vampirate

I just completed the most wonderful course of mornings, noons, and nights the Cosmos has ever been so kind and benevolent as to bestow upon me.

Los Angeles is a beautiful city teeming with beautiful people. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I know plenty of folks believe it's a blatantly cardboard myth, pasted with rotten treacle over the chthonic, gangrenous gut-wound of the city's entertainment industry. They are wrong. This really has fuck-all to do with that. I'm sure that, just like every other city, L.A. has its share of jerkoffs and fucknuts, shitheels and douche sacs (see footnote 1), but the overwhelming majority of the people with whom I was fortunate enough to interact were at the very least friendly and pleasant, with many also being interesting and cool, and a few actually proving to be downright gems of humanity. As promised, I was shown the time of my life.

Any attempt to catalogue the experiences I had or the people responsible for them will be sadly inexhaustive (see footnote 2). For that I apologize. Here goes:

In the past four sevenths of a fortnight I: took a pair of embarrassing spills on concrete, got my nose bashed bloody and my chest split open, carried a semi-conscious woman past apartments once occupied by the likes of Marylin Monroe and Rudolph Valentino, made out with a hot guy in public, made out with a hot girl in public, watched hot girls make out in public, bullied juke boxes, got bullied by a juke box (see footnote 3), drunkenly screamed down Hollywood Boulevard with the pedal to the metal of a car worth easily upwards of four times my annual salary, got busy four times daily, subjected a bar full of frattish douche sacs to faggy british music, was stuffed with the best sushi I've had in half a decade, saw Jeffrey David Morris' apartment (see footnote 4), danced nakedly to embarrassing music, was asked for change way less than I thought I'd be, cleaned beer off someone's carpet, cleaned puke of someone's carpet, walked until I got blisters, enjoyed (with a kind of intellectual BDSM flavor) being called-out and corrected, saw a homeless man jerking off on the sidewalk, ate something called a "Bearded Frenchy" (see footnote 5), bought vodka at Rite-Aid, saw some stunningly gorgeous vistas, was accosted repeatedly by Scientologists, said and did a bunch of totally gay (see footnote 6) things and loved it, repeatedly used the word "weirdo" as one of the highest of compliments, loved life a great deal, and argued about things more loudly and lengthily than necessary in order to annoy the people around me.

Thanks to: Flux (obviously firstly and foremostly, in much adverbial profusion, see footnote 7), Sloane, GarageDelFuego (see footnote 8), EricAllen, Shalome, bean, obelisk, JeremyScareMe, Nixon, Reagan, and about a dozen other motherfuckers whose names I can't remember because you never told me or I was drunk and you didn't tell me six times.

You guys and your town are great.

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1. Yeah, how many times has hooting out your car window gotten you laid, guys?
2. The optimist in me says this is because they were so numerous and overwhelming; the cynic in me says this is because I was so often drunk and preoccupied.
3. It and Closing Time tag-teamed us.
4. Alas, it was only from the outside.
5. Twice. It was great.
6. And by "gay" I don't mean "homosexual".
7. This subject is way beyond the scope of this journal entry.
8. Although I think he's now officially "Gay-RageDelFuego" (see footnote 8a).
8a. And by "gay" I do mean "homosexual".