Pretty Crazy

I woke up late on a pretty day.

But that's the price you pay for dinner, drinks, pool, drinks, a party at someone's house you don't know, drinks, dancing and more drinks ... by this time, water.

I was in a dour mood at the beginning of last night, but luckily Tim and Justin managed to pull me out of it by coaxing me into going with them to a surreal birthday party for a guy Justin knows socially from Akbar and who has a very unique dancing style; he totally owns the space around him on that dance floor.

Bizarre as it is to wander into a house where you know no one, it ended up being a bit more fun than I thought it c/would be. It helps, too, when Tim has had some wine and becomes super-animated and a social butterfly. I like to just watch him at times like that. I always have, even when we were 19-year-old college students. Plus, now I know he plays pool. We had gone to Casita del Campo before the party. Who knew Casita del Campo had a pool table? (And why were we there? I need to ask T and J to clarify.)

By the time we got to Akbar, it was close to 1 a.m. and there was some dancing to be done. It's always the same '80s bullshit, but it's hard to resist "Dance This Mess Around" by the B-52's, even if 80% of the crowd wasn't even born when it was first released.

My 3 a.m. bedtime meant getting up at 11 and feeling a bit like I was missing a really beautiful day. I love the Santa Ana winds and how they affect the look of the sky and sunlight--not to mention make everyone feel a bit out of their minds.

But at least I knew I was seeing Marolyn today--for the first time in 2 years. She's in the States from New Zealand, and when I finally saw her it was like I was back in Wellington, circa 2004. It seemed like nary a day had passed. We drove to Greystone in Beverly Hills to watch the city and the odd remnants of a wedding (empty chairs and fabric strewn across lawns; that god damned "You're Beautiful" song glaring from the mansion, whose exterior is always used on "Gilmore Girls"). We did impromptu photos and then ran back to my house to wander to the nearby park, look at M's wedding photos (NZ lets the gays marry, you know), and then depart for M Chaya Cafe for dinner, where we inhaled food, listened to an idiot sing songs very much OUT LOUD to his girlfriend (insipid poems with bad melodies that no one needed to hear), and cracked up at those who come to devour macrobiotic food and then get in their giant SUVs and peel away.

Lucikly, Pinkberry is now next door, so we got more photos of yogurt, us reflected in the shiny orange walls, and the graham cracker dust spilling from Marolyn's dessert. You know you have a good friend when she tries to arrange graham cracker dust to make a photo better.







I miss her. Why isn't New Zealand closer?



I hope the winds continue. Not because I want all of California to burn, but I want to see who freaks out next.