Little girl, Big City

11:49 pm 1.9.12

Scene: the kitchen/living room in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

I was getting my hair done a couple of days prior when the blip hit my radar.  I have not decided yet how big or small that blip may be.  It could be an eeep, a bleep, or a creep.  But whatever it was, it wasn’t too shabby.  Our first introduction was to follow a day without pants and an evening with friends at their band’s listening party at my friends loft space at the Brewery.

I started to get a barrage of texts asking about him as I left.  The texts would continue through the duration of the date.

“My apologies, but I tend to attract the crazy ones.”

“What is he saying?”

“It’s irrelevant and likely dirty.  He told me that if my date with you didn’t go well that he would be home alone later and… you get the idea.”

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

J was also in search of adventures and adores music.  Yes, another musician and a recovering Midwesterner former actor from a land far far away.  We discussed the nature of things.  Of history and culture.  Of tales of Ramona Flowers.  Of array and disarray.

The connection, as the tone of the evening entirely, was fluid.  Japanese whiskey paired with stories changed backdrops to this sequence of scenes as he and I returned back to my place to have a good ole dose of less fanciful potation: beer in canned form.

“I bet he texts again in 5 minutes.”

5 minutes later…

Ping.

“Would you like to be kissed?”  he asked politely.

It caught me off guard.  I had been enjoying the night and hadn’t even been thinking about that, even though I had been thinking about it.

We ended up on the couch.  He’d missed the train ride earlier.  I felt it was only fair to show him my version of what the rest of Los Angeles had seen that day.

“Do you always wear undergarments this fancy?”

“I enjoy it.”

“Always wear some of that caliber or better when I see you.”

And so the requests start.

5:45pm 11.30.11

Scene: An office in downtown Los Angeles

A ping came from the past.

“Little girl big city.”

“That’s me.  There’s a blog to go with it as well.  How are you?”

He’d seen the pictures I’d posted on Facebook with the dress I’d bought while out apartment searching.  It had been a few minutes since I’d talked to Base.  He and I went out once back in ’09 but nothing ended up coming of it beyond some very great conversations.  We have continued to keep in touch throughout the years regardless.

“Kind of sexy if I must say.  I’m good.  How are you doing?  Did you ever work out your roommate situation?  You look thin.  Did you lose weight Stavros?  You look in shape.  You’ve still got some curves.  That’s a good thing.”

It continued into business and further flattery.

“You dabbled in modeling right?  I’ll shoot you.  I’ll hire you as my muse!”

“What a coincidence! The little girl in the big city also doubles as a Muse for Hire.”

Somewhere there was confusion when I mentioned that I was looking for an apartment.

“What about this roommate situation?  I thought you just moved in with him.”

I spaced.  I didn’t remember telling him about it, although I very well likely posted things alluding to that on various social mediums.  I didn’t gather from the way he’d reacted that he had read the blog before I’d told him about it.

“I thought you were involved in a steamy relationship with your roommate as of last week.”

“Yes that’s still ongoing..ish”

“Oh Stavros.  How many hearts have you broken this year alone?

“He’s entry one on the blog.  I’ve lost count?”

“So what’s the problem? Don’t y’all live together?”

And then the inevitable story unfolded.  Some of it has been written here.  Some if it hasn’t yet.

“He doesn’t live in the real world.  His grandmother died.  He has an inheritance.  He hasn’t really ever had a job. Just interns.  He’s 27.  Going on 13.  He’s supposed to be writing a western right now.  He was going to school to work in city planning.  Didn’t get into grad school.  He doesn’t want to sit in a desk for 15 years to do what he would not be  for sure able to do if he went to grad school.  He’s thinking about moving to New Orleans. A place he has set in his mind that he can ‘forget about his problems’.”

“He’s a dreamer.”

“Yeah. So am I.  Why do you think I want to help him?”

12:20pm 1.5.12

Scene: an office building in downtown Los Angeles

The No Pants Train Ride was coming up and the suited gent had not given me back my dad’s shirt.  You can kind of gather some things about the details here.  A night of passion in me wearing one of my very corporate dad’s old hand me downs that never made it to Goodwill and it… just sort of stayed in his room.

“Get that back to me please.  I wouldn’t care if it wasn’t my dad’s in the first place.”

“I promise I will.”

Weeks passed.  Conversations had.  The shirt never made a cameo.

The time had come.

“Hey I really need to get that.  It’s been weeks.  You said you were going to get it cleaned and get it to me even when I was still there.  I think you’ve had more than enough time.”

“I can do that.  When did you want to come by?”

“Actually I want you to bring it to my work.  It’s not far and I know you’re not working anyway..”

“Sure I can do that.  I can get it to you today.”

“When?”

“I’ll leave in about five minutes.  What are your cross streets again?  Grand and [redacted]?”

“No.  Grand and [redacted].”

It then got busy here.  I was working on a project and manually generating invoices.  It was something I hadn’t had to do here previously.

“Sorry.  I’m going to need a minute.  It got busy at work.”

“Well I can come by after I have lunch with my dad if that works too.”

I don’t trust him not to flake.  He’s a habitual flaker.  And again, I don’t trust him.  He’s had plenty of time.  I wanted to wear that shirt on Sunday.  I needed to get it washed still.  It would take all of five minutes to get things done.

I told my boss.

“I need a few minutes.  I have someone dropping something off.  I can come right back.  Is that ok?”

“No problem.”

I went downstairs to the lobby and waited.  I don’t like this at all.  I was nervous that he would try and pull some cute move on me as if things hadn’t happened, and, had he been genuine it might have been different.  I just didn’t need the gloss over it.  I had made my decision.

“I’m pulling up to the side now.  I see you!”

Deep breath Jen.  It’ll all be over in five minutes.

1.8.12  12:55pm

Scene: Wilshire and Western train station, upstairs

Once a year there’s a fantastic excuse to don your best underwear out in public.  In most major cities, the tradition is honored with the flashmob entitled: The No Pants Metro Ride.  It is an event coordinated by the groups Improv Everywhere and the local chapter GuerrilLA.   Various acts of shenanigans have transpired due to these amazing groups.  I am happy to be a part of them.

In Los Angeles, this particular flashmob has been going on for four years.  In other cities, it has been going on much longer.  I have been a participant for 3 years.

In other words, it’s a fun excuse to get some new cute underwear and meet some eccentric new friends.

As if I needed that right?

This mission was different however.  This time, I was to assume the role of Agent Red and assist in coordinating an entourage of Los Angeles pantsless denizens.

Getting dressed was an adventure.  The idea is to be discreet as possible.  I was a downtown girl now.  I wanted to look the part.

Getting ready earlier I picked and plotted my attire with careful measure: a pinstripped collared dress shirt, black cincher at the waist, long flowing black silk gloves, dark grey corporate sensible knee length skirt, high heeled yellow khaki oxford shoes, … open cut fishnet stockings with bows,  black laced silk underwear.  I grabbed a black bonnet and my shades.  It was a mission and I was to be undercover.

I arrived early to my location to a vacant station.   The other agents were not there yet.  I parked myself upstairs next to a pillar and pulled off a long glove to check in with Ooh-Kla to ensure that I was at the correct position.

“Excuse me are you Agent Red?”

I placed my hand up to the side of my face by my ear.  The signal.  The cue.

“Welcome to the mission.”

12.20.11 8:52Am

Scene: Broadway & 6th, historic Downtown Los Angeles

Ah the morning routine.  It’s comfortable.  It’s quiet.  It’s fun dancing down the streets of downtown and never knowing who or what you will encounter.  But I’ll tell you a secret that’s not really much of a secret- you might encounter something wonderfully fantastic if you time it just right.

My place with the suited gent is just a few blocks around the corner from work.  On the way, however, are more than a handful of historical buildings that… well let’s just say I have a relationship with.

On the side entrance to what was the Los Angeles Theatre is a dead ended alleyway.  It is a favorite place for dozens of pigeons every single morning.  And every single morning I do the same thing.  This one, I happened to get caught.

I put “Eye of the Tiger” on as I rounded the corner coming up to it.  I was channeling my inner panther.  The words from a Three Stooges show echoed in my mind:

“Step by step.  Inch by inch!”

I looked over from my lifted camera phone to my left to see that people in the building right before the alleyway were watching me.

I held up one finger to my lips and continued my mission.  Moments later, a flurry of birds went in the air.  I ducked and looked over to see the people still watching me.   I pointed at the sky.

“One of these days, I’m going to catch you birds!”

I laughed.  They laughed.

God I love mornings in downtown.

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”.

1:45pm 11.27.11

Scene: a vintage dress and accessory shop, downtown Los Angeles

I’d walked past it several times but hadn’t walked in yet.  My pocketbook was in savings mode.  I needed to save for that new place I had yet to find and call home.

Her name was Billie.  She had been collecting vintage pieces for many years.  Her son was three.  She was dressed to match this gorgeous little shop of hers.

I waded through gorgeous piece after gorgeous piece.  I’d love to tell everyone about her little shop, but at the same time, finding it was like finding that hidden treasure at the bottom of the cereal box.

I nearly left that day without buying anything until I saw it draped on a rack with several other colorful silk dresses.  I knew immediately I was going to buy it.

I found a pair of hanging earrings and told her that I was definately buying them.

We chatted about her shop.  About how much my grandmother has spoiled me by giving me so many amazing pieces that she’d worn in her younger days.  And, of course, we chatted about things with that certain suited gentleman.

“We’re couch surfers in the same place right now.  It’s a strange happenstance.”

“How long have you two been dating?”

“Not long.  We goof and say that we are not going to date.  But we both know that we are. This dress will help.  We both enjoy going to fancy places.  It’s a good compliment to what we already enjoy.”

“Are you in love?”

Things froze for a moment.  That was ridiculous.  Was I gushing that much?  That was craziness.  I just laughed.

“No I’m not in love but I’m having a good time.”

7:50am 10.31.11

Scene: Grand St, downtown Los Angeles

It was only one bus ride away from the Brewery.  Twenty minutes to arrive.  I could practically see the building from the top of the loft I was residing in then.

This was a huge change coming.  It was what my father called his daily regimen: a position in a corporate building located in the center of downtown Los Angeles.  It was what I’d asked the universe for and it was happening.

I thought back to my time in Chicago back in February.  About the story of the stop on the L that formally would announce each stop’s name with “This is” in front of it.

So… this is Grand huh?

I thanked the driver of the bus and walked down the street to the number that would ultimately be my destiny.  I had a destination.  Little did I know that it would be the next important one.

A woman greeted me as I came into the office.  She was warm and sweet.  An angel in disguise.

“[The boss] will be right with you.”

My interview went exceedingly well.

“When will I hear from you?”

“You should hear from us later in the week.”

I smiled and shook his hand.  A suited chap.  My my how I do enjoy gawking at the suited chaps.  (But that’s a different story.)

I felt confident as I walked outside and greeted the crisp autumn air.  Do you know that feeling when you know you absolutely have no worries or cares about anything?  That’s how I felt when I walked out that day.  And that’s why I was humbled and happily unsurprised when I got the email the following day asking me to come in for a second interview.

This is Grand.