Monday, April 04, 2005

The story of my weekend...

So this is how it went. Friday, I got to work at 4:30 in the afternoon. We're shooting overnights in Westwood, a place vastly familliar to me after my first year in la Ciudad spent getting hammered there on a daily basis. After a brief visit to the set, I returned to the production office in Burbank to sit and wait it out. You see there are many things that must be taken care of over the course of an entire day's shoot, and I was designated to be the one to take care of things in the office. Which essentially means I was the one chosen to stay up all night and be at the beck and call of any and everyone from the set who had problems, difficulties, misunderstandings, miscommunications, etc. etc. etc.

I brought my guitar with me for company and several cds. It was a quiet night to say the least, and by 7:30 am on Saturday, my work was completed, the company had wrapped and I made my way home for a quick round of shut-eye. I slept for four hours or so before rising, taking a quick rip and heading to the liquor store for some beers. Saturday was Nate's birthday celebration down in Elysian Park near Dodger's Stadium.

The weather is returning to nice here in Sunny SoCal after the second greatest rainfall this area has seen since the 1880's. And with the renewal of the spectacular weather comes the shedding of layers of clohting on the ladies, a feature of this part of the country that few others can compare to. And the ladies were out, and they were wearing less than I've seen them wear since last October when the rains started. It was delightful. Sun dresses and skirts and breezy close-to-see-through-shirts. All mixed in with a few spliffs and some ice cold Tecates. Throw in a frisbee and a hacky sack and you've got yourself a beautiful day in the park.

Amongst these wayward ladies was one that has for several years now been the apple of my attended eye. Damnit if this one isn't as gorgeous as they come, and she, recently 'divorced' as I am, was catching the feelings I was sending her way and returning them with spectacular volleys like a tennis match between two people who have played one another many, many times before. The park faded with the sunlight and minutes later we were inside a bar, really stepping it up into high gear. Shots of whiskey, shots of tequilla, ice cold budweisers, vodkas on frigid rocks. I managed to lose a fifty dollar bill somewhere within The Short Stop on Sunset, or perhaps I just blew it on drink. I don't recall.

At one point, as my charm was carefully teetering on sheer crassness and drunken advances, I told the girl that I would like nothing more than to share her bed that night, a prospect which I must admit she was very receptive to; "That would be nice," she said, and I took it for a given that when the glasses upon glasses of stinging booze were finished, I would find myself warm with her, getting warmer.

But alas, her ex called her at such an inopportune moment and put the nix on the whole thing. Not that she and I haven't travelled this same path with one another before, and not that we never will again, but his inadvertent cock block fell on me, and she soon decided that it would be wisest if she made the journey home alone. No skin from me. But worse things could happen. There is still time, as there always will be.

She left. I continued on my bender and ended up smashing my forehead against the arm of a couch while I was issuing somewhat of a severe beat-down to the Notorious T.O.D. He later said that his head felt like an A-Frame. Mine didn't hurt, although the damage remains today in the form of several tiny red abraisions that travel from my hair line to the top of my nose. And it hurts like a motherfucker to put on a hat. Nobody's fault but mine I suppose, but I did smash the shit out of poor Tod's head.

Francisco was wasted so he couldn't give me a ride home. He drove me up to the corner of Sunset Blvd and Benton Way. I said I would catch the bus and started walking Westward on Sunset Blvd, back into Hollywood from Echo Park, back to my lonely little house just around the corner from Rosco's Chicken and Waffles. And do you know that only one bus passed my in the entire time I was walking? One goddamned bus, and it was off duty.

I ended up walking damn near five miles in the middle of the night in Los Angeles wearing flip flops of all goddamned walking implements, kicking one off and then the other, then stumbling around blindly as I tried to put one or both of them back on my drunken feet. It took me a couple of hours to get back to the house, which gave me plenty of time to dial several numbers that belonged to those of the fairer sex, and enough time for none of them to answer, and certainly none of them to come and scoop my drunk ass up and then take me home and have their way with me after four o'clock in the morning. So I got back to the house and passed out cold and on the solo, burning my last cigarette on the way up the walk and into my tiny little bungalow.

Sunday brought with it more spectacular weather. I woke up around eleven and ate some Subway. I recieved a call from Melanie, yes the same one as the failed sleeping arrangements from the night before. She had gotten tickets to a stage play called "Tartouffe" which is one of Moliere's finest works dealing with the hipocracy of religion and it's effect on man's piety. It was entertaining and enjoyable... I would highly recommend it to both of you to read and/or watch if possible. One thing about Moliere, he certainly has a handle on the concept of vice.

After the play I spoke with my sister. She asked me to be the Godfather of Winnifred Jane Kenney, my niece who was born on Valentine's day when I was in Mexico City. That is exciting news, and I'm trying to arrange my trip to Philadelphia for the coronation at some point later on this month.

Then it was off to Dorin and Stadler's house for a barbecue in honor of their friend Cynthia's birthday. There, much more food, booze and ganj followed and the next thing you know, I was right back where I was the night before except I had on real shoes instead of two slaps of foam rubber and I only had to make a half block walk at the end of the deal as opposed to a two hour one. Dorin and Stadler always attract an interesting group of individuals, and yesterday was no exception. I spent a good deal of time talking to a woman who was in her late 60's, a prescribed medicinal marijuana matron who rolled j upon j of some of the finest kind I've ever had the pleasure to draw into mine lungs. Stellar. And there were ladies there, too. And they all seemed to be doing well, and I felt like I could make them do better.

I'm back in the game, kids. The mojo is working overtime once again. The slump hasn't been busted just yet, but it's waiting in the wings... Pity on the first one to taste the wrath... It's been too long, and before that it had been too long with the same person. As it is, spring is here; sundresses and baseball games and day drinking and warm night parties and swimming naked and new friends and lovers. Spring is here and it brings along with it the promise of summer which will ease us into fall only to shoulder us through winter while we wait for Spring again. It's a great time of year, and a particularly good time to be in Sunny Southern California where all the women are strong and all the men are good looking and all the marijuana is above average.

ps... Ofo, if you've never met her, check her...

We live vicariously only through you Lar.... Ser joven en la Ciudad de los Angeles...ahhh...
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