It’s been a while since I’ve woken up to 70 degree weather — in January. Am I complaining? Hell no — especially since I know what kind of atmospheric fuckery is going on back home. This morning was spent contemplating my next few moves for ye olde career and getting used to the quirks of the apartment. I do think it’s haunted — I just hope my little apparition doesn’t turn into a wraith and drink all of my wine and eat my Trader Joe’s Molasses Chews.
Last night, I dined with my dearest friend, David at Casa Bianca Pizza in lovely Eagle Rock after he dropped off a box of my supplies I sent to myself — really, it’s not as masturbatory-fabulous as it sounds — my box was filled with droopy sweaters, tampons and various other sundries. The pizza was excellent, even better was the conversation — it was almost as if I had never left California lo those many years ago. But I did leave and the friendship changed, but there are some common threads left that are still quite strong. We’re different people from when we were roommates with Kimmie Kim at the Palazzo on Beverly Glen and Olympic, which is a good thing the more I think about it. Also, I don’t think any of us could survive the Lump again.
I drove in circles today — it’s safe to say I haven’t found my bearings quite yet. York Blvd. goes in all sorts of wacky directions and I’ve yet to find a news stand. The Trader Joe’s in my old hood is still hopping — so much so that a local lesbian hit on me in the cheese section. Yeaaahhh … you’re nice — mom-nice — but there will be no tapping of that. Wait … I’m in LA …. maybe I should consider it since things are different out here, it’s the land of fruits and nuts, dykes, trannies, d-girls, clowns and the Kardashians. They’re people too! C’mon! Hmm.. hmm.. NO. I love women, but I don’t LOVE women.
And on that note, time to worship St. Mattress.