Bounty hunters and a bagel

It was an interesting day. Always makes me nervous when police authority are incredibly nice to me for no apparent reason. Makes me wonder what they're up to.

Many years ago, corner of Vine and Sunset (or wherever that Rite Aid store is on Sunset) walking home from work I past a half dozen cop cars, and twice as many cops with guns drawn at a couple guys face down on the Rite Aid parking lot. I simply walked past, drinking a can of Diet Coke. Nothing out of the ordinary, I guess. Helicopter buzzing circles overhead.

Don't mind me.

I'm not here.

Carry on with your arrestings.

It was like that,

Just on my way to pick up a bagel, and...

ATM DOS

Just tried to touch-zoom the screen on the ATM machine.
Why won't you zoom?!

Oh.

Right.

ATM machine.

Be patient, girl. It's coming.

Fire it on up and let's cruise a while...

Leave your troubles far behind
You can hedge your bet on a clean Corvette
To get you there right on time...

 

My oh my, how this lady can fly
Once she starts rollin' beneath you
You know you just can't lose, the way she moves
You wait for her to finally release you...

 

CLIP # in 58 hours

 

He's such a HO!

David Ho. One of my favorite living artists. Website link 

 

50,000 watts of power

"Higher than high, feelin' just right
Call it Heavy Metal noise"

"She holds her own against the boys"

 

(Graphite. My rendition: Egyptian Queen)  

 

CLIP # So many contacts being made

 

Just close your eyes and pretend!

For an hour this morning electricity went out along parts of Route 66
(Santa Monica Blvd.)

Blackout! Instant panic! Like someone took out the sun. I sat on the curb waiting for my bank to resume business hours and watched the mayhem.

Helicopters. Police. Fire dept. Traffic Control. News vans. Everyone locked their doors.

Save us Chuck Henry!   

C'mon. Don't act like you didn't pay $130 to dine in the dark !!

Get your kicks on route 66, UNLESS

The electricity goes out, life will end as you know it! Fire trucks! Helicopters! Cop cars! News Channels! Traffic Control! Locked Doors! Crying babies! Mothers weeping in the streets!

Pure utter Mayhem!

Excusing of course,

Because as we all know,

Any and every intersection north of Beverly Blvd. on La Cienega/San Vicente parameters the gateway to all things unholy so that type of activity is expected...

 

Is it because I don't like to wear pants?

I'm asked to rejoin Twitter and Facebook. 

No.

I quit because dad quotes Bible scripture on my page to annoy me, then I'm forced to hail Satan, it becomes a thing and makes Christmas at home awkward.

A Handful of Ashes

Before my friend died, his sister had a romantic notion - she wanted all of his childhood friends to receive "a handful" of his ashes. She wanted us to go on one last adventure with his ashes, and at the end of our journeys, wherever it took us, she wanted us to release his ashes, and then write about it. 

However,

My friend was buried. Not cremated. (Long story.)

And so my journey with him never took place.

But,

I've decided to write about it anyway as though a handful of his ashes were with me,

Today,

Now. 

Chatsworth

I just spent 7 hours in Chatsworth with one bottle of water, a flashlight, ten 30-gallon garbage bags, and a Mexican woman who didn't speak a word of English.

Oh Chatsworth, memories of the way we were!

The real deal RD Jr!

"Protest is futile, nothing seems to get through
What's to become of our world, who knows what to do"

 

"How can you say you're not responsible!"

 

SONG # Amazing cover. Driven to Tears. 

 

And

 

CLIP # Good for a laugh.

 

Die comfortably (if you can)

How the game ends.

No truer words spoken!

"And you never say thank you!"

"That's what the money's for!"

Preach it, Don Draper! Madmen

The new hundred dollar bill?

"No, I don't think you understand, the money is to not have sex with you."

Wouldn't you much rather have the money? WTF is wrong with people? Rhetorically speaking.

$80 in groceries, "Nope don't want cash, that will be one handjob please."

Hell no. Give me the money.

(Yeah, talk about that in your web chats, people! I see you!)

Don't be so sensitive

New touch screen. Mind of her own. Hates when I use the keyboard. Throws a temper tantrum and deletes things.

Bitch.

And by "pro" I mean

A hot guy with a huge penis!

I'm such a size queen.

(I can't believe the things Google lets me say.)

Until there is...

I don't hate anyone. There's no money in it.

Beginners

I love her back peddle.

"I'm interested."

I'm not.

"Oh I mean, I'm not either! Never was! You're just a.... "

Awesome. Save it. Grow up.

Send a pro next time, sweetheart. ;)

You have nothing I want. 

FARGO

Speed chase, Midwest style. (On snowmobiles.) Violins. Perfect.

Englishmen

Have the sexiest accent.

Banana bread

Filmed it in Vegas. Goes great with tea.

Congratulations!

I've been a horrible fan this season, distracted. I'll do better next season. It's the least I can do since you guys won the Stanley Cup, and all, again!

#32!!

A father's day too

I was 19 years old; the leaves had turned yellow and red for autumn. It was a Saturday, maybe Sunday; I was having lunch with my girlfriend Georgina (her real name by the way. I love her name.) We were uptown in a little eatery. There was an older couple sitting at a table in front of us. They were maybe our parents age, possibly younger. The male half of the couple facing me seemed uncomfortable. Maybe they were fighting; I thought.    

I didn’t recognize him right away, but the way he kept dodging his head from side to side, as if not wanting to be seen, made me look at him even harder.

And then I saw it.

It took some time,

But I saw it.

I knew why he wouldn’t look at his lady friend straight on, because if he had I would get a clear view of his face.

It was the principal from my old high school. The one dad yelled at in my freshman year.

Even the most obvious can be overlooked until you force people to look at it. I hadn’t thought about my old principal since dad took me out of that high school. Had he just acted natural I wouldn’t have noticed him sitting before me now. But apparently he recognized me right away.

“The guy’s a moron. I’m not having my daughter attend school run by a moron.” Dad said. Never mind the fact I had older brothers still in the same high school.

And so, I attended a new school, made all new friends.

“Do you know that guy?” Georgina asked when she saw me staring at my old principal.

I explained to her who he was.

“Poor guy,” Georgina sympathized.

I saw what she meant. He couldn’t even look at me. I suspect most Principals (back then) didn’t get yelled at by parents much, if at all. These days who knows?   

I wanted to explain to him that dad wasn’t trying to interfere with his responsibilities as a Principal; my dad just didn’t want to be bothered by something he already knew was true, even (especially!) if the other guy incorrectly thought it was false, particularly something as superficial as a sick-note.  

That,

And I’m my dad’s kid. He shows his love (like me) the best way he knows how.  

Dad did best he could. I’m still alive, healthy, and not stalking or killing people, so that has to count for something!

Happy Father’s Day

A father's day

Dad had gone somewhere (with his mistress I supposed.)

Cash on the table, kind of thing. He hadn’t been home in a few days. Nothing new.

I decided not to go to school during his absence.

The Principal of my high school called the house (answering machine.) He called my dad’s office (secretary.) He called every number in my school file. When he finally reached my dad after I missed more than two days of school, my dad told the high school Principal he was not aware that I had not been in school but would look into it.

When my dad came home he said, “Why haven’t you been in school?”

I replied by asking, “Why haven’t you been home?”

It was a sort of “checkmate”, an unspoken understanding. Dad and I said no more to each other about my missing school and continued on with the day.

The following school day my dad wrote my Principal a note that said I had been sick and that’s why I missed school.  

When I passed the note along to my Principal, he scoffed and declared the note a forgery. I assured him it wasn’t. He insisted it was. I assured him it wasn’t. He insisted it was and sent me home with a note saying he would like to meet with my dad after school on the next school day, but did not specify as to why.

I did not see my dad that night but left the note on the counter where dad would see it. The following morning dad left a note in response saying, “I’ll be there.”

Like a good businessman, my dad kept his appointment with the high school Principal. (I should like to mention my dad, at this time, was a delegate for a state organization, negotiating deals being his forte.)   

The following day, I sat in the Principal’s office receiving room after school and waited for my dad to arrive. When he did, dad gave me a quick peck on the top of my head and sat down in the chair next to me.

“What exactly does he need to see me about?” dad asked.

“I don’t know. He thinks the note you wrote about my being sick is fake. So maybe that?” I replied.

“He dragged me down here for that, because of a note?” I could see dad was clearly annoyed, he sighed heavily but remained calm, cool, and just waited for the Principal to come out to greet him. Minutes later the Principal did.

The Principal came out of his office and shook hands with my dad like gentlemen. The two men disappeared into the Principal’s office, and closed the door.

The high school secretary and I were once again alone in the receiving room. Almost immediately you could hear murmured voices the through the Principal’s office door, both the Principal’s and my dad’s…

Until the only voice you heard was that of my dad’s.

“I distinctly recall writing a formal letter excusing my daughter’s absence from your school.” My dad said sternly to the Principal.

“But I called you Mr. (Gordon) and you said you were not aware of…” my dad cut the Principal off from finishing his sentence and would not let him speak again.

In the following 3 minutes, my dad reminded the Principal what he did for a living, and how insignificant conferences like these takes away valuable time from people whose jobs and lives rely on my dad’s utmost attention, and how any further unnecessary communication would be best spent between the Principal and dad’s secretary, Grace.

My dad then ended his 3 minute lecture by loudly and firmly stressing the fact, “You may be Principal of this high school, but I am her father everywhere! Do we understand each other? Good!”

The Principal’s office door swung open, my dad walked out, gave me a quick peck on top of my head, and asked me, “Are you hungry? Where do you want to eat?”

My dad smiled at the secretary, flirted with her a little. Out of spite, I think. She was not an attractive woman!

Before leaving I peeked into the Principal’s office. He was still sitting behind his desk. Head slightly hung downward. Both hands resting on top of his desk. A pen in one hand. He was nervously flicking the pen back and forth like a metronome.  

I imagined the Principal was sitting there thinking; I don’t need this shit.

The following year dad transferred me to a different school. But I did happen to see that principal again just before I left for California.

He recognized me immediately.    

Still your #367th fan!

I’ve donned the Kings jersey, just not as much this year. I’m sure the Las Vegas Thunder, and Las Vegas Wranglers, are excellent hockey teams, I don’t question that for a minute but I'll always be a Kings girl.

[edit: It seems the L.V. Thunder were a hockey team. I'm impressed Vegas even had/has a hockey team.]

#32!!      

Get some

Right here

 

Friends say it's fine

Friends say it's good

 

21st Century Boy

Home movies? Sure I've made a few. And you might still be able to see them on male friends websites.

This upcoming lateral move has vines of communication flying everywhere, all day, from A to Zipline.

And I guess because of this I've been remembering dreams.

I dozed off for an hour and dreamt I was in a hotel room. A beautiful woman had set up a guy to come by, he and I were going to have sex and she was going to film it.

He shows up, and the second he walked through the door he's pulling his shirt over his head, grabs me and we're very quickly circling towards the bed, as in dancing. Twirling.

"This isn't a dance video, guys." The woman jokingly says.

The guy and I get to the bed, I'm sitting on top of him, starting to take off my clothes, the guy is lounging underneath me, staring up at me, entwines his fingers behind his head and softly romantically says, "You have very pretty eyes."

Once he says this I suddenly lost interest in the shoot.

This has to be gritty, edgy, hot, like we're never going to see each other ever again (kind of thing) or else I'm just not into it.

But he won't shut up.

Instead he starts stroking my abdominal area and says in the same soft milky voice, "And your skin is like silk."

I get off of him, stand up, and give the woman filming us a dirty look.

The woman puts the camera down and silently motions to the guy like, "What are you doing?"

Wrapping his head back into the film he and I start up again, kissing, pulling on each other, and for whatever reason the guy starts massaging my ribcage like he's a 200 pound German woman (and I make this comparison because after a car accent many years ago resulting in temporary spinal injury, the insurance company sent me to a physical therapist who happened to be a 200 pound German woman who's understanding of deep tissue massage meant bruising all my internal organs through my rib cage without piercing skin!)

And that's what this guy was doing.

That was it. I had enough. I got up and started to dress.

 

"You're a pretty girl but I can see you're going to be a lot of work." the guy says.

 

"What the hell are you talking about?" I yell back at the guy. 

 

"I'm out of here." I tell the woman.

"No! No! Wait! Don't go, I'll get another guy! A better guy!" the woman said.

But it was too late. I got dressed, left the hotel room. The woman chased after me insisting she has better guys. "What do you like? Blonde? Brunette? Tall?  Short? Whatever you want!"

And then as if she had a sudden epiphany blurts out, "What about my husband? You guys get along. You like him. He likes you."

 

I stop walking.

"You want me to have sex with your husband on film? That's just weird." I replied.

-- And then I woke up.

Apparently my sub consciousness and consciousness have not met. Or maybe they've met once too many times? Either way the dream freaked me out.

For about 10 minutes.

 

 

Like my friend says, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas... usually."

  

"It's all just Budweisers and coochie glitter, darlin'!"

Oh how soon they forget.

“Do you know those people?” the bartender asked me.

 “They’re swingers.” I replied.

 “Do they know this is a gay bar?” the bartender asks me.

 Now before I answer that question,

I know male bartenders who work in non-gender-specific environments, and while they may not always wear shirts, they always wear pants, or long swim trunks.

These male bartenders however at this particular gay bar takeover wore G-strings. Just G-strings. Some wore shoes.

“Do they know this is a gay bar?” the bartender asked me.

My back was to the bar, elbows resting on the bar counter top. I leaned back and saw both G-string clad male bartenders leaning forward over their side of the bar, bare butts reflected in the mirror on the opposite wall.

“Yeah I’m pretty sure they figured it out.” I said.

A vanilla person might question why a straight man would attend a “hot bodies only” gay bar takeover flexing his abs and biceps? Some might say he’s looking for a little bisexual strange, or why else would he attend a “Freaky” Friday swinger gay bar takeover, in a prominent openly gay neighborhood, with no play areas, pay a cover charge when on any other night the club has no cover charge, and where all the male bartenders are wearing nothing but G-strings?

To a judgmental, sexually unsophisticated person, this probably looks like a great way to mask a guy’s bisexual curiosities while going no further than just putting his foot through the front door of a gay bar, while calling it a straight swinger party…

But for a guy who is secure in his sexuality, for a guy who is secure in his manhood, his response is simple, “Look, I’m just here with my girl, having a drink, maybe meet some friends later, heard about this party and thought we’d hang out for a bit. We don’t care where it is. We just wanted to have a fun night out.”

Dude, you don’t owe anyone explanation.

We get it.

It’s not a difficult concept.

What makes it difficult, is when those exact same guys who don’t want to be judged as bi curious or gay, are now running around screaming, “Don’t go to (wherever) it’s the fat old peoples swingers club!”

Oh really, cowboy? So how did that Freaky “hot bodies only” gay bar takeover work out for you?

I recognized people immediately on the first gay bar takeover, and some of those same people again on the second gay bar takeover.

And just for the record the only straight hot dance clubs in West Hollywood, off Santa Monica Blvd. are, THERE ARE NONE.

Fool me once club promoter, shame on you. Fool me twice…

No one believes you were fooled the first time, sir!

The only difference is it was worth it to you to be in a gay bar, in a prominent openly gay city, for a Freaky party, because you thought you were in an elite pro male-heterosexual environment where boys and girls in attendance were hand-picked for their sexy fitness. And for that reason you can be accepting and cool…

But throw down a few cheese quesadillas on top of an expired 24 hour fitness membership card, and then you act like someone just slapped the hetero right out of you!

You’re secure in your sexuality and masculinity to be served drinks by a guy wearing a glo-green G-string, but you’re not cool and accepting enough to just be in the same room with people who might know where to get the best cheese quesadillas in town?

Note to Promoter: Before you send me any messages, it’s a known gay bar, and you took it over ergo “gay bar takeover”.

I don’t know.

And I don’t have anything to offer by way of useful intelligence.

I don’t think anyone needs a website for sex anymore. It’s that most of us use a computer for work and so – among the rapid invisible streams of electronic ingenuity – on the off chance we might encounter someone/s we might want to spend a little time with, it’s a tiny investment, for entertainment if nothing else

Anyway,

On to things that really matter,

So didja see Fargo last night?

Malvo!! 

Work these two!

Someone get these guys some work! Big screen. Small screen. Book them!

CLIP #  LOVE this girl!

CLIP #  Hey kid, do you have an agent?

Little Asian Girls, Big Bananas

It's a thing. It's totally a thing!

Even among the gays. They like seeing Little Asian Girls, and big bananas.

For my next live feed, tune into...

Magnum banana!

West Hollywood, Pride day banana!

 

 

Next year Dykes On Bikes

I want to roll with you ladies! (guys?)

Do I have to be a dyke? Is there a test or something? Can't we just do this old school? My friend who does my hair, rolls with you all.

Can't you just "hire" me because I'm a friend of a friend?

Girls named B.J.

It's Pride day today in WEHO. The town has been buzzing with festivities since Friday.

I must have been asked, "Are you bi?" about  50 times.

Happy smiling faces. Random huggings. Costumes. 

"Are you bi?"

Sorry no. But thanks for asking!

"Are you bi?"

Sorry no. But thanks for asking!

"Are you bi?"

Sorry no. But thanks for asking!

"Are you bi?"

Sorry no. But thanks for... Wait... For you, yes.... Yes I am!

Girl, don't introduce yourself to me as "B.J."

I'm one of those people who must know what the B. and J. stands for. And will continue following you around guessing until you tell me!

Father's Day

Hey young people

Is Los Angeles fun for you? 

I was wondering last night if the young people of today have fun in
Los Angeles. Real fun. Not talking about sex fun. Just fun.

Personally,

It's time for a change.

Las Vegas
San Francisco
Manhattan

Maybe,

Rent a room here and another room there.

For a while.

Property owners/managers. Please contact me.

plaidskirttorpedoes@yahoo.com

Google Blogger. Yahoo email. 'Cuz I'm a rebel like that.

I should also specify, swingers who look for single girls to "rent" a room from them, are funny to me. Don't do it! Don't bother contacting me. Just get a "full couples massage" and be done with the experience!

  

MILK

Mhmmm!!

 

 

FARGO in Los Angeles

That's my night. Wine. Fargo @10pm.

Wish I was in VEGAS. You know why. ;))

WEHO - Gay Pride Parade

Is this Sunday. Anyone have a magic carpet I can borrow? If my gay friends wanted me to stay in Vegas another night all they had to do was ask. They didn't have to throw a big parade and block off my street. Geez guys.

MacMurray (ranch) – Pinot Noir

Nothing to do tonight. Oh wait. There's this!

 

 

We've died...

And gone straight to Tacos!

 

 

Wake me up tomorrow night....