Little girl, Big City

7:30pm 11.16.11

Scene: a loft in Gallery Row, downtown Los Angeles

“I know what you two did.  I heard it.  I don’t appreciate it happening.  I told you I didn’t want it happening when I was home.”

I was a doe in headlights.  Yes, we had done the deed but it was when we specifically thought she had been gone.  We felt bad about it.  We felt great about it.  He and I were both in the moment.  It caught us and swept us away.  I couldn’t help but think that whatever it was was a serendipitous intersection to say the least.  What if this was the last chance I had before he moved to New Orleans?  What if I was never going to see him again?

I apologized emphatically to her and texted the suited gent.

“Shit.  She just called me.”

“I know.  You and I are stopping all together.”

My heart sank.  I didn’t want to be in the space.  I had to go home.  To the one place in Los Angeles that rang home the most- with my friends at the Brewery.

I called a friend and left a message.  He was at Mindshare.

“The house of cards fell out from under her yet again and Alice fell with it.  But it was comforting and scary at the same time.  Because this is the all too familiar world that she knew.”

Perhaps we really should have stopped everything that night.  Perhaps it was an omen amongst omens…

Why didn’t I listen?

11:25 pm 11.21.11

Scene:  a dive bar with an orange neon sign, downtown Los Angeles

It was the night of the extra couch surfers.  The suited gent and I had escaped into the bar that has the oldest liquor license in the city.  Little did my fancy cohort and I know at the time but this particular spot is owned by the same group that also owns our favorite fancy establishment in the city.

“Ask me anything you want.” he said as he bitched about his drink.

“I’m too sober for this conversation.”

“I’m not.  Ask me.  This doesn’t happen very often.  Take it.”

“I don’t think this is a good time to have this talk.  We’ve only known each other a little more than a week.”

“Ask me.  I want to know what’s going on in your head.”

The text came in from the woman who was letting us both couch surf.  We had originally made plans to enjoy the weekend together.  She was going to be out of town.  Now we were stuck sleeping together.

In between the hand holding and the kisses, he started to counter his actions with words completely in the opposite direction.

“You shouldn’t like me. ”

“Oh god really?  You’re drunk.”

“No you really shouldn’t.  I’m not kidding.”

“Why?”

“I’m emotionally unavailable.  I’ll cheat on you.  I’ll lie to you.  It’s how I am.”

“And what if that in itself is a lie?”

“It’s not.  You deserve better.  I’m telling you.”

He held me close and kissed me again.

Like the illusion that encompassed him- both things were true and lies at the same time.

9pm  4.11.11

Scene: an underground pub, downtown Los Angeles

The day had been one full of nukes.  I had been so close to the prize but it just wasn’t going to happen that day.  Things had been heating up with the motherfucker.  I lost a contract.  So what more logical of an escape than to meet with a seemingly out of my league handsome artist gent from the interweb?

He’d popped up on my radar not too long before that. At the time, I didn’t know where things were headed with the motherfucker.  I told him what happened after I’d left work that day.  He didn’t care.

“Have fun having sex with him.” he told me.

I thought it was a trap.  It probably was.  Nonetheless I proceeded anyway.  I needed the escape after all.  I deserved it.

Didn’t I?

I arrived to a very tall well dressed extremely fashionable gent clad in a suit and spiked coiffure with an entourage of other well dressed gals and gents.  This is a very casual bar.  I began to feel a bit under dressed compared to the last time I had come here with friends.  I was out of my element.  I didn’t know anyone tonight.  Anyone but him now.

We played a few rounds of ping pong.  I got myself a beer.  I chatted a bit in casual conversation with the group.

“The bar is closing. It’s last call.”

It was unexpected and short.  I’d barely had any time with him, let alone in private.

“Did you want to go somewhere else?” he asked me.

“Sure.  Where should we go?”

“Wurstkuche. It’s not far.”

“Alright, I can drive.”  I replied.

It was at this point when we were walking around the corner to my car that I noticed the skateboard in his hand.

“You don’t drive do you?”

“No.  I work downtown and in the artist district.  It’s not hard getting around.”

I drove us to our next stop in the crawl.  This wonderful bar in the Artist District amasses a great bevvy of alcoholic bliss including my absolute favorite- Alagash White.

I looked at their list of pulls.  He knew immediately what he wanted and so did I.

“Alagash White please.”

“What is that?” he said as he ordered his PBR.

“It’s delicious.  It’s a meal compared to that.”

“Would you like a pint or a stein miss?” the bartender asked me.

I’d just lost my contract and was now at the second bar of the evening with an artist who looks wise appeared out of my league.  I didn’t have anywhere to go in the morning.  So what was there to hold me back?  The nukes of the day completely disappeared.   I was brimming over when I answered.

“I’ll take a stein please.”

10:11am 12.3.11

Scene: a loft in Gallery Row, downtown Los Angeles

It had been some nice conversation.  Decisions and things in the future.  A luxury shared space in South Park or my own place in the historic core of Los Angeles, walking distance from work.

“There’s a lot over there.  I never go over there because I don’t want to pay for parking.  It’s more convenient.  You wouldn’t have to worry about food.  There’s grocerry stores and restaurants.  Lowry’s is over there.”

“The seasoned salt?”

“Yes but it’s a restaurant.  They became famous here in LA.  Best prime rib in the city.”

“Hmm I’ve never been.  Maybe you’ll visit me and we’ll go?”

“Yeah.  It’s something to think about.  I’m going to take a shower now though.”

He got up and I stretched my arms out for a hug.  It was stupid and cheesy but there it was.”

He pointed to his room where one of his friends was napping and joined his fingers.  He pointed to me and then separated them again.  He drops everything for her.  Is she really his best friend or is she more?

“Derby tonight?”

“Maybe.”

We’d been planning it for weeks.  I’d already bought his ticket.  I washed my hands of it.

“Forget it.”

I’m not going to be anyone’s “maybe”.

10:48am 12.25.11

Scene: A Catholic church in Claremont, southeast suburb of Los Angeles

“And this Christmas I want to wish that you get everything you need.  Not everything what you want.  But everything you need.  Remember, you are here for a reason.” the priest started before the opening service.

Being raised a Catholic, the morning crawl to church on Christmas morning is an inevitable part of the day.  It is the one main thing we do on every major holiday.

My dad is very traditional.  It is the essence of his being.  He has a very corporate nine to five, always dons the coordinating team jerseys as he watches the teams from our beloved hometown closest city, abhors technology, and, of course, is devout to his faith.  It works for him.  I get it.  And that’s fantastic.  There are times where I’ve felt closer to thinking it might work for me too.  But, more times than not, it’s not been my cup of tea.  Part of that could likely be attributed to it being shoved down my consciousness when I had no choice but to participate.

Another person went up to the podium with other special announcements.

“And for the college kids who are in town visiting your parents.  There’s always room for you.  And for the ones who have lost their faith.  There’s always room for you.”

It’s not a holiday without the dose of guilt.

Religion is one of three topics that, even in my adulthood, I am not allowed to question my father on.  The others are probably not surprising.  One is politics and sexual orientation. Which in the recent heated discussions regarding Prop 8, as a girl whose first experiences were with another female, is probably a big thing for my father to deal with.  (He still thinks it’s just a phase.)  The last one in the trifecta is technology.  Which, as it fuels the industries that I make my passions as well as professions is equally as dubious item of contention.

Few people realize that despite all these things, I am, in many regards, also a traditionalist.  Combine that element with my fixation on anthropology and you have, this morning, a perplexed and vaguely annoyed vessel in this house of holiness.

“Peace be with you.” the priest said.

“And also with you.” the congregation responded.

“It’s supposed to be “and with your spirit.” Ethan nudged me and whispered to me.

“When did they change that Ethan?”

“It’s new.  This month.”

I looked up to see cameras and projection screens on the walls.  There had been a message at the beginning asking people to silence their phones while the service was going on.  Since when is going to church like going to a movie?  Is this really just for entertainment purposes?

“And that?” I pointed.

“That’s new too.  It’s all this month.”

Welcome to the new age of worship.  It’s the technology that I love trying to revive a ritual tradition.  Years ago I probably would have been happy to welcome it.  So why was it bothering me now?  What was different?  I thought about this for a few minutes.  The opening words of the priest simmered a bit.

It’s not a holiday without a dose of hypocrisy.

I then did what came natural to me at moments like those, I took out my cell phone and drafted a message on a private piece of the web.  Am I now an old fuddy duddy like I’ve always barked at my dad each time he’s given me a stern word about technology?  Or is the same thing that brings us together, the same thing that pushes us apart?

I didn’t walk in expecting to be on camera.  I didn’t walk in for a show or a series of statements to make me feel guilty.  I came in for my family for a traditional ritual that is supposed to bring us together.  The faith would tell me that to be ashamed of worshiping the Lord would later be punished in the afterlife.  I chuckled to myself.  This whole setup actually makes perfect sense.

It’s a trap.

11am 4.16.11

Scene: a living room with white walls,  just outside Culver City

The night before had been filled with a lot of drinking.  It was how we’d started.  It would ultimately be how…

We awoke entangled in arms.  He was the embodiment of a rockabilly dream (or rather, nightmare): tall, muscular, black hair, black clothes, fauxhawk.  He carried himself like a badass motherfucker.  And he was.  Every part of it.  Right down to his initials.

This is the man who would ultimately throw down the dominos that would pave the way to adulthood.  It happened so fast, it was like a blur.  But that doesn’t come until later.

We fooled around a bit in the morning before rushing to get ready for our day.  I was originally going to cover a Sci-fi convention downtown.  We still needed to get food before and after and then onto the place where we’d first met.

He was a secret.  A vice.  A tempting tempting all over the map tomcat that catered to my senses in a way that I should have known how crazy he was before the words even escaped him.  He wasn’t supposed to be there that weekend.  We ignored the caution tape and proceeded anyway.  People do the stupidest things when they think they feel a connection with someone.

At the time. we weren’t even official.  It mattered not.  It was a dive into the deep end, complete with the talks often lead into places they never should have.  It is part of what scared the crap out of me.

“Good morning beautiful.  Do you want to get married today?”

6:49pm 12.21.11

Scene: a bar in an artist colony, Lincoln Heights

“I’m taking a trip to New Orleans.” I told him as he handed me my regular brew.

“Where? What district?”

“I’m not sure.  I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Well what hotel are you going to be staying at?”

“Another one I’m not sure about.  I’m thinking about visiting friends.. and maybe him.  Where should I go?”

He retreated to another side of the bar and helped someone else only to return a few moments later with a pen and a piece of paper.

“Here.  Also write down Elizabeth’s, Frady’s and Stella’s.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.  When are you going?”

“Not until next year.”

He walked away again.  I looked at my phone to check the time.  My friend should be here any minute.  In my messenger bag there are multiple notebooks currently.  Each one of them has its own series of stories.  I got the two books at the same time- on that Strawberry Sunday.  One was to be professional and the other was to be creative.  Corporate and creative have met many times.  With one of my moves, the red notebook became stashed in a bin.  I had no clue where it had gone… until I’d found it this weekend.

“I want to show you something.” I told him as I pointed to a page in the red notebook.  A section of it had been devoted to journal pieces written this summer.

“What is it?”

“Read the top line.”

He grabbed the book and began to thumb through it.

We laughed and talked some more.  He gave me the book back.

“This book is about you.” I told him.

“No it’s not.  It’s about you.”

He walked away as a text came in.  I drank my beer and thought about things some more.  About how honest the pages in that red notebook were.  About it’s initial purpose being an art piece.  About how it’s evolved.

On the front of this cover is an emblem stamp.  Looking closer you can see that it is two people kissing.  It is a tale that may never grace the inside of that notebook.

This is not a love story but it is a story I write about the life that I love.

2pm 9.24.10

Scene: An office sitting in front a computer, Mid Wilshire district Los Angeles

At work, on a break I was checking in to the latest thought bubble when I caught glance of it.  But first, a bit of a back story to the back story.  In my reality, there are mythical creatures amongst us- they are the artists, the entrepreneurs, the ever sparkling ones that when you come across make you believe in magic.  One young man in a far off land called Portlandia is one of them.

This fox made a cameo ages before this grand appearance via a tweet circa December 27th, 2009:

“You’ve gotta have your heart break really hard before you can really know what you want.”

Combined with the endorsement from this magical boy, I looked further to find out that this was also magical company.  I began following her exploits immediately but it wasn’t until this day that I would actually start the path of knowing her outside of that online realm.

I rarely get the guts to approach women.  I’m not sure what happened that day.  Oh I know what it was… it was the allure of pancakes and bacon.  Her tweets popped up as I entered my update.  I fear, I don’t always catch things.  She was talking about how she’d bought a cupcake perfume but it smelled of pancakes instead.

“What kind of person is drawn to a girl that smells like pancakes?”

“Me. I guess it sucks to be you.” I tweeted.

I laughed as the updates continued.

“I should save the pancake scent & wear it after bathing with bacon soap under the solar shower at burning man. Boy, I’d be a hot commodity.”

God I love e-pancakes.

9:30pm 4.18.9

Scene: On the Rox, Hollywood

“I was informed that the party tonight will be a costume party.”  I told Mo as I got the text.

We had wandered the streets of West LA in search for that certain something but hadn’t quite found it.

With a bit of his help however, I was on my way: clad in a smile, caution tape, white lace gloves, heel, skirt, and long jacket.  Tonight was going to be fantastic.

It was back when all the technology someones were still introducing themselves.  If you weren’t there, it was almost as if you didn’t exist. It feels like ages ago.  So many of them have gone to bigger and greater things.  Have you been keeping track of all of them?

Making a statement was paramount.  So what better way for a girl known as “Scandalous” to make her mark?

I pulled up to the bar sometime right before ten.  I watched as friend after friend entered the bar and walked up the stairs dressed in the silliest and sexiest garbs.  Afro wigs.  Pimp outfits.  Hawaiian shirts.  Captain hats.  Guns and foxy drapery.  I am ever so lucky to be surrounded by such colorful and inspiring minds.

The most glittering and upcoming people in the Los Angeles tech scene were here in Hollywood shining up the stage.  We chatted.  We drank.  We watched one by one go up on the stage and belt their lungs out.  And then it came time to nearly say goodbye.  We all gathered onstage and joined in chorus as Mark Jeffrey grabbed a hold of the mic.

This truly was the father of all karaoke parties.

2pm 7.24.11

Scene: a shopping center in Little Tokyo, Los Angeles

“My old roommate moved out and took all the kitchen things.  I need dishes for my place.  I gave my Japanese china to a friend when I moved out of a storage awhile back.”

And so my friend from the south bay drifted to the one place I knew would have exactly what I’d wanted.

We walked past the rows of groceries.  I’ll get some gyoza after I have a pan to cook them with.

As we got to the dishes I ooo’d and ah’d like a little girl at a toy store.  What kind of a woman was I without having things to even cook my everyday foods?

I wanted everything to sync.  My dreams were garden inspired: strawberry plates, pots, and an apron to match. Roses lined the china bowls in varying sizes.  The baking wares would come later.

A smile drew across my face yet again.  I was finally going to have the responsibilities of my own kitchen.  I couldn’t wait to get home.

As we got to the counter my friend stopped me.

“I’ve got this.  You paid a lot to even get into that place.  Don’t worry about it.”

“I can do it.” I told him.

“No.  It’s really ok Jena.  You can get your baking stuff.  Just cook for me sometime?”

“Done.”

We packed up the car to go.  I hugged my friend.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you’re wonderful and you deserve it.”