Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Alice in LaLaland

Trent texted me: “How r u?”

I texted: “Great. Money and car make all the difference.”

He texted back: “LOL. Its true.”

Now that I had my car back, my unemployment benefits were finally coming through and it was payday, it was time to celebrate.

Dora, Mitch (a receptionist at Doggie Daycare) and I all decided to go to a club in Hollywood.

I put on my tiniest dress and even heels, then headed out to a new club at Hollywood and Highland called The Highlands.

We were roped in looking for another club Dora wanted to go to further down Hollywood Blvd. Someone outside holding a clipboard asked us if we wanted to be on the list to get into the “new, hot” club. Whats the point of having a list if you are just recruiting strangers outside?

I said, “How much?”

He said, “$20 a piece.”

I said, “Too much.”

He said, “Well, ladies can come in for free.”

I said, “$15 for him (motioning to Mitch) and us two for free . . .”

He said, “Ok.”

We filed in line, outside, where it was very cold by Southern California standards. Every time I complain, people say, “But aren’t you from Washington?”

I say, “Yeah, and I was cold there, too.”

I looked around, we were surrounded by Hispanics, Latin Americans and African-American girls. I said, “Are we the only white people here?”

Dora motioned to Mitch, who is 5’6 and suspected to be Jewish and Homosexual, but he denies both.

I said, “Great. I hope I don’t get my ass kicked tonight. I better keep my mouth shut.”

We arrived to the club via elevator. The doors opened to a dance floor filled with people, a fireplace to the far left, a smoking patio with a view of all of Hollywood and a shot girl walking around with four different liquors prepared for the taking.

The Hip Hop song thumped:

“Them bitches ain’t nothin’, but hoes and tricks.

Them bitches ain’t nothin’, but hoes and tricks.

Lick on these nuts and suck the dick
Get the fuck out after you're done
And I hope in my ride to make a quick run...”

I turned to Dora, “Bitches ain’t nothin’ but hoes and tricks? What the fuck are we listening to?”

Dora laughed and cheerfully answered, “Dr. Dre.”

I said, “What  bullshit.”

Mitch bought us each a shot. We had a choice of Tequila, Vodka, something and Hennessy. I said, “I have never heard of Hennessy, I will try it.”

That burned on the way down.

Mitch had his wallet out and was ready to buy another shot. I said, “I am not interested in getting shit faced anymore.”

We walked around, there was a cool dance floor with a more trance-like beat on the side room. Dora and I danced there a bit and then returned to the bar. She got a Kamikaze.

I was studying everything. I don’t fit in here. Dora and Mitch were so delighted to be out, they tugged on my arm and said, “Loosen up. Have another drink.”

I said, “I don’t really have the money. That’s ok.”

Mitch said, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Well, if you insist . . .

I got a martini which was small and not great. I like my martinis dirty with just a thin layer of ice on top. This martini was roughly handled with some olive debris and gasoline lined vodka.

Somehow we were on to another round of shots, this time I don’t know what it was and the beat changed. The music was better.

We went out there and danced. It was hard in heels. I can barely walk in them, I don’t know how I managed to stay upward. Dora picked up this pale faced, thick dude in a loud, red sports jacket with matching hat and started making out with him on the patio. She turned to me.

I said, “I want a black man.”

She said, “You do? Full of surprises.”

I said with the alcohol sizzling off my bare shoulders. “Black men are hot. They have full lips.”

Sure enough, I found a black man, but not one I was interested in loving for the evening. He had a Yukon leather hat with fur lining the edge and ear flaps with sunglasses masking half his face.

I said, “Is it too bright for you?’

We were outside, on top of a building at midnight.

He said, “Nawww. I just um . . . performed a show.”

I said, “Oh?”

He said, “Yeah, I am the Guest MC here tonight. Did you see me perform?”

I lazily shook my head.

He said, “Yeah, that music video they are shooting, that’s for my music.”

I said, “Yeah, I saw that.”

I don’t know how they could get away with shooting all of us dancing without a release form, but I was just a stupid actress tonight.

He said, “So, your friend tells me you’re a model.”

I looked at Dora, she had her arm out to me and her eyes were big. She sang out my name as her pale suitor pressed against her.

I said, “Not really. I mean I hair modeled once, oh, I mean twice. Actually, I am an actress. Well, theoretically. Not practicing at the moment.”

He took off his sunglasses and came close.

He said, “I really like you.”

I said, “Oh, thank you, but I am not really in a place for relationships right now. Things are a bit fucked up.”

He said, “I appreciate that your fucked up, baby. That’s swag.”

I laughed.

He got closer and put his arms around me. It was nice, actually, to feel held. I could have fallen off that building and blown away in a liquor soaked slumber, but he held on to me tight.

He got closer to my mouth and said, “I want to take you someplace nice. I really want to show you how much I appreciate you.”

I said, “Oh that’s sweet, but I have heard that line before.”

He squeezed my ass, “But I mean it.”

I said, “And I have heard that before.”

He said, “Come on . . . I have a little apartment up the way here. I know this guy who works in special effects and he read my script. He really liked it. So I think he is going to help me out.”

I said, “Wow, connected, huh?”

He said, “ . . . yeah” and got closer to my mouth.

I said, “I’ll tell you what. I don’t want to kiss you but you can grab my breasts. They are very big right now and need to be appreciated.”

His hands roamed to my breasts and squeezed them. It felt good.

He went back to my ass and said, “Can I have your number?”

I said, “Eh, I am not really into calling and stuff.”

He said, “Thats ok, let me take you out. I want to show you how much I love you. I really do.”

I said, “Ok, but taking my number comes with a promise that you will not badger me with texts and calls. I will get back to you when I get back to you.”

He said ok.

We returned to the dance floor. Pale Face was drooling all over Dora and I gave him a dirty look.

He said, “Whats that for?”

I said, “That’s my roommate.”

He said, “So?”

I said, “She means a lot to me so . . . watch yourself.”

He said, “Don’t worry. I like her a lot.”

Dora would throw up her hand and do a Taylor impression, “WHHHOOOOOWWW!”

Since Taylor returned from his brother’s funeral in Florida, he was showing up late to work and was tossed once upon arrival. He was 30 minutes late, threw open the door and shouted, “WHHHOOOOOOOOWWW!”

We laughed. Taylor is a boy to me, but he kind of has a cowboy spirit. Maybe its a facade, but everything that would be irritating on a frat boy, he does with a certain kind of swamp boy charm. We loved him.

It doesn’t hurt that he is 6’2, blond with blue eyes and sun kissed freckles, and a few bad boy tattoos patched over some rather sculptured muscles. Not Gay Boy Stripper muscles, more like Junk Food Eating Farmer Boy muscles.

Off we went to the dance floor, and Dora and I dirty danced our asses off. She said, “We are putting on a show! Everyone is watching us.”

I didn’t really notice, I just wanted to do whatever I wanted for a night.

She threw up my dress a few times, which normally would have annoyed me, but since I have been an actress, changed in public parking lots and performing a topless scene in a student film, I don’t really care.

She threw me into a tall kid dancing behind me. She kept saying, “He’s hot” then shove.

He turned around and I apologized.

He said, “Sorry, you are incredibly hot but I have a girlfriend.”

I said, “Oh, thats ok.”

Incredibly hot. Ha! I was 10 years older than most of these kids and knew other women my age were in with their husbands or boyfriends, finishing a movie and trudging off to bed by now. I kinda want to be there, too.

The club closed and a bouncer pulled Dora aside. Mitch, Pale Face and I came in tow.

The Bouncer, “We think you are too intoxicated.”

Dora, “I only had a few drinks, what the hell?”

I said, “I am her roommate. She is coming home with me.”

The Bouncer said, “Ok, you will take care of her?”

I said, “Yeah, of course.”

We got in Mitch’s car with another girl Mitch picked up. She was skinny and pale too, but clearly on drugs. Every time she spoke, her body slithered around like her arms, neck and waist were on rollers.

I said, “Dude, are you on drugs or something?”

She said, “No, I am on anxiety medication. I have a social disorder.”

I said, “Oh” and looked to Dora. We both raised our eye brows.

We drove her a few blocks down to her place and she said to Mitch, “I think you should let your friends drive.”

Mitch, always in a pleasant disposition, said, “No no no, I am fine.”

I got out, “Its ok, Mitch. Let me drive. I am taking us to Taylor’s.”

Dora said, “You are?”

I said, “Yes, I am going to seduce him.”

She said, “You are?”

I said, “Uh huh.”

I was buzzed and Taylor was close. I texted we were coming over and showed up on his block a rioting mess.  He came out to meet us and we opened the back door to Mitch, who spilled out and vomited all over the street.

I said, “Dora, he’s throwing up. Quick pull out the camera. My phone is frozen.”

She did. We took pictures.

Later, I posted and tagged him on Facebook.

Dora said, “You are a bitch.”

We all caravanned up to Taylor’s bachelor apartment in Hollywood.

We tossed Mitch on the couch, who could no longer hold his head up. I massaged his back as he threw up in the trash can. He kept saying, cheerfully, “I am alright!” Such a pleasant demeanor that boy.

Taylor had a puzzle almost completed on his kitchen table, and somehow, Dora knocked it over trying to climb on it or something.

I sunk two beers in 20 minutes and started climbing on the table myself.

Taylor was smoking his Marlboros out the second story window, holding the smoke out the sill while sandwiched between the table and the wall.

I hung my legs over on his side of the table and inched closer to him. He pretended not to notice.

Here is where things get a little shady for me. I started freely drinking out of the vodka bottle and somehow turned up the heat.

Taylor tried to pump up an air mattress for us, but I kept laying on it, underneath him saying, “Pump it up, Taylor! Pump it up!”

He laughed and walked away.

I followed him and hung my legs off the stool or off the table, and gum shoed around him. I got closer to his face.

He said, “(my name) I think of you as a sister.”

I said, “Come on. No you don’t.”

I leaned in for a kiss, and he casually turned his head away. I could see he looked troubled. So I backed off . . . until he started pumping up the air mattress again. I laid back down and dragged my hands over my body.

I hung over him as he pumped and put my hands under his shirt. He had a nice chest. Whhhoooow!

Let me take a moment to note how unexpected my behavior was, even for me.

You see, Taylor was indeed like a brother to me. He was the only one who really helped me move. Frank kept me company but Taylor actually helped me move things. He held my hand when I broke down after Danny’s Wake and I held his after Sasha turned him down at his Birthday Party.


We would joke at work:

Taylor, “Hey, tell me a joke.”

I said, “Bend over, I am tired of talking to your asshole.”


Never once did I consider him sexually attractive.

Once, the Filipino woman in HR kept pressing me to say Taylor was attractive. This was just before he was promoted to manager, and the estrogen was high on Taylor all over Doggie Daycare.

I said, “Sorry, Taylor, you’re just not my type. But who knows if I am drunk.”

Everyone laughed except for Baye.

I said, “You never laugh at my jokes.”

Baye said, “That’s because I believe everything you say.”

I said, “Huh. You should.”


So, you can imagine, on this Friday night in Hollywood, I was as surprised as he was.

Dora broke down crying as I freely molested Taylor, and I bitchily retired to the main living space with a bottle in hand saying, “God forbid I have fun if she’s around!”

Taylor comforted her.

I guess I left and returned with a gentleman who had a Cadillac tattoo.

I said, “Why do you have a Cadillac tattoo?”

He said, “Because I like Cadillacs and I like money.”

I said, “I like money too.”

I don’t remember this person, but apparently he started touching me and I made him disappear with the snap of two fingers while sipping from a small green bottle, just like Alice in Wonderland.  

Dora threw the puzzle pieces down her bra and told Taylor to fish them out.

I announced, “I am going to find someone who can appreciate my body!”

I texted Abe, Frank and Austin (who drove me home last week).

Nothing from Abe, though, after a few days of silence the week before, he started frantically texting me and Dora to see if we were ok.

After a few days, I told him I was ok, but I give up on him.

Austin texted me: “I am not going anywhere unless my dick gets sucked.” Nice.

Low and behold, Frank arrived. Of course.

I met him down stairs and I don’t remember much other than my disappointment that he actually did show up.

We were on the couch and I could feel his hands on my body. I do remember breaking down and crying right about then.

I told him about the phantom baby and about Abe.

I grieved and said, “I just really wanted that baby.” I cried and didn’t hear anyone else, though I heard an echo of a conversation about how to calm me down.

Frank said something like, “Let her cry it out.”

Then Dora said my name once, then twice, “Who is handsome?”

I stopped crying and said, “Brad is handsome.”

Dora laughed. I laughed. What a train wreck we are.

I wept, “I want to go to Disneyland . . . I want my Mom.”

Dora said, “She is coming, remember?”

That’s right, she was.

I made myself throw up and passed out.


I woke up at 9am looking terrible.

I said, “We have to go home now, I have to take care of the dogs.”

I rallied everyone up but tried to hide my face. Bag City.

We pulled Mitch up right who soggily said, “Good Morning!”

I asked Frank if he had a Xanax, to take the edge off the hangover. He said, “Back at my house.”

I shook my head and said, “Nevermind.” I don’t want to go backwards.

As we drove, I had to keep my head down to keep from throwing up. Of course, we had a flat tire, so we had to stop for air and a latte first. I couldn’t even lift my head up for that.

Permanently broken over in the passenger seat, I checked my phone and said, “Uh oh. I texted someone ‘Fuck u asshole’ . . . who is this . . . oh, that was that OkCupid date who said he wouldn’t go anywhere unless his dick was getting sucked.”

Dora said, “Charming.”

Mitch dropped us off and chirped, “See you later at work!”

Luckily, I traded my shift with the new girl because I was ruined.

Dora lept out of the car and said, “Yup. WHOOOOOOWW!”


The next 24 hours brought such anguish. Around 5pm the next day, I still needed a plastic bag by my face because the nausea was so strong. I had a migraine. Maggie, my 65lb senior pit bull was spooning me. I couldn’t move and I wondered, “Will I ever be healthy again? I can’t LIVE like this. I will have to die soon.”

I am getting too old for this.


Abe texted back, “@ 4 in the morning? Why?”

Frank texted: “LA Woman on 100.3 right now. Never met a woman … So alone.”


By the next morning, I was ok. Well . . . better.

Abe wanted details. He was convinced I dropped off the face of the planet for another man. I said I was just done.

We started talking again though, as friends.

I promised him, “We are just friends. I can’t be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t text me back, who doesn’t see me for 10 days and has no plans for the future.”

He said, “It hasn’t been 10 days.”

Me, (pause), “Abe, yes it has. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t even feel 10 days pass.  So I am not you girlfriend, ok? We aren’t having sex, I am going to see other people and save myself.”

He slowly nodded his head, pinched his face and accepted the un-proposal.

Initially, I said all of that to hurt him, but as it turned out, it relaxed me.

Abe, “Why do you want to move in with me so bad?”

Me, “I WANTED to move in with you because I live in a shack with a broken septic tank, a mud pile for a front lawn and, during a wind storm, empty beer cans pelt my front door. That’s why.”

Abe, “oh.”


A male friend said that Abe just wanted to fuck me. And I would roll over the thought to Dora, saying “He is just confuse loving sex with loving me.”

She would say, “I don’t think that’s true. He loves you, or at least likes you a lot. I see it in his face.”

Now, if you were sitting across from Abe right now, he would be wearing a pocket-t, with his hand on his waist and an awkward wiggle before shrugging out a smile.  He doesn’t know how to use people for sex. He is an innocent, but those can be just as dangerous when it comes to affairs of the heart and the life of a desperate woman.

He slowly came back to me, but now as just a friend I happen to be in love with. Those aren’t so bad. We have all had one . . . or three. It cured me of heart ache, love induced panic and all of that relationship pressure that ended up consuming me.

Forget all of that for now, my parents were coming to town . . .

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