I ask if he'd like to have a drink here then head out and he says he would. I ask what would he like and he says, Red wine, and I open a Beaujolais and we have a drink each, even though I've already started drinking before he arrived.

I put on Mister Heavenly then Calexico and we sit on the deck. One of my plants has wilted slightly and he looks at it like a shaman looks at the dying. He's careful and calm and he tells me he wants to grow strawberries and have a garden. I tell him that would be nice and that I wish I had more space here but I'm tired of moving because I've moved probably eighteen times in the last ... and I pause, and I say, I've moved a lot recently. He gives me the sideways look and I can tell he's maybe trying to do the math so I keep talking to distract him from that and I say, Have you seen Angeleno Heights?, and he hasn't. I tell him that it's a beautiful neighborhood, preserved and historic, up on the hill on the west side of Sunset.

After a glass of wine I say, Let's get of here, and he agrees. Street cats come out from nowhere and prr and dance around our feet and roll on their backs and cross the street with fast little legs. The Hanni El Khatib looking one and I pet the cats and make kiss kiss sounds and one orange one follows us a stretch. We walk up Sanborn and take a left on Sunset and we're either going to Covel or Good Luck and when we get to the intersection of Sunset and Hillhurst, we Rock Paper Scissors to decide. He's Covel and I'm Good Luck and best two out of three I win and we head to Good Luck. They check our IDs at the door at I'm careful to hand the guy mine without the Hanni El Khatib looking one seeing it and he hands his and I look away. We walk to the back to see if there's any place to sit and there's a spot for two on a bench at the waitress station. He asks what I'd like and I say, Stella, and he says, Ok.

The bar is packed but not full of cool people. Tonight is a weird night of off putting sorts in questionable tourist attire and off the shoulder sweaters and too light of colored jeans and too much makeup. There is a jukebox but the songs played so far aren't hitting the mark and it takes too long to get a drink. We finish our beers and decide we'll have one more here then hit it because it's early. If we speak, I don't remember what was said, but I do know that it wasn't significant but that the Hanni El Khatib looking one has made sure I'm comfortable and has waited now two times in long lines to get drinks but he does it smiling and he doesn't complain and the calm of his face is peaceful like a wildflower garden.

I sneak this picture:


Just before we leave, he stops at the mens' and texts me, Miss you!

Walking out of the bar, we hold hands and when we get outside he puts his left arm around my shoulder and we decide to try El Cid. One of his friends lives nearby and they sometimes stop at that Donut shop or that sandwich shop and when the Hanni El Khatib looking one says something funny he says it in the same voice he uses to tell me I'm pretty and the same voice he uses to talk about his cats. At a break in the traffic we run across the street and giggle.

El Cid has a bad metal band playing so we grab a booth outside under the trees and under the sky. The drinks lady brings us beers and candles and we sit next to each other closer than necessary and I put my legs over his legs and my head on his shoulder and I swear I could fall asleep here. He puts one hand around my hip and the other on my knees and says, I love your legs, and I say the usual, There's two of them. At just before last call we decide to leave and we walk to my apartment sometimes holding hands and sometimes with his arm around me and sometimes on our own.

We brush our teeth and go to my room. He gets under the covers and says he's so happy to be sleeping in my bed and I say, Oh yah?, and he says, Yah. Then he's a pop up toy and does whatever I want until four.

I Made Him Love Los Angeles Again

I'm going to San Diego for work and the Hanni El Khatib looking one knows it.

On March 1, 2012, 3:27 p.m., this happens,

Him: Have you left town yet?

Me: Nope. You'll be able to tell. LA will feel different.

Him: Oh I think I will. It's felt like a different place since Saturday.

Me: Stop it! You are so nice to me. I mean, Thank you.

Him: I'm being serious! I was starting to lose hope in this place but you definitely changed my mind.

Ut oh.

It's Like Adopting A Puppy Only The Puppy Picks You

February 28, 2012.

On Sunday, the Hanni El Khatib looking one and I make plans to hang out Tuesday. First I suggest we meet at Short Stop because it's kind of a young spot but then I change my mind and suggest Thirsty Crow and he says he down because he's never been there. He suggests nine p.m. and I say eight thirty and he texts me at eight nineteen that he's there already and not to rush and I get a cab and meet him at the bar. I don't see him at first and walk to the back and walk to the front and text him, Where are you? Then I see the back of that haircut and it's attached to the rest of him. His back is broad and shoulders are wide and he's got a drink in front of him that he's holding with both of his hands.

I come up from behind him and put my right hand on his back and sit down to his left and say, I didn't see you. My first thought is, Wow, and my second thought is, There's no way he's twenty one. He has a short black beard and dark eyes like sailboats at night, floating. His fingers are long and they arch around the cocktail in a prayer position. His arms are smooth and you can see a little vein here and a little vein there and he's wearing a silver watch. When I lean down to hang my bag on the hook under the bar, I get close to him and he smells clean and he doesn't smell like laundry and that is good. When he looks at me, he looks like he's fighting the urge to look away. It makes my heart make the, Shhhh, sound.

In the Shhh'd heart quiet of the moments at the bar, James Brown and blues Elvis sing and yelp and holler at the times and the Hanni El Khatib looking one and I touch shoulders and drink and talk about family and animals and death. His lips are full and he presses them together and shakes his head when he tells me I'm something.

After a cocktail or two, I see a table open up and I say that we should grab it and we do. He asks if I want the booth side or the chair side and I say, We're both on the booth side, and he says, Ok. I sit next to him on the right side this time and we drink a few more cocktails each and the last one is strong. It makes us less shy and he tells me he's glad I talked to him on Saturday and he tells me he was so nervous for tonight he had to drink two beers at home first. I tell him, That's sweet.

It's about twelve thirty and I see an open table in the back in the corner in the dark and tell him we should grab it. We split a Scrimshaw and he holds my hand and I put my head on his shoulder. Some Swedes try to make time and they are happy and silly with their accents and we talk to them for a few then we go back to making layers of ourselves on each other. I'm drunk and think about how sweet this person is and think about how it's nice to be wanted.

At one thirty I tell him he can sleep over but he has to be a gentlemen and he says, I'd wait a thousand times if it meant I could see you again, and that is nice and I say, Good. He sleeps next to me and when we wake up he tells me my hair looks good, asks when can he see me again, and I say, Saturday.

Hollywood Forever

Eleven Hours

All up in it.

Black Jack!

Saturday, February 25, 2012.

My roommate wants to have people over and I am excited at first then hesitant then neutral. I got a cute new black onesie from Grace Ellay in Silver Lake and went to a new hair girl down the street that does me up right and costs half as much as any one else. I buy a hundred and fifty dollars worth of booze and ice and the roommate has cleaned the house and set up a whole spread of sandwiches and citrus and made a weird jungle juice that he calls, Nu Brew, but Llama calls, Pink Panty Pull Down.

New York and Llama are the first to arrive, then the Jeff Buckley looking one, then the husband, then the world's nicest couple. Those are the friends I invited except one who was going to be in Tahoe. The rest are the roommate's friends. They are nice. One couple are the best but that's probably because they like Bango so we have that in common.

I've already given the rooomate the heads up that we aren't staying long and at eleven everyone wants to go to The Echo for the funnest dance party in town. We get two cabs and say our goodbyes and ask the one that likes Bango to watch the place and he says he will.

Six of us walk into the bar and it's packed. (This is where I talked to Tall Drink and he's not here and I would know because he's so tall I would be able to see his head.) I get a few of us drinks then walk to the front to put my bag down and dance. I start dancing with the girls then start dancing with a guy with a big smile and when he spins me around he has rough hands. His friends negotiate some sort of financial transaction that distracts him so I leave to go outside where my friends are.

I'm outside for a spell then come back to get a drink and dance. A nice guy with a black ponytail starts talking to me and he says he does the videos for this event and I tell him they are great. I see a hot Hanni El Khatib looking one just to my right and he looks at me then looks straight ahead then looks back and I keep talking to the guy trying to be nice but make my way to this other one when the song changes.

I say, Hi, and he says, Hi. He smiles big and bites his lip and looks down and puts his hands together and holds his thumbs. He has a high and tight greaser haircut with big full lips, light brown eyes, and light brown skin. He's wearing a long sleeve light blue denim shirt, jeans or dickies, and white vans. He tells me I'm pretty and I say, Thank you - so are you, and I say, Do you like to dance, and he says, Yes, and I say, Let's go.



He leads me to the center of the dance floor and we dance smooshed between a million people and sometimes we look at each other and sometimes we don't. When I do, he's smiling big and it is cute. Sometimes he holds my hands in front of him and sometimes and he puts his hands on my shoulders and holds them at the back of my neck and sometimes he puts his hands on my waist and keeps them there. After a few songs I ask if he'd like to take a break for a second and he says he would. He takes my hand and leads me through to the crowd out back.



We stop at the top of the back area and neither of us smoke and we stand there. We talk a little about where we grew up and he's from Paso Robles and he calls it a small town and says he's shy and that he had a farm with animals on it. I ask if he has animals now and he says, I have two cats. I ask him what their names are and he tells me and then shows me pictures of them and one is orange and fluffy and the other is black and white I think. He tells me that people tease him about the cats and I say, That's crazy, then he shows me how they sleep on him and he says they sleep all over his face. I ask if they'd make room for me and he says they would. He tells me he cuts hair at a big salon in Santa Monica and he tells me he wants to do hair for fashion shows and he tells me he is too shy to put himself out there. I tell him he shouldn't be.



After a few minutes, he takes my phone number and says he'd like to see me again and I say that I am very busy but I would like to see him, too. He doesn't ask me what I do but he asks where I live and I tell him Silver Lake and he says he'd like to live in Silver Lake. He tells me that when he has kids he'd like them to live on a farm like he had with space to run around and be free. Then he apologizes for talking to me about kids and I say, It's ok, because it is.

I say, Let's split a beer, and he buys us a Stella then we dance some more. Sometimes we put our heads together and sometimes he dances while hugging me and he's maybe humming to the music in my ear. Every time I look at him he is smiling and sometimes he covers his mouth and says he can't help it. I squeeze his face with my hands and kiss his neck maybe once, maybe twice, and tell him he smells good. At last call we go outside and my friends are trying to get a cab and his friends are standing on the street texting or doing other variations of nothing. I get the feeling that one is not so keen that I've dominated his friend's time and I make a comment to that effect and the hot Hanni El Khatib looking one tells me that he's known him since third grade and that he just turned twenty-one and I do a double take and ask this one if they were in third grade together and he says, Yah.



The world's nicest couple get a cab and I tell them to go on then I ask this one if he wants to come over then I say, You probably shouldn't, and he says, The way I'm feeling now - that is probably not a good idea. I get in the cab and tell my friends, My boyfriend is twenty-one, and they laugh.

I'll see him Tuesday night. If he asks how old I am I am going to say, I'm from Oakland.

Portlandia In The Flesh

Sunday, February 12, 2012.

I stay in Saturday night so I'm up relatively early Sunday morning. I do some work then finish reading, The Big Hunger, by John Fante. I run some errands, walk Silver Lake, get a car wash, grocery shop, then take a nap. When I get up from my nap, I decide to get a tea down the street and read. I read the first pages of, Pulp, at home to see if that's the one and I decide, Sure. I'm wearing the usual black leggings, black tank dress, black sweater, black scarf, and knee high riding boots. My hair is a mess in a pony tail and I have no makeup on. I haven't showered. I walk past Intelligentsia because it's packed as always and head towards Casbah. It is also packed. I stop in at Nature Well and grab some carob chips, millet, and brewers yeast in bulk, and go back to Intelligentsia. I see a spot at the bar inside and I order a Chamomile tea.

There's a tall, thin, Indian looking one standing near where I'm headed. He's wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat with a gang of feathers over long straight black hair, a teeny low cut black tank top, a vintage bronze-ish sienna-ish leather jacket, the tightest ball hugging jeans you've ever seen, and boots but I don't remember their color. He has on a dainty leather necklace. He's wearing eyeliner. I ask him if someone is sitting there where there's a sweater on the counter. He says, No, in a flustered way and grabs the sweater. I move the empty tea cup and tray, and sit down and start reading. I read maybe a half a page when he says, You picked the loudest place to read, and I look up at him. He's standing with no tea or coffee looking like he's waiting for something. He's got a cel phone in his hands. No rings.

I say, It's not usually this loud - they're probably trying to get us out of here. He starts talking to me about what I'm reading and this book isn't his favorite and he tells me what his favorite is and he asks me what else do I like to read. He's surprisingly innocent despite his ridiculous nineties glam band outfit. He asks me what I do and I tell him in one word and he tells me he owns a vintage clothing shop on twenty third street in Portland. He tells me he likes to write in the morning drinking coffee but not too much food because that slows you down. He tells me that he just realized why he and his ex girlfriend are no longer together and it's because she read Harry Potter (sorry LB) and thought what he read was depressing. He tells me he writes music and that he comes from a baseball family, and something about his gramps playing against one of the first African American ballers who invented the saying, Don't look back. When he speaks, I just look at his mouth that is big with big lips like the twizzler commercial with big white teeth inside. I think that if he was just dressed like a man he could be kind of hot.

He leans up against the shelves of expensive coffee and expensive tea and crosses his feet at the ankles. He tells me he's afraid of the ocean (recall!) but loves it and likes to be in nature but doesn't do drugs. After about an hour, he says he should probably go because his friends have been waiting for him outside. I've seen both of them. One is a blond long hair with some bad orange jacket on and a lip piercing, and the other is an impish looking kind of motorcycle guy. They both look like they listened to a lot of Stone Temple Pilots. I say, Sure go on, and he asks what I'm doing later and we should hang out. I say, This is what I'm doing and I've got an early morning tomorrow. He gives me his number and asks me to call him so he'll have my number (they all do this now). I do and I ask his last name and his last name and my last name rhyme.

He gives me a quick hug then another one and leaves. I don't watch him walk out and I look around at the shop then back to the book. I'm not going to finish this one, I decide.

When I get home about an hour later, I look him up on the internet and find out he's the singer of a band that was once on the Sup Pop label and is now on Kill Rock Stars. There are all sorts of ridiculous photos of him with makeup and teased hair and I give him credit for going for it. Some girl who writes a blog in Portland kind of like this one told a story about him dancing like Prince and swiping her friend's vagina on the dance floor. I think, I can see that.

He texts me at eight thirty six, Hello sweet lady. So great meeting you today. You made me happy. Let's please stay in touch. Then he puts his name. He was the only boy that wished me Happy Valentine's day. From a thousand miles away.

Wednesday With The Chhao

Wednesday, February 1, 2012.

On Sunday I ask the chhao to meet up with the husband,the world's nicest couple and me in Silver Lake and he declines because he's sailing, then on Monday he texts me that he wants to see me this week and I say, OK. He says, Dinner and a cocktail?, and I say, That sounds delightful, and he replies, We are so adult. I love it, and he puts a smiley face. On Wednesday, he texts me close to six and asks if we're still on and I say that we are then he says he can be mine at eightish. I'm home at seven, get some quiet time until seven fifteen, shower, put on makeup, and brush my teeth while drinking a rose spritzer. I put on a standard outfit of new black loose top, navy blue riding pants, and grey boots. My hair is meh but I ignore it and my makeup is good.

The chhao sounds out of breath when he calls at seven fifty to tell me he's outside. I walk outside with a blackberry muffin that he eats right away and I ask if he'd like some wine for the road and he says he would. We go back into my apartment and he pours himself a glass of water, tells me he's just finished playing Squash, and asks if he looks flushed. I say, No, then he tossles his hair and looks flushed. He picks out a small glass cup for the wine that I pour and he's eaten the muffin and finished a glass of water and teases that he's going to walk into the roommate's room and asks, Would that be weird?

We leave and walk to his car and he kisses me and puts his right arm over my shoulder. It's warm tonight.

I offer to drive so he can finish the wine I've poured and he says, Ok, and tells me where the buttons are and I suggest dinner at Barbarella and he says, Ok, to that too. We take Sanborn to Fountain and pass Barbarella but it looks dead and I ask if he has any other suggestions and he suggests Edendale. We find parking just across the road and walk in and get a table with big chairs with high backs and we order a sparkling red. I ask if he likes it and he sort of does but doesn't love it. We order food and pick off each other's plates and finish the wine. We talk about his work mostly then some about mine but I change it back to his. He stands up and kisses me twice. He asks if my work is exciting and I say, Not really.

We finish our food and he asks if I'd like a proper cocktail and I say, Yes. I say, I have a friend at Thirsty Crow - we could go and see her and say Hi or somewhere else if you'd rather be alone. He looks down and says, I have an idea, and I say, You do? He says, We could go to my house and go in the jacuzzi, and I say, But we have work tomorrow and how will I get home? He offers to drive me home in the morning and then we agree that we'll have a drink at The Dresden and think about it.

He drives us to Dresden and we hold hands in the car and listen to a mix of music he made and some of the songs are songs I know and some are songs I don't. Inside The Dresden, there's a table for two just in front of the piano and I quickly grab it and the chhao follows. A cocktail waitress with big Russian eyebrows takes our orders, me a vodka soda no lime, him a whiskey with water back. We drink our cocktails and talk about this and that and the chhao tells me that he likes that we have our own lives. I say, Of course I have my own life - I never see you, and I laugh and he smiles. He tells me about his friend knocking up his wife and how they think she planned it and that he wasn't ready yet because he's in a band and gets a lot of attention from girls. I ask if he's a cheater and I get a roundabout version of, No.

We have a second cocktail and I start to get drunk. The chhao asks me to email him some of my writing and I tell him I don't have his email and he says he'll give it to me. I say, I prefer you didn't - I'll just email you cat videos all day. He says he likes cat videos. I tell him that I'd prefer to correspond through the mail and I ask for his address and he writes it down on a napkin next to a drawing of a large eggplant because earlier I told him that in emoji language eggplants equal d!cks. He asks me what I want to do with my life and I tell him and he says he had no idea. I say, Yes you did.

After my second cocktail, I get up to the ladies and text my friend at Thirsty Crow that we aren't coming and when I return there's a third cocktail on the table. I look at the chhao and he says, The cocktail lady just brought it, and she brought him one, too. We finish our third cocktails, decide to go to his house on the Westside, he pays and I give him some cash. Outside, a man with long grey hair is selling incense on a blanket on the sidewalk. I pass him but the chhao stays, hunched over the wares, hands in his pockets, and asks, How much? He hands the man a dollar and the man smiles and I grab a box, too, and hand the man some money, and he smiles, and thanks us and we thank him, and put the incense in the car that now smells like hippies and soap.

The chhao looks at the world like I like to think I look at the world, everything is new and everything is like a jungle gym on the school yard. When he says, Building schools is the only game in town, or that he really loves to design houses, he says it like he means it and he says it after he closes his eyes and breathes out and shakes his head a little. When he smiles big, he shows all his teeth and his eyes tighten up at the sides. He draws the most perfectly straight lines with fat ball point pens he keeps in his pocket.

The drive to the Westside is a blur but there are trees and neighborhoods and words on signs like Drake and Kern. The chhao offers me water and I take it and we take the dog out for a walk in the yard. The dog is old and doesn't faff much over me. She follows us upstairs to his room and lays on her side on a pillow on the floor. The chhao and I sit on his bed and he asks if I'm in therapy and I say, You know I am, and he says he'd like to be in therapy. He asks if I talk about dark secrets and I say, Sometimes, and he says, Like what - sniffing butts?, and we laugh and I look at him and say, No but I know what you'll be talking about, and tease him for having a bum fetish because he does. I tell him a dark one that I told in therapy and he doesn't think I'm evil for it and if he said anything I don't remember. He says, Let's take our shirts off, and we do, and he lays on my chest and makes circles with his finger on my arm.

He asks if I want to have a baby with him and says that we love each other. He says other things and I do, too, and the things we say are sweet and innocent and naive. Then we try to not have a baby then fall asleep.

In the morning he tells me that I was so dead asleep he couldn't tell if I was breathing. He says I didn't cuddle him at all and that I rolled over to the edge of the bed and kept my back to him. He doesn't shower and puts his clothes on from yesterday. He loans me a hoody and sunnies for the car ride home and I take a nap from eight ten to ten thirty on a work day.

On Sunday night I text the chhao, I want to name it Forest Silver Feather, and he replies, Jerry for short.

Tall Drink, Eclipsed

Monday, January 23, 2011. Le Miz's Birthday. Also the end of Tall Drink.

There were some things I didn't tell you because I was romanticizing and wanted to only tell you the good and the silly. Tall Drink doesn't like his mother and says his sister is difficult because she is like all women with daddy issues. Also, he maybe tried to choke me. When I said, Are you trying to choke me? he said, You'll like it, and kept his hand pressed on my neck.

I hear from him the next day via text but the exchanges are boring and robotic and his last text is, Roger that, after I answer when he asks what I'm up to. It's weird. Then I hear nothing from him all weekend. At four on Sunday, I'm annoyed and I text him his last name with an explanation point and he responds five hours later with his Spanish nickname for me with an explanation point. Then I reply, Oh hello speak of the devil, because I have just been talking mad shit about him to the roommate and Supa V, and he doesn't reply.

I get a text from him on Monday at nine forty two, Sorry about that, was at a party til one a.m. with a dead phone. How is your rainy day going?, I reply, I'm in [ } getting grilled!, and he asks if I'm at [ } and I say, Yes, then he says he is there also, and he calls me. I pick up and say, Why are you here?, and it is raining and loud with morning traffic and buses and construction. He tells me he's on First and Grand then he tells me he's on First and Hill and I'm right in the middle on First and Olive. He says he's going to come say, Hi, and I turn around and I see him on the corner walking towards me. I say, Get an umbrella - they're selling them right behind you! He says, Nah, because it reminds him of Olympia.

I can see him smiling as he walks up the street with his raincoat on and his hands in his pockets. He's taller than everyone on the street and most people on the street are Hispanic men selling rain gear and Hispanic women handing out fliers. He comes up to me, gives me a kiss on the lips and a big wet hug, then pulls away and smiles and stares at me. I feel self conscious about the fact that I have no makeup on and that I maybe look tired and that I am not wearing the cutest outfit and maybe my hair is poofy because of the rain. He asks if he can walk me to my car and I say, Ok, and we walk up First to Olive then down Olive to second. He tells me about his Sunday (not about Friday or Saturday) and he asks me about mine and I tell him some.

When my car comes I say, Just let me give you a ride - it's raining, and he says, Ok but I smell like a wet dog, and he does when gets in the front seat. We talk about the music I'm listening to a bit then we talk about work and some projects I've got and then we talk about how he can never get lost in the woods but doesn't remember street names. We pull up to his work on seventh and I say, I'm not downtown the rest of the week so if you need a ride you're on your own, and he laughs, kisses me on the cheek and gets out without a word.

When I get to the office I text him a photo of my calendar for the week because it is full looking and I say, Sorry if I was a bit harried - this is what my week looks like, and he replies forty five minutes later, Busy Bee.

I call New York to tell about this randomness and she says, If I heard something bad about him over the weekend would you like to know, and I'm like, YES!, and she says that SH worked with him and he is the biggest dbag in LA. I say, Phew - what a relief.