six-legged human lollypop
Sunday, December 31 2000
It was mid-morning and I was waiting in line at the Smart and Final, buying the usual bulk provisions: orange juice, vodka, corn chips, salsa and bread. The woman in front of me looked very white and very Anglo, but I'd heard her talking to a loading dock guy in the back and knew that she could speak excellent Spanish. The woman running the cash register looked very Hispanic, yet she spoke excellent English and, immediately assuming the woman in front of me was an Anglo, asked her a question in English. What happened next was subtle, and if you weren't paying attention you would have missed it entirely. The woman in front of me responded to the English question with a simple trans-lingual "no"; it could have been in English or it could have been in Spanish. But she pronounced it with a very strong and clear Latin "o" sound. It actually sounded to my ear as if the Latin-ness of the "o" was being exaggerated so as to make the point, "I understand what you said in English and can acknowledge it in English, but I would much prefer to talk to you in Spanish." From then on the rest of their dialogue was entirely in Spanish.
This is an entertaining idea: chickcams segregated according to hotness of the chicks. I see Bathtubgirl is in the "dodgy" column. I don't know, I think she's pretty hot in that picture. I'm a sucker for lacy lingerie and big-rimmed glasses, and when you combine the two, yowza! Talk about odd fetishes, as a condition for sexual congress, I occasionally would make Leslie Montalto wear her glasses. That was back in 1994. I just did a web search for Leslie Montalto and found that in February, 2000 she became an instructor at the Vermont Clay Studio near Burlington, Vermont.
Another New Year's Eve. It seems these are coming faster and faster and ever more furiously. Our original plan was to go to a party in Hollywood being orchestrated by one of my readers (billed to my housemate as "an internet friend") and then perhaps move to another party that Linda had just found out about in Silverlake. But as the evening descended it became obvious that this called for entirely too much driving, something about which I'm not very sensitive since I'm never the one with the car. Eventually the plans were transformed completely and became the following: we would take the powerful serotonin-level-altering chemical known as "pure MDMA" (ecstasy) and then go to a sort of schtevish party being hosted by a friend of Fernando's sister down near the Santa Monica Promenade. We had our supply of MDMA already firmly established, so all we had to do was go pick it up. And if you think I'm going to tell you whom John and I visited to get our substance, you are mistaken.
Back at the house, we idled away our time waiting for the evening. I had my guitar going for a bit and even played a four track sample for John (surprisingly, he seemed genuinely impressed, asking if we could play one of my latest compositions downstairs).
People began to arrive: Fernando first, in a sports jacket and shiny black shoes. "You don't have to get dressed up for New Years do you?" John asked. "Come on, John, this is LA," Fernando responded. So John went grumbling upstairs to get a black sweater to throw over his sleeveless tee shirt. Then Chun arrived, all decked out in high heel boots and a leather skirt and, since that kicked the notch up even higher, I went upstairs to get a nicer-looking button-up shirt to throw over my dumpster-dived Jurassic 5 tee shirt. We sipped super-expensive Rip Van Winkle Whiskey and popped sky-blue Adderall pills. Fernando kept appearing and vanishing, each time more frantic than the time before.
Finally Fernando drove us down to his sister's friend's party. It was your usual UCLA graduate schteve party, with more men than women, tequila shots, and a little discrete pot smoking upstairs. I was amped on Adderall and somewhat bored so I took the invitation to the pot smoking and found that, though there was actually pot and a pipe to smoke it in, I was the only one who had any desire to have any. About that time John came and found me and told me it was time to move on to our next destination, a place called Club 217. On this night the cover was $25 each, but considering we'd be taking ecstasy and not drinking anything, it didn't seem like such a big deal. I suppose that's the principle that raves function under.
So we all swallowed our ecstasy capsules and moved on to Club 217. The place was absolutely packed with people, all of them nicely dressed and pretty well fucked up. Back by a small group of Chun's friends, I somehow found myself holding hands with a very beautiful and totally anonymous girl, but for some reason this thing we had only lasted a few minutes and after the countdown was over and the year had changed, I lost my connection to her. Meanwhile John and Chun were dancing contentedly with one another. It seemed the ecstasy was kicking in.
Owing to the chemicals in my system, I was having a very good time. But, by the same token, I didn't have any focus to my activities and wasn't really feeling like a part of whatever it was John and Chun were doing. I wandered away from them for a little bit and danced with a number of completely anonymous strangers. Suddenly there was this woman standing in front of me. She could have been any age I suppose, from 25 to 45, but she had a look about her that said both experience and determination. It was a beautiful face, and the eyes were intense. There was something about her that made her seem more like an apparition than a real person. She didn't know who I was and didn't exchange a single word. She may not have even known how to speak English for all I knew. The language she spoke was something else entirely. Effortlessly, she placed the entirety of her body tightly against mine and we danced like this for I don't know how long. Then she turned around, leaned over to grab the wall, and, we danced, well, doggy style. Like lightning she was back for just a quick meaningful kiss or maybe something else. Out came her tongue and with deft precision she licked the center of my face, from lower lip to nose, as if she was a master chef adding a garnish to an expensive entré. Then she reached down and gently fondled my genitals through my trousers, looking me in the eyes all the while. I can't begin to explain how intense this was under the influence of ecstasy, and she totally had me. At that point I would have done anything she wanted me to. But she suddenly snapped out of it, meekly sliding away from me as quickly as she had appeared. It seems that her boyfriend had finally found her and it was time to join him. I turned around and was amazed to see a huge man, somewhat resembling Mike Tyson, leading her away. For awhile after that I was concerned that I'd get my ass kicked for having enjoyed such congress with his girlfriend, but he never confronted me. When I told John about it, he assured me, "don't worry, Gus, I got your back."
Some time later I was standing near the bar and this same woman was walking by, following her big black boyfriend out of the club, and when she saw me she quickly doubled back and gave me a very deep and meaningful kiss in front of everyone, including the boyfriend. I glanced over at him and he had a look of embarrassed resignation. And then she hurried off. I was awestruck; the moment lingered in the air like cigarette smoke.
Unlike a rave, where $25 buys a nonstop ticket to the morning light, the club closed promptly at 2:00am, and everyone was shooed out into the street. Since John, Chun and I were in the peak of our ecstasy experience, all we wanted to do was cling to one another like infant laboratory monkeys. We walked eastward down Wilshire as a strange six-legged lollypop of humanity, eventually hailing a cab.
Back in our house, we got the music pumping and resumed where we'd left off at Club 217, dancing the sort of dance that people do when they've taken ecstasy and don't have a care in the world.
Eventually Fernando appeared with a girl he'd met at his sister's party, someone he kept referring to by her last name. Her first name was Stephanie, she was visiting from Toronto, and she was dazzled, amazed and gosh darn surprised by Los Angeles. Her initial impression hadn't been especially good, but after hanging out with us in our house, her view of Americans made a decided turn for the positive. At that party earlier I'd seen her and Fernando sort of draped over one another and had made the catty comment to Chun that Stephanie looked like a transvestite. But now I felt sort of bad about that assessment because she was, it turned out, really rather sweet. She even volunteered several sentences worth of awe upon seeing one of my most disturbing paintings, and I'm a sucker for that sort of praise. So, when everyone else was dancing and she was just sitting there in the shell of her impenetrable Canadian whiteness, I took her by the hand and got her to dance with me. Her large manly body felt good pressed against mine. Later on, John, Chun and I did a pretty good job of further charming her with the unapologetic human sandwich of carnal joy that we formed on the red velvet couch. "It's a good thing Chun is here," I joked to John, "or we'd just have each other." John had taken twice the dose of ecstasy that I'd taken and there were absolutely no clouds on the horizons of his personal world.
Eventually Stephanie went into the downstairs bathroom to throw up, I went off to bed by myself and John and Chun went off to bed together. I was happy for them; I'd been anticipating an end to this ludicrous platonic charade for months. "I would never hook up with Chun," John had always maintained, "because she went out with my brother Joe!"
past New Years
2000 - Kim & I are with my parents in Staunton, Virginia.
1999 - On a sandy beach with some Brazilian Girls in Mission Beach, San Diego.
1998 - First kiss with Wacky Jen, at Blond House in Charlottesville, VA.
1997 - Punk rock new years with plenty of broken glass at the Dynashack in Charlottesville, VA.
1996 - (Not chronicled) - under the influence of tussin at Big Fun.
1995 - (Not chronicled) - at home in Virginia?
1994 - (Not chronicled) - at home in Virginia?
1993 - (Not chronicled) - at home in Virginia?
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