Little girl, Big City

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.”

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.

745pm 6.11.11

Scene: a web awards show, Hollywood

The commute to Hollywood is nearly always attrocious but that night, I felt nothing as I drifted through the space of possibly something.  The moments had been building.  Many conversations had been had.  I hadn’t seen him in ages.

I was a few minutes late getting in.  Ah the Avalon.  Or, more accurate, Bardot, the bar that resides above it.  The building towers high above the clouds with its ornate architecture.  Inside, Bardot greets the stars with its skylights and luscious curtains.

Navigating through the crowds was a metropolis in itself.  There were so many delightful and colorful characters present: the steampunk crew, the sex blogger, the alternative artist curator.  In attendance was a menagerie of Hollywood web royalty.  But, as much as all of them mattered, they mattered very little.

A smile drew across my face as I caught glimpse of him.  This familiar stranger whose name may never be even whispered.  Tonight we will prance about in public without a single touch on skin.

“Hello how are you?” a woman says to me, breaking me out of my daydream.

Back to business little girl.  Back to business.

9:27pm 12.3.11

Scene: a posh club with a sea of mustaches, Hollywood

It was to be the annual celebration of a successful month long charity.  This was the piece de le resistance of the entire month long movement.  It was going to be a cavalcade of browns, blondes, and much more.  Get out the plaid and make your way to the bar boys, it’s your night.

So, given the opportunity to gawk at such marvels celebrating their little boys, I jumped at the chance.  I had never attended one of these galas, but I didn’t appear it.  We had been issued winning sashes “Man of Movember” and “Miss Movember”.  It went fabulously well paired with my friend, the distinguished mustachio who was dressed to the nines in his top had and vest.

I had sensory overload as handsome fellow after handsome fellow filed into the club.  So many choices and flavors of men with flavor savors.  What to do? What to do?

As we made way to the bar, for the first time in ages, I got nervous.  Not having a pair of testicles at a party celebrating them being healthy is not exactly a “woman’s party”.  This become more apparent as each person that we spoke to made fast friends with my friend first.  Except for one man in a newsboy hat.

I was standing by myself while my friend got drink after drink given to him.  Out of the corner of my eye, there he was: a fanciful dressed chap in a newsboy hat and suspenders.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

We chatted a bit before my friend returned.  We made our way to the dance floor.  We got lost in the sea of stache and ended up getting separated.  I looked over at my friend having a grand time, but something inside just was amiss with me that night.  I felt the anxiety build up and needed an escape, so I phoned a friend and left.  Immediately after however, I was told that he had come looking for me.

Damnit, I wish that I had stayed sir.