I took a 3-day mini-break to LA a couple weekends ago. Why I ever came back, I do not know. It was a blast. There were some kooky moments, but they make it all worth the while. I miss my LA: the clubs, the nights, the shops, speeding through the canyon, and My PEOPLE! I trekked out to see G&R, Little GV and Heather. The time went too fast.
The first day was a long one with a ridiculous start time: five am. After all, Suzanne, Todd and I had been up until sometime after one, tossing back a few ourselves. What a great night and way to start my weekend! Great friends seeing me off in style… Off to LA I went…
I love the smell at Burbank Airport: gardenias. Never mind the jet fuel from crossing the tarmac. Got my rental loaded with GPS, because that is how the powers that be intended for all of us to drive. My rental was a Pontiac Vibe. This thing had more blind spots than Ray Charles. It was a freakin’ deathtrap. I dislocated several vertebrae checking my blind spots of which there were 37. Off to Venice!
Heather and I grabbed a quick lunch and crammed as much of our latest trials and tribs in the too, too short time we had. Both nursing coronary wounds, work drama, health trauma, etc. Not enough time! I was back on the road to WeHo to check my old stomps: Jet Rag: My fave vintage clothing shop turned very disappointing after all these years it devolved into a smelly Goodwill, not good at all; HOB: still jumping and full of life; Hustler: full of porn and sin-sational naughties, why else would you go there? Time to race the canyon! Yeah, that Vibe really opens up. Pshuh.
Returning to Burbank for the night with Fam Laramore. We set forth to the back 40 to watch GV jump-jump-jump on his “Trampalampaleen”. Little Man took a shine to me right off. Now, that does not coincide with how nature actually works. Kids generally hide, cry and run away from me. I am not affected by it, as a matter of fact it is better for all those involved that I do not have any actual contact with children. I’m better with animals, they speak my tongue. And so… Beautiful Renee began mixing cocktails and cooking a storm of pasta and goodies. Yum! At some point Gary announced he had a lead on a BB gun. What the hell for? Bear in mind I had partaken in Master Mixer Renee’s imbibes and was probably more compliant than I would have been if I had not been bending my elbow: I got in the car with G to get said gun. Eventually, my good senses took over and the mouth came out… That must have been around the time Gary realized I regained the feeling in my feet. Thank you, Renee!
Here’s the first of those kooky moments… Witnessing the purchase of a firearm from a paranoid, right-wing, Obama-bashing, conspiracy theorist on some dark street, so my Gary could "deal with a squirrel" that had been menacing him ala Caddy Shack style, picture Gary as Carl Spackler. At some point I actually interrupted the rantings of the gun-toting lunatic with my freaky-deaky, animal-loving, tree-hugging, bleeding-heart, atheist liberalism and touted I had no use for humans of their kind and could not support the execution of a squirrel on the merits that it chewed on some lawn furniture and pooped on a weight bench. I wish I could have accented it with a driving away in my electric car, but I was the passenger in a non-electric/hybrid and could not. Gary, I love you, but your red neck is just too much! Oh crap, that’s one of your most endearing things. You have the most amazing capability to make me laugh until I pee or milk comes out my nose.
A long day drawn to a close, we headed for slumber.
A bright, new day began when Renee’s Pop magically appeared with a box of Krispy Kritters. Shortly thereafter the coffee aromas wafted from the kitchen. The day was in the “on” position. At some point in there, prior to me getting some kaffe and nut-o-dough, Little GV came running to me and climbed on me to greet me with the ever-popular morning chant: “I’m wet!” Oh, Gawd. I replied, “You are gonna wanna talk to your mom about that.” And off he went. Wow! That was easy. The kid likes me and he listens? Oh, the trouble I am going to cause with that info.
We had a beautiful, quiet, relaxed SoCal day. Clear skies all around, I miss those days. Renee and I headed into Glendale to shop for a bit and grab pizza for the boys. Gary was off to Canyon Country for a magic gig. I had the ambitious plan to follow him out, hang with more LA peeps and blow back to Venice for the night of debauchery with Heather. Yeah, I never made it to the canyon. I headed to the water.
Along the way, the GPS died. Ah, crap! I think I stroked her out. The previous day she said: Turn right. I went left, because I spied a Starbucks (I know crap-evil in a cup, but I had to pee like a race horse and bought tea as not to feel like a complete tool for using the facility and running.) Miss GPS replied to my left turn with "Re-configuring! Re-configuring! You stupid cow! Don't you know where we are?!?! You'll get us rolled in this hood!! You've Killed Us All!! Damn you!!!!" I so want to get one of these! I am a total gadget whore. Back to the night at hand…
Lucky for me, I was not to far from Beechwood when Miss GPS keeled. Heather guided me the remainder of the way. What a leader! Heather greeted me at the door and we headed to the table where her friends were waiting. This is where we walk into…
Another one of those aforementioned kooky moments… On the patio were Heather’s friends toe-to-toe with a drunken, Papa Smurf t-shirt wearing, scrawny-assed dill-hole, who thought it best to start a fight with a girl at the bar. Seriously? A guy picks a fight with a girl? Oh, yeah... This “girl” was with us and she would have flattened Papa Smurf's scrawny ass. And then her larger friend would have handed that flat ass to him in bite-size pieces. It was a sight to behold. Finally, the twerp backed down and withdrew into the crowd. As we packed to leave, these 3 Brute Squad members jumped in to compliment the tough girls for not taking any crap from the guy. They also informed us they would have had him on the ground before he could have recoiled his girly arm. We packed and left for a darker, quieter bar, where patrons refrained from “choking out” fellow patrons. Nice.
After several hours of Venice style whooping, Heather and I headed back to the warehouse for some Showroom Sleeping; after all there are skylights and windows galore that would let the sun shine into our weary eyes in a few hours. There is something to be said that we slept in Pam Anderson’s former bed. What is to be said? I don’t know. I am sure it is tawdry.
I was awake and puttering about the vintage pieces and antique skat and birdhouses shortly after the sun burned from the ceiling, after sleeping only a few hours. There is a haunting quiet and she shifts through the warehouse, lurking in corners, dangling from chandeliers and skulking on tops of bureaus. He space and clutter were truly beautiful and the silence, She was deafening. In my humble opinion, Heather is the strongest chica I know. She lives among the ghosts and prevails. The ghosts run not rampant within the walls and furniture; they dance, sing and scream in our heads. In the Quiet, Heather writes her stories and spins her tales. She, the Quiet, is a blessing and a curse. Heather is the storm; she rustles the leaves and shakes your windows in the indigo. I love my Heather Girl.
Heather and I got our gumption together and went into Santa Monica for a fantastic cup of kaffe at Café Luxxe and some tasty morsels of badness. We hit the shops. We regaled each other with all the things we had missed the day before. We made plans. We made promises we will most certainly keep, to each other and ourselves.
After what seemed to be a very short time, I was back on the 5 headed to Burbank and my plane home. I had one more stop to make: the Laramore Lodge for more goodbyes. I love these magical and gorgeous Laramores, even the new, little one. Little GV, the original “Appletainer”, has grabbed a hold of my heart. Triple threat Renee is the voice you hear when sun shines a brand new day, full of opportunity and hope. Gary is the devil old your shoulder who eggs you into trouble and is carted off to the pokey with you saying, “What a great night!” I love them all.
I ask why I came back to AZ... Because that LA shite is more fun! I miss all of you and look forward to our next adventures.
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