Nothing motivates a lady to get bloggy like a good pub crawl across the bathroom floor on her knees.
AM I RIGHT?
In case you were wondering: Yes. I had to catch a train at 2am. Yes. I do own too many clothes. Yes. I did get treated to a fine night out in Ye Olde Hollywoode with a pair of gents that have too much time on their hands. Yes. I did tipple the cupple 'til I was sloshy. Yes. I did bang a record exec. in a pub bathroom for fun. Yes. My life IS more exciting than yours.
OR JUST SLOPPIER.
If you've ever been told to blog, you know how I feel when I hear that: BORED.
But then you get a bit narcissistic and think: "Oi, is it quite possible that the next best thing to HEARING me jibber-jabber about myself is READING the jabber?!"
Fuck it.
Jabber times.
I think this is going to manifest as an account of my early 20's and the trouble I cause myself and others! How trilllllllllllll.....
So.
Can we start with tonight?
I tend to wander. And not in a way that means I wandered through my house, outside, then returned.
I mean I live nowhere. I love everywhere.
I came down to L.A. after a 2 year hiatus back home. I got a job as a Personal Assistant/Dominatrix.
Yes.
That taught me things.
After a couple months it was apparent that the "Boss" was a raging cunt of a man and I should be thrilled to leave. Oh heavens I was!
I packed my sloppy belongings and headed from Beverly Hills to Hollywood to spend a couple days with lovely asses that I call my best friends.
I parked my cornhole at my friend's place on Highland ave.
Have you ever tried to move more than 100 pounds of PURE SHIT across town on public transport?
What a treat.
I lug my giant suitcase up some bus steps and it fucking breaks. It is way over capacity so I laugh and struggle some more with the 3 other bags I am carrying.
A gentleman of the finest calibre flies in on a golden carpet and helps me move my suitcase full of old torsos!
You don't get help TOO frequently in Los Angeles, mind you.
Then I get off at Santa Monica and Highland like my Google told me to, because there's a bus called the 156 that is supposed to leave me where I need to go.
Easy enough.
If the bus ever arrived...
I was forced, with 8.57 in my bank account, to call a cabulance. EmegencyCabEMERGENCYYYY!
They sure failed to mention the specifics.
The cab arrived at DonutTime, just like I asked, and this crazy- ass driver was chillin' hard. I guess if I saw a big booty red head with a fragillion pieces of luggage, I too would become unhospitable.
So I asked a gentleman that had been wandering about if he would help me put my luggage insides of the Cabatron.
He said: "Oh, I will ABSOLUTELY get your stuff in that cab."
What a doll.
He then spit game that I promptly cancelled.
BUT AGAIN WITH THE HELP IN AN OTHERWISE SELF-ABSORBED TOWN!
I chalk it up to a new wave of 'Pay It Forward' fans.
BUT THEN.
I get in the cab and he says: "Is flat rate zone so $7 dollars ees your fare."
I hand him my card.
MISTAKE, WILL ROBINSON, MISTAAAAAKE...!
He says "Oh no! You have card?! No cash?"
"Yes. I have card. Also $2 sweet, sweet cashy"
"Oh...is $10 minimum on card. I have to charge $10...."
"Whaaaaaaat? I wish they told me that on the phonnnnne....oh well. Go ahead"
*SWYYYYYPE*
*BEEPBEEP*
"Oh-Oh. Is no money."
"WHAAAAAAAT? There IS money in there. BALLS!!!"
I proceeded to apologize and explain that since he was only taking me 1.5 miles he could drop me off then and there as punishment for the technical difficulty. He said "No, I give you my number, you can not worry about it and call me later and pay me when you can"
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!!!
L.A. Is so TITS today!
I apologized and thanked him profusely, and lugged my bags up the stairs of my friend's apt. complex.
No one was home but the door was unlocked so I began to get comfortable, then quite soon my other friend comes home and pours wine.
We drink wine.
We pack bowls.
We roll blunts.
We walk and get more wine.
Neighbor gives us pills.
There are 6 of us now.
We walk and get more wine.
We drink it.
Neighbor man leaves and we roll more blunts.
His crazy ass comes back wit a 12 pack of Corona, a bottle of Ciroc, OJ, Cranberry, and a bottle of the classiest Gallo wine you ever saw.
WAT DAT SMELL LYKE?!
A party.
I got 4 hours of sleep and then showered, walked to my friend's house 2 miles away and reunionized for about 6 hours.
I get a call from my hostess friend:
"Hey! I know you have a train to catch tonight, but do you want to go out with me and my friend? He has a friend visiting and they want to go for a drink since he leaves tomorrow, don't worry, it won't be a long night, we're just going to Cat&Fiddle."
"YES."
So I go back to her place and douche, or whatever ladies do to prep for a blind date.
She tells me that the Englishmen we will be encountering are RockNRoll royalty, even though I've never heard the music....but I'm obscenely young, so what's new?!
We hop in their new ride, and I am immediately taken with the wit of my date.
JACKPOT.
They are treating, and we are enjoying. They regale us with tales from their youth and wild party stories. Then my strapping cohort just plants a big nasty kiss on me. My kinda guy.
It is about 11:30pm. I have to be home by 12:30am so that I can hustle my junk into my loving friend's car, and get a ride to Union Station and catch a train home.
We have one hour.
Oh. How time flies.
We decide to migrate to PigNWhistle.
We get more drinks.
I have had 6 at this point.
I am STILL drunk as I recount this sloppiness.
We happen to wander into the bathroom and fuck.
It was just a little teaser bang, but it was a treat nonetheless y'all.
It was 12:25 and I asked for a ride home, but homeboy had lost his glasses! He said "I'll take you anywhere, I just need to find my glasses."
I ran.
My friend had arrived at Highland and Franklin for me and I was at Sunset and Wilcox or some shit. SO. I. RAN.
She picked me up at Hollywood and Las Palmas and we drove to get my trunks n junk.
Her sweet, noble, considerate, STRONG, clever, and very accommodating friend helped me bajigger my luggage through the complex and in to the car.
CHAMPION.
HELP IN L.A. ALL DAY!!!!
I am so drunk I can't finish thoughts inside my own head-parts.
She is perfect. He is flawless. EVERYONE IS BEAUTIFUL AND LOVES ME.
They drop me off and I pretend like I am sober and capable enough to handle my garbage heap of belongings. He knows me already.
He sees my LIES.
He gets out and helps me with my luggage all the way to the ticket stand, you guys!!!
WHAT?!
Such the impressive guy.
I am effusive with the gratitude.
I have 25 minutes before my train leaves.
I get my tickets and finaegle my bags on to the platform.
I made it.
I am drunk.
I am weak.
I AM A CHAMPION.
My family gets to see me soon! YAAAHHHHHHHH!
Then I get a FartBook message from the "friend" that was supposed to pick me up from the station. Mind you, we had agreed on this 2 weeks before. She says: "Oh, what time do you arrive tomorrow? I have to go to my 4 year old's graduation at 10, so you should arrive after 1pm."
What in Satan's taint does THAT mean?!
I arrive at 10:30am. I have always been scheduled to arrive at 10:30am. Who in their right nipple would think that that means I can reroute the schedule for their last minute 4 year old "graduation"?!
I wish my butthole was blowing farts into her mouth.
I am on the train as I type this at 7am.
I don't know who will pick me up.
But that's okay, because I am sure it will be a real treat.
Okay, Bye.
-LadyYucky.
5.31.12
Live nowhere, love everywhere.
