So introverts like myself hate socializing. But people who are lonely and lost need to socialize; therefore, it was with a sigh and as Mark's comrade that I participated in the two birthday fetes. I bowled with two of the oldest friends I have in LA and had a relatively pleasant and fun time. Mark was correct in that what I had dreaded, I now was thankful for. The paradox continues.
Then Jane came back into town. I had dressed in a manner to amuse her when picking her up from LAX. I wore all her clothes in a pink and green combo - even down to huge pink earrings. She didn't really laugh as she was a bit distracted with good reason. We headed to a bar after she tweaked my red shoes with green wobbly ribboned shoes.
The next event? Yes, dear reader, a cookout... the longed for- the remembered - the best type of time in the world: the summer cookout.
We proceeded with meat in tow after proceeding straight to the father's office once jane's bags were dropped off. We three headed forthwith to silverlake to cook meat in a lovely yard.
From Santa Monica to Silverlake is like going almost to Raleigh (two hours for the unsure).
Thinking that this would be us and the hosts and their houseguest, it was a bit of a surprise that the cookout morphed into a well-attended hollywood cookout - stories, attitudes, and agendas. Great fun. Often a bit of a tiresome game though.
Jane deejayed on the way there, and I tried to forget how tired and sad I was. In the backseat, I played that age-old game of not hearing because of the music and flipping a coin. I would ask the coin whether I would see him again - whether I should call him - etcetera etcetra - then I asked the coin if I would get high.
The coin said yes, and I did. It was because of a lovely girl named Mosha. We bonded after swilling wine and declaring it a dim second to our favorite neverland. She instructed me to find an instrument (as I knew the hosts better) and she would proffer the goods.
I feel quite judged by the hosts (solidly in mark's camp and they likely think i'm insane), so I proceeded to the kitchen to assemble the instrument in a pinch used by stoner's everywhere: the folded tinfoil tube.
Mosha and I lodge into a spare bathroom and begin to inhale the fabled pot of LA. It even has a name. It has such a reputation and I have heard tale of this dragon for years. This was to be my first partaking.
I had already had a lovely time. There were two people from Minnesota there who were the most real people I've met in ages. It was so fun to actually talk to people who had nothing to gain by me and no preconceived notions. Just think how rare this is! We spoke of the Replacements in circling terms. I loved their accents. Just nice people.
So here we are smoking and MY GOD the bonding. It was so funny this feeling of which I had had such experience with in my lovely south - to be transposed to LA. In fact, I believe this is the first time I have been stoned at a los angeles party. Quelle fun (for me smirk smirk).
We then proceeded to the empty lower patio and were sought out. Mosha was a prey, and I believe I was perceived to be her captor.
Boys. Such bizarre things. I had such hostility turned on me by two of them. These were the pretentious two - the ones who were defensive and holding their arms waving in front of their egos at such a fast rate it looked solid.
But there was another.
It would be like describing a cloud while being in a cloud? To this moment, I am still trying to discern the events/vibes/feelings, but I think it was one of those interesting times in life when there is a time-out, and you just feel at one with the magic and breath and laugh and wave your hands in the air slowly where everyone within range knows that the ego is just inside.