Little girl, Big City

7:30am 1.19.12

Scene: a bedroom in a spooky historical loft, just outside of downtown Los Angeles

Yesterday was a doozy.  I went to bed early and woke up even earlier than usual.  I pinged the dark horse to say hello.

“Hi.”

“Hey there sexy.”

“How was your day?   You weren’t on all day.”

“Yeah it was good.  What did I do?  Oh went out drinking again.”

“No drunk text messages.”

“Yeah I know.  Next time.”

I told him about the disaster of my evening last night.

“I wanted to participate in a poetry reading yesterday and I got stuck with car crap.”

We talked more in private.  Things that maybe if I decide to tell you, you will know.

“I have flaws.  I am not perfect.” he said.

“I know.  But thanks for reminding me.”

“You need reminding.” he laughed.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll probably use them against you when I feel is appropriate and to my advantage.  Because I have a vagina and all that.”

“What are my flaws?”

“I’m not mad at you right now so…”

We talked more.  He teased.  I taunted back.

“You don’t want to be my sex prisoner? I will give you a metal bikini and chain you to my bed like I was in a Star Wars movie.”

“My hair isn’t long enough to braid like that.  So I guess that won’t work.”

“Wig.”

“Oh so you’re going to send me wigs now?  Fabulous!  You have my address.  You can send more flowers too.  Pretty please?”

He wanted to trade something.  Something that if we hadn’t had a six year long history I might have been off put by it.  Something a bit higher in a demand list than a guy I went out with once had asked on that first date.  Well, almost.  But that’s a different story.

“Not fair.”

“So fair.  You do that and you get presents.  You can juggle all the guys you want.  With me as safety, trips, dinners, presents.”

That was so not fair of him to say.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s an exciting invitation. And, quite frankly, I might be a bit crazy for not taking it and running with it.  He’s my best friend.  He’s been there in the background for years.  I never gave him a real chance when he was local but he always makes a point to see me when he comes home.  I’ve had an open invitation to travel Europe with a man whom adores me… and yet here I am, happily dating one failed romance after another, without a passport and not taking him up on that.

“How far is Dresden from you?”

“Far.  Prague is closer.”

“Someone sent me a postcard from there.  The water looks so close to the houses.  Darling will you send me to Peru?”

“No I want to go to Columbia.  I hear it’s awesome.  Plus lots of h0t Columbians.  Hot Columbians and jungle and coke.”

“But dear there’s mummies in Peru!  I want to get a hat and whip and pretend I’m the girl Indiana Jones!”

“Go to Egypt for that.  It’s closer to me.”

“Take me?

“Maybe.”

Happily ever after… is here whenever I decide to go into the after.  This just doesn’t seem real.

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?”

8:30pm 1.12.12

Scene: a bar at an artist colony, Lincoln Heights

She had skin like honey and a shine that resided like a warm glow on her face.  I’d met her online.  She also, had a few not quite secrets as well as friends in common.

“I was thinking either tonight we could go to art walk or we could have a drink at this bar at the artist colony I used to live at.” I texted her from work.

“Either way, you pick!”

I was really looking forward to meeting her.  I don’t date girls that often.  Not because I don’t want to or I have a preference.  It’s just because while I’m normally fairly confident… let’s face it I still am scared shitless of girls.

We got a couple of beers and sat on the couches underneath a projection screen.

“There’s a story about that.”

“There is?”

“There are many stories.  The people here are amazing.  The Brewery is an experience in itself.”

I told her my tale about how I ended up there.  Perhaps in a later post, I will tell you as well.

“What is it you’re looking for?”

“Stability.  Independence.  To travel.”

“What’s holding you back?”

“Money mostly.”

Ah the telltale sign of an artist.  I know it all too well.

“I’m going to Germany this year.” I told her nonchalantly.

“When?”

“May tentatively.  I’m also trying to take part in an opportunity to collaborate with other artists on a project in New Orleans in March.  Travel is there.  The opportunities are too.  You just have to keep your eyes open to the possibilities and not be afraid to grab them when they come about.”

We talked about happiness.  We talked about despair.   I was ever so nervous.  She was ever so lovely.

“Pardon me if this is too forward, but I want to see you again.” I said partway through the evening.

“I want to see you again too.”

We had a great time.  She was a sweetheart.  She drove me home around midnight.  As we were leaving, I had a feeling something was off but it had nothing to do with her.  After I walked into my apartment I felt it too.

Shit. Where the fuck is my phone?

8pm 12.5.11

Scene: a loft in Gallery Row, downtown Los Angeles

Looking back, I’m not sure how we got here but there we were.  It was one thing after another.  A domino of passion followed by pain followed by more passion.  Rinse and repeat.

The suited gent was on a destructive tangent.  He kept countering his actions.  One minute he was giving me the heavy about getting flowers from a paramour I dated years ago, the next minute he was telling me he wasn’t ready to be involved in a relationship.

“Why can’t you just be honest with me?  Are you just that incapable of doing that for anyone including yourself?”

“I’ve been more honest with you than any of them.” he told me.

“Why?”

“Because you see the man behind the curtain.”

I think about the morning I saw him in the windowpane.  He was completely right.

You could cut the silence like a thick fog.  He walked upstairs to his room.  I picked up my keys and grabbed my purse.  I don’t know why he holds back so much.  I don’t know why I do either.  But he’s right.  I’m right.  And maybe that’s why I was attracted to him in the first place.

From one magician to another- it’s difficult living in both worlds magical and real sometimes.

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.

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?

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”.

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.