At long last, here we go.
So,
my good buddy picks me up Friday, the 31st, a rainy and gray day all around, and we are off. A quick navigation through the hills and beauty that is L.A., and back to his place for sandwiches and beer.
Heath had to split, because he works at a swank and downright funky club, called The Buffalo.
My hot lady friends, Bina and Alexis, picked me up and took me there, and made sure we did it in style.
Drinks were slung, plastic surgery was duly noted, dancers writhed and I had a glass of some very serious bourbon. All for one great tip.
There is talk of some party up in The Hills for a former child star, and the notion is enough to catapault us from our revelry. Driving ensues, as does the rain. We are at the mercies of the glittery glittery gods.
We get to the party. I meet, in no short schrift, the guy who wrote I Heart Hucakbees, the woman who was La Femme Nikita (on TV) some other guy, and a 'producer' of the new Superman movie. He wants to take me home. I am flattered. I am not interested.
My beautiful gal pal, Bina, gives me the look a little later on. It's time.
I'm gonna snort cocaine.
Now I have never done coke, and I find it appropriate that this was the surface on which I snorted my first line. And of course I fucked it up. I couldn't get it in my nose and some guy jumped in and snorted it for me. THANKS! Of course, I would do much more blow througout the course of the evening and took to it like a indie rocker takes to irony, but we'll get to all that later. While I had been sleepy and ready for bed before, I was now UP and convinced that only good could come out of my first real night in Los Angeles.
The party wound down, and we were back to Bina's, for more drinks and stuff, and I met
my new bro, who I quickly developed a guy crush on. We talked of books, music, women and the amount of coke we were snorting. Maybe this is my town?
The night wore on until the early morning, and then even later. I got back to the pad at around 11 or so, shared a whiskey recap with my boy, and then was off to drug and drink adled dreams. I was hard to stir the next day, but made a fair go of it.
Bina and Alexis picked me up for a night of bar hopping, which turned into us hitting some other huge party 'in the Hills' which led to me drinking my favorite poison and catching up with
another old friend who is doing spectacularly well.
Sunday took it's Sunday time, but we did some hiking.
After that, we met up with the boys at the Red Lion, then off to Malo, then off to the Ye Rustic Inn, then Thai Food, then more house partying. Joey Big Time is the man!
New York, we ain't got nothing on these people.
Monday was recovery and then the moment I've been waiting for forever.
This is outside of the Short Stop, my man Dulli's bar. The guy in the background is Carlos D., the bassist from Interpol. The woman in the foreground is another kind of superstar altogether.
The next day it was back to SF, back to Marky Mark and Joel and The Juice. Drinks at The High Tide with the boys after the show, and these triflin', trouble causing women.
The boys, reunited!
This is not my jacket.
This is Doreen. I tried to buy her a drink.
The next morning it was sad goodbyes and vague promises, a cab ride to nowhere and the SF Bart back home. The sun finally showed it's face. The day I left.
Back home and back to it.
So what do I make of it all?
Sweet and Vicious. Perfetly Awful. Beautiful Sorta. But not.
And what's to come of me?
Well?
Oh, I'll be back.
Don't you worry that.
