July 23rd, 2007
20.
Sunday night find me purring down Sunset in a '73 Buick...the kind of car that turns heads. First stop brings us to talks of Corpus Christi and a performance by Thai Elvis over fried rice and Budweiser. Funny how in this town screaming the lyrics to "Velouria" at the top of your lungs along with the jukebox to a perfect stranger brings about adventures such as this.
Second stop to grab drinks and meet up with the friends. I introduce myself to the people I do not know, and hit it off nicely with a girl from the panhandle of Kansas who bares a striking resemblance to Julliette Lewis. Her boyfriend is an actor...he's very notable for his performances in Cops and America's Most Wanted. Fuckin A!!
My beer-head-tripping starts to come around as I clip over to the Roxy in devastating heels. I see Kyle Terra, and motherfucker brought me BACK.
Back to those times when I was little and alone and so so so sad...back to the times when Jeff Buckley sang me to sleep every.single.night. I would go to your friend's apartment across the way, that's when I first started really smoking weed and we'd watch amazing movies like Rollerblade. Its where we first interacted on the real, I think.
The important thing here is this: we're all going to see Hank Williams the THIRD and I'm just about ready to die. Inside to the loving arms of MGD, past the cocktail waitress from Hawaii, and the place is fuckin packed. I decide that I like the Roxy and pretentious eastsiders can get too snobby with their shit sometimes. The next hour and a half is a mind altering clusterfucking that my poor weary dome has been longing for. He keeps his arm up to inhibit the hellbillies from crashing into me with their wild turkey dancing. I teeter totter and throw my hips around to the beat. I pass out cigarettes. I bask in the lights that are especially bright. I twirl up Julliette Lewis from Kansas's hair and blow on the back of her neck. I take long slow drags and deep big gulps. I lick some sweat off. If Hank knew what kind of show his legacy was throwing down I'm pretty certain he would be one proud sonofabitch.
Outside to sit on the sidewalk, rest my throbbing feet and drink in the L.A. summer night air that's thick with humidity. The sky has a crazy looking cumulus framing the moon and I think it might rain...which is great, because after all...we do live in a desert.
Into the car and off to Good Luck bar for some after hours happy endings. "Y'all" know the people who own the joint real well. The bartender remembers my name. More beers, more good times, conversation and recounting. This is all so very nice but I have work tomorrow and I really must get home lest I turn into a pumpkin.
Happy night times.
Yes yes...so much fun.
I stagger in, throw off my dress, and collide lovingly in a horizontal manner into my bed alone, make up and all.
Sunday night find me purring down Sunset in a '73 Buick...the kind of car that turns heads. First stop brings us to talks of Corpus Christi and a performance by Thai Elvis over fried rice and Budweiser. Funny how in this town screaming the lyrics to "Velouria" at the top of your lungs along with the jukebox to a perfect stranger brings about adventures such as this.
Second stop to grab drinks and meet up with the friends. I introduce myself to the people I do not know, and hit it off nicely with a girl from the panhandle of Kansas who bares a striking resemblance to Julliette Lewis. Her boyfriend is an actor...he's very notable for his performances in Cops and America's Most Wanted. Fuckin A!!
My beer-head-tripping starts to come around as I clip over to the Roxy in devastating heels. I see Kyle Terra, and motherfucker brought me BACK.
Back to those times when I was little and alone and so so so sad...back to the times when Jeff Buckley sang me to sleep every.single.night. I would go to your friend's apartment across the way, that's when I first started really smoking weed and we'd watch amazing movies like Rollerblade. Its where we first interacted on the real, I think.
The important thing here is this: we're all going to see Hank Williams the THIRD and I'm just about ready to die. Inside to the loving arms of MGD, past the cocktail waitress from Hawaii, and the place is fuckin packed. I decide that I like the Roxy and pretentious eastsiders can get too snobby with their shit sometimes. The next hour and a half is a mind altering clusterfucking that my poor weary dome has been longing for. He keeps his arm up to inhibit the hellbillies from crashing into me with their wild turkey dancing. I teeter totter and throw my hips around to the beat. I pass out cigarettes. I bask in the lights that are especially bright. I twirl up Julliette Lewis from Kansas's hair and blow on the back of her neck. I take long slow drags and deep big gulps. I lick some sweat off. If Hank knew what kind of show his legacy was throwing down I'm pretty certain he would be one proud sonofabitch.
Outside to sit on the sidewalk, rest my throbbing feet and drink in the L.A. summer night air that's thick with humidity. The sky has a crazy looking cumulus framing the moon and I think it might rain...which is great, because after all...we do live in a desert.
Into the car and off to Good Luck bar for some after hours happy endings. "Y'all" know the people who own the joint real well. The bartender remembers my name. More beers, more good times, conversation and recounting. This is all so very nice but I have work tomorrow and I really must get home lest I turn into a pumpkin.
Happy night times.
Yes yes...so much fun.
I stagger in, throw off my dress, and collide lovingly in a horizontal manner into my bed alone, make up and all.