Brain Poops

8:30 Friday - At home, Los Dangeles

Groggy. The sleeping pills from the night before haven’t finished their job just yet, but feel hell-bent on completing the mission anyway. Jesus… I haven’t seen 8:30AM in a long time. It’s as I remember it: overrated and bleak.

My bags are already packed from the night before. They are a few feet away from the base of the bed and looking up at me with their sad, polyester duffel-bag faces. I flop over them and make my way to the kitchen.

Fridge doors are complicated when you’re waking up from six hours of sleep and expecting to be awake another sixteen. I fumble the door open and slam down three cokes to combat my foggy brain functions.

I grab my bags, give NickyNik a quick phone call and belch off on my motorcycle towards the airport. I’m absent the fear of long-term parking costs, since on my last trip there I realized they don’t charge for motorcycle parking for any length of time. The wind wraps me up like a long lost lover, then it smacks me around like a long lost lover finding out about the other lovers in your past.

10:00 - Los Dangeles International Airport.

Nick leaves me a voice message saying he has to piss and that he’ll meet me at the terminal. Well not exactly those words, but you get the drift.

I walk into the ticketing area, mouth agape at the horde of travelers shuffling through the queue. It was a bedraggled, coiling square dance with a lame band, only the band was equipped with weapons and authority instead of instruments and talent. After 30 minutes in three lines, two donation solicitors and one hung over TSA, I headed to the terminal to meet Nick.

The terminal is only slightly air conditioned, which makes me ponder just what the hell they do with all the profits from grossly overpriced chihuahua ashtrays and fast food. It’s gotta be 90 degrees in this fucker! My glasses get foggy in a Dilbert-in-a-strip-club kind of way and I stop to clean them off.

I put them back on and see Nick waiting for me in front of a window. The scene looks as if Norman Rockwell had been working in the 90s covering transit: Nick reading the LA Times with his head down to see over his spectacles, the terminal umbilicus attaching to the airplane behind him. I compulsively check that I indeed washed behind my ears and say hello.

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Now with 50% less superfluous metaphor and simile!

In our last episode:

Yet again my fears are shot down in a blaze of awesomeness and candor as we all frankly talk and laugh about our strange stories and backgrounds. We’re only a few minutes into the convo before the car arrives.

The driver gets out, and for a moment I think it’s one of my high school classmates¹. He talks as fast and as recklessly as he drives, but we get to our hotel with a quickness.

Our lodging is the America’s Best Value Inn Suites, located in South Market. A misnomer, as the hotel staff is largely foreign and since our room comes with a complimentary copy of the Bhagavad Gita instead of a Gideon Bible. Refreshing, I thought, but different.

Nick and I get to the room to find a luxurious suite with only one king-sized bed. There’s that awkward split-second eye contact between two heterosexual men over the same bed, and we decide to ask for a different room. It isn’t until later that we found out Halcyon and Ashley ended up with the double-bed room and a simple swap would have sufficed.

(continue reading…)

WARNING:This post contains photos of a graphic sexual performance. While there is no nudity displayed, anyone offended by such content or otherwise restricted from it should go to http://www.zombo.com in lieu of seeing those photos. You can do anything… at Zombocom.

In our last episode:

She asks me for more details on what I do and such, seemingly interested in just who the hell I was. I catch the slightest traces of a European accent, and though I couldn’t place it, it was enough to know that while she looked strikingly similar, it was thankfully not Johansson.

I take my leave after a few short minutes to not mess up first impressions and get down to seeing the underbelly of the Ball.

(continue reading…)

I got home today from a two-day stint at the Exotic Erotic Ball in San Francisco. It was, bar none, one of the craziest and most fun experiences I have had in my life thus far.

Mr. Smile like cupcaek

Le Derby du Smash-Up

I hobnobbed with porn stars and incredible burlesque artists, saw an unforgettable stage show, and lots of other juicy things that I’m not going to tell you about untill I get the photos all cleaned up for the full blog writeup.

Suffice it to say, I took a lot of photos. About 500ish after I deleted duplicates and otherwise unuseable stuff.

Can’t wait to show you guys. :D

You might not see too much going on here this week, since I have to finish a writing project and a design job ASAP, but I’ll do my best to eke¹ out processed photos and a writeup on the whole shebang within the next couple of days. I just don’t expect to have much free time is all.

So how the hell was YOUR weekend? [I keed, I keed]

¹: *little kid voice* Thaaaaanks Jaaaaaaide…. ;)