Some Day I'll Be Interested.

Some impertinent thing, this one also oddly with a Russian accent asked me a question while I was in the kitchen at the Century City gig:

'Do they have coffee here?' This woman has worked here before and knows the drill.

'If you make it.' I don't know if she thought Ralph Lauren was code for office services, but I wasn't having it.

Now as a general rule I no longer speak to people whilst in the kitchen at the Century City gig. The last time I did was with the cloud of stud atoms and then he just up and disappeared. Like the time I went to the corner shop and that dude died out front, and I have never been back to that corner shop again. When the universe speaks you better listen.

This woman that tried to ensnare me in conversation in the kitchen at the Century City gig is a known whack-job. I even have stories that other people have told me about her, but suffice to say, if I slam the microwave door so hard the microwave hits the wall the conversation has come to an end. I will not be having it.

I've divested myself completely of the Century City gig and this includes the kitchen at the Century City gig. No more mango chutney, and I could just spank myself because there is a samosa in there that is just screaming for mango chutney, but hindsight is as they say, and I got enough on my horizon without getting Fifty Shades with myself.

Turns The Love To Anger.

I made it to work early because I have fuck all to do. They asked me to stay late last night because they had fuck all for me to do. 'Yes please if you could just stay, walk around the mall a few times, come back to your desk, go onto some websites, take some duolingo lessons, walk around the mall some more, and maybe this time look a bit more brooding. We may have something we may need you to read in a moment, but most likely not, perhaps another trip around the mall?'

I'm not saying I can't do it or that I won't do it, but even for me there is a moment when even I have a hard time pretending it isn't completely ridiculous.

And getting home last night was a monumental clusterfuck of why me. I should have called Uber, but I wanted to work on my French and I just couldn't handle a conversation with someone with an even weaker grasp on the English language then they have on the geography of Los Angeles, but I should have given it a try. The busses never came or they just passed us by. I called, and had a nice conversation with someone at Metro, and he assured me I wasn't the first person to complain, and I assured him I in no way found that surprising, but eventually, and I mean at an hour that would make most prostitutes blush (8:23 pm) I managed to make it through my front door and throw my face into a bowl of Hormel vegetarian chili. I really couldn't manage anything more fancy.

I've booked myself on two more gigs of undetermined duration, but (and I hope I'm hallucinating or it's a typo) I think one of them is supposed to be six months long. I don't know how I emailed my way into that nightmare. I must have been delirious, but I will have to find a way to get out of that even if it involves syphilis and a catatonic fit.

Only Moments Of Inconsequential Desperation.

The smarty pants convention that the Century City gig has regressed to has taken on an added level of whack. Incomprehensible emails were sent, phone calls we made in order to clarify, confusion remained, hissy fits were had, other people's intelligence was called into question repeatedly, whisperings and mutterings abounded and all the while I just sipped tea and ate samosas because there really isn't anything I can do to make these people hate one another any less.

I also think I have gotten myself back into the two jobs situation. It was nice while it lasted. Sleeping in this morning was so nice, but it is regrettably an experience I do not think I will be having for quite some time.

I was honestly planning my vacation last night when my inbox just lit up with one thing after another and saying no is just not in my nature. I had already pushed back the bulk of my vacation to September, but fishing season is only so long, and the parks are only open for a limited time so however this business resolves itself it is not going to be interfering with my leisure which I have more that greatly earned.

Are We Anywhere Near Normal.

Acute exhausting seems to be taking over. Working two jobs on opposite ends of the city is starting to take its toll. I can remember working two jobs in downtown, and the time I worked three jobs, two from my home, and that was a little different because I was doing it all under my own power, but now I require Uber to even function. I quite nearly hailed them to drive me the four blocks to the Metro station this morning. I just couldn't be doing it.

I was originally worried I would collapse on the Uber ride over to Century City, but that didn't happen. My Uber driver was yelled at by a traffic cop, he spent 10 minutes exiting the 10 (which looked fine to me) to get off at Arlington, and now I can say I have finally driven through Arlington Heights and he nixed Venice for Pico, but I didn't say anything because I had never been in that part of LA and I am always afraid the Uber driver will ask me to get out if I try to correct them. Because that is what I would do.

The millennial has graciously accepted my rain check for anger sex by inviting me to another sex party this weekend. I told him if I was down to a single job by then, then absolutely.

For A Moment We Realized You Cared.

The Uber driver this morning wasn't even beginning to feel Franklin, but since he drove like a batshit Luftwaffe and managed to avoid the construction on Santa Monica we tipped him all the same, but seriously it is like daggers to the soul every time a driver ignores the Franklin.

Working the two gigs I have quickly realized that what passes for normal in Century City or the Westfield Mall proper is straight up Rent-boy Euro-Trash in downtown LA so I have decided to govern myself accordingly and have packed some Ralph Lauren along with the Han Cholo when I do my mid-day Barbarella costume change side-gig switcheroo.

Not that I have anything even approaching a 'side gig'. I mean not even the time I worked in the pizza shop for free pizza.

Someone on the downtown project asked me about that after endlessly prattling on about something they may or may not have done in a place called New York City and I had to disappoint them. They asked me if I had a side-gig and I just answered 'No. Fishing?' There was a pregnant pause replete with misunderstanding before I added 'and bridge'. Still another pregnant pause, and the one also from New York who can do nothing to hide his still noticeable Russian accent and his unquenchable thirst for the newest of new money tries to clear his throat and I am about to add 'petit-point' to the list of responses to their impertinences when I decide that would just be cruel.

I can become quite impressed with myself if I allow it.

For now I'm already on the Westside and I am demolishing carbs at a rate that would make an elephant blush. I may just stay here. This Ubering from project to project to airport to project to Marshals to Which Wich and back again is just starting to touch. One hungers for a normal life and perhaps a properly toasted Which Wich,

The Moment You Realize Your Flaws.

Yesterday was a massive ball of frustration and disappointments. It seems that every time I had something to do, ATM, crossing the street, going up an escalator, whatever it was I was stuck behind people who just couldn't manage to pull their shit together. This coupled with Metro's decision to send trains whenever the fuck they felt like it resulted in my being late for my barber, and I am not late for shit. I just am not. So I was in a mood for most of the day.

I tried to go to Which Wich to cheer myself, but when I noticed they neglected to toast my bread I promptly fell into another Ix hole. The parade on Hollywood was a bit of a tonic, but only just.

I'm working on a project downtown, but I still have my project in Century City. Working through the weekend means no AC. I called in sick to the Century City gig, and I suppose I will have to call in sick to the downtown gig tomorrow which shouldn't be a stretch because since there is no AC I have had a fan blowing on me all day and I am quite certain I have given myself a sinus infection.

It's been nice being back downtown if slightly melancholy. I'm in the office where I first saw the cloud of stud atoms, and whereas some people may see a conference room, I see a place where I quite completely lost my shit and forgot how to act like a normal person for several months. Some may see a table, but all I see is where stud atoms ate his chicken and looked fucking incredible.

I'm having a hard time letting go. Anger sex with the millennial is only having limited effect. There may be no more projects downtown for me for a piece if this is how it is going to be. Just one jarring memory after another. 

I've already lined up a six week remote gig for the week after next and I think I can be trusted not to humiliate myself in my own goddamned apartment, and Pony wants me to come up to Seattle and cover one of her employee's maternity leave for three months so that should place me square out of humiliation way to well pretty much then end of the year.

Our Love is Like Fill In The Blank.

My Uber driver and I were doing anything but connecting this morning. It was a language barrier thing, it was I was a me being late thing and he ended up pointed towards Hollywood Boulevard instead of Franklin thing, but I thought Uber was a 'data driven' company and the data clearly indicates Franklin to Fairfax, Fairfax to Sunset. Sunset to Doheney. Doheney to Santa Monica and from Santa Monica to my beloved Avenue of the Stars. But I really don't know how 'data driven' I can expect when I'm picked up in a Mitsubishi Mirage not that I'm complaining or that I didn't tip. It's not like I have fuck all to do at work.They want me to 'review' the work I did last week which I take as hanging out in the mall and wondering why I didn't buy those shoes last week when they were 25% off.

My dearest Kevin Kiermaier went and cracked his hip bone and will be out of the looking gorgeous and throwing shit scene for a few months at least. I'm sure his 'fiance' is going to cope just fine. It's not like he was going to be spending his spare moments banging that Basic AF bimbo. Sorry. I'm sure that sounded bitchy, but really, they must grow them in pods somewhere.

The millennial wants to do dinner and sex this week and then baseball and sex next week and who knows what. I just can't seem to get through a day without receiving 87 texts from the motherfucker. If I hadn't totally fucked everything up with the amazing cloud of stud atoms none of this, you know, whatever. It is what it is and its Andre Ethier bobblehead night. This shit always comes in three and there you have it. My Uber driver, Kevin, and now this.

Don't Get Crazy Joey.

My Uber driver was from Iran so we had a nice discussion. I of course commenting on the recent terrorist attacks and the elections. I mentioned said something along the lines that I thought Ahmadinijad seemed like a decent guy and it was a shame he was muscled out. And it just went on from there. Nice gentleman, and I actually had some singles for him, but I in no way thought of him as a male stripper.

But I got it again with the conversationalist compliments. I wonder if Uber drivers rank their passengers? I wonder what my ranking would be? It wouldn't matter. Only a fool swallows their own hype and I'm no fool. Except maybe at three in morning or whenever the freak has to roar.

The weekend is here and thank fucking all mighty and merciful God at last. Jesus. I promised myself I would go to the Dodgers/Reds game, I promised a longtime friend I would go to Pride with him provided he weren't to hung over from Saturday night, and I also wouldn't mind hitting the Hollywood Farmers Market which come to think of it could be closed because of Pride. I really hate 'researching' my weekend because I may be old fashioned, but my idea of 'research' will always be cruising for dick pics on the internet.

The Number Of Possibilities Is Always Diminishing.

I had no tip for my Uber driver this morning which I found monumentally embarrassing. I like how I have gone from being offended at the notion of tipping my Uber driver to feeling a sense of shame at not having anything to give my Uber driver, and I like how the transformation has taken less than a fortnight. Like Uber drivers have automatically acquired the status of a male stripper with a fake cock automatically deserving of all the singles in my pocket. Capitalism.

Lunch with my friend at Rock Sugar was nice. He told me how he used Linkedin to find out where a witness worked so he could serve them, and I had to try really hard to hold down my noodles for just a bit.

It all reminded me of taking my co-worker to Happy Hour at Rock Sugar last Friday. It kinda traumatized me. One glass of chardonnay and the girl was off her goddamned face. I was gone. I was done. I was going back upstairs to submit my hours and bolt. She still had shit to read and understand and she just gets upstairs and loses her shit. I thought I was in serious trouble, but when I got into work Monday everything was fine. With what I do, not burning down the building can get you a raise.

Socializing with the co's. I tried it and I failed. Moving on. The millennial is texting, but I think I need more time. That fucker was a biter.

Are We Suppose To Recognize Something?

I went full shade crazy and up and went to a West Hollywood sex party this weekend. God knows I probably have been to several in the past, but they didn't just call themselves that. It was well catered and had an amazing view. For a while no one knew who I was or why I was there until the millennial I had hooked up with a few weeks prior and had invited me showed up.

Once he arrived it became clear to everyone, but I was so off my face it really couldn't matter less to me. They couldn't possibly think I would show up not off my face. Pride Week hasn't even officially started and I'm already winning this shit.

The millennials they like to do stuff like this party. Bored with Facebook, Insta and Snap they seem to be gravitating towards these safe real time play environments. You wouldn't call it an orgy, but you wouldn't call it a rubber of bridge either. They can be exhausting, the millennials, but if you stick with them and give them a chance it can be rewarding.

I'm at work now and everything is all kinds of fucked up, but since I had the weekend I had, and I am fairly confident no one else had the weekend I had my perspective is more than slightly messed up.

Are These The Emotions You Were Looking For?

Hold on to your shit. I am completely typing under the influence. I am at the office, so mother fucking high it would level any other human being which is like any other morning, but what isn't like other mornings is the Barry Manilow I insist on listening to:

'Well You Came And You Gave Without Taking, But I Sent You Away, Oh Mandy...'

'And You Kissed Me And Stopped Me From Shaking, Oh Mandy.'

I don't know what this shit is about, but it is all up in my business this morning, and I'm laughing myself senseless and the other three people that arrive at the office as early as me are nonplussed to say the least. Now we're on to Supertramp and it may not get better unless I put on Echo and the Bunnymen or something serious..

I had to do the bus this morning. I just couldn't have another conversation with an Uber driver. There are things in this world that money cannot buy and the serenity of zoning out and not speaking to anyone on public transport to the lilting tones of the Cocteau Twins is priceless. How I ended up on Barry Manilow is beyond me, but I am pretty sure it has something to do with that hunky manly cloud of stud atoms because everything naturally does.