changing the location of all of my online accounts

Well, Thursday, I was all set for our usual ruckus and was even considering whether I wanted to make arrangements to stay downtown for the night (if you know what I mean).  Then I get an email from a Senior VP regarding our most important project of the year: “We have a problem.” 

 

To avoid putting too much of my employers’ business out on the internet, let’s just say that they needed a hand delivery made as a backup, and I was asked, “Do you have any plans this weekend?  Can you get on a plane in 3 hours?”  I could do a weekend in LA!

 

I rush uptown to throw some clothes in a bag.  Of course, I was planning to do laundry that Saturday, so all I have left for underwear are thongs (which, contrary to Ivy League Crew belief, I never wear anymore) and stripper underwear (don’t ask).  “Hey, PR guy.  Am I actually attending this event?  What’s the dress code?”  “You wanna bring a jacket and tie.”  Shit.

 

My plane’s at 8:30.  They told me around 4:15.  I still have to make it back to the office to pick up what I’m delivering, and get out to JFK in time to go though security and check-in.  Why didn’t anyone think to check me in online?  I wasn’t in a car to the airport until about 6:50.  And of course, I have a list of 10 people that want me to let them know whether or not I made the plane.

 

7:40, I’m pulling up to American Airlines.  The check-in guy gives me shit about my ID being expired, so I have to pull out the temp license (still waiting for the real one in the mail… Urban Sprawl, can you help with that?).  Then Security does the same thing.  I’m literally running through JFK with no shoes to make this flight before it closes, I’d better be making serious overtime for this shit!  I get to the gate, and the door isn’t even open.  “Hi, 8:30 to LAX?”  The girls behind the counter looked at me like I had asked them for their panties.  “First of all, it’s at that gate.  Secondly, it’s delayed until 9:45.  Besides, it’s only 8.  Why would you be running.”  You mean that Ameri-cunt Airlines check-in queen couldn’t mention to me when he saw me running that I had an extra hour and 15?!  Heated isn’t even the word.

 

So I start talking to this girl who basically had the same thing happen to her.  Within a half an hour, we’re at the bar in the terminal, she with a beer and I with a screwdriver.  My first drink was so weak, so when we found out the plane was delayed even later, I ordered a second (from a different bartender).  “You want it double?”  “Nah… unless it’s free!” I said, fishing. He definitely made me a tall, strong drink, and he definitely didn’t say a price.  I meant the extra shot free, but I’m not one to complain.  Big tip for you.  He gave us a shot of Jack each right before we left to board.  We tried to get him to take one too (he was kinda cute after that double), but he couldn’t. 

 

As we checked out boarding passes, “Shut up!  Dude, we’re sitting right next to each other!” she exclaims.  Honey, 25C and 26D are not quite next to each other.  But a family asked me to switch.  Not only did I get more l leg room (at 6’2”, I hate coach… cheap-ass company), but I got to sit next to my make-shift BFF. 

 

6 hours later, I’m at LAX.  $45 in cabbing later, I’m at the hotel.  I grumble about the charge for wireless until I remember that my compnay’s paying for it (did I mention this is my first business trip!), so I focus on changing the location of all of my online accounts.  Instead of sleeping for my totally unknown day tomorrow, I’m pondering why everyone on Adam4Adam in LA is white (this isn't Manhunt!).  Then again, WeHo is kind of like their Chelsea (WeHo = West Hollywood = the gay part... apparently there's Silver Lake, which is also gay, but for this trip we stuck to WeHo for now).

 

I was told to call the PR guy at 9:30am, so I’m dressed and ready to leave by 9:25.  “Hey, D. Kareem.  We’re all having breakfast in 332 if you wanna come down.  Or you can rest some more.  Whatever you want to do.”  So I woke up this early  for what, exactly?  I head downstairs to get free food, I mean, be social.  Turns out our PR teams from NYC and LA were getting things together for the big event.  I sat through most of there meeting, which was good b/c I got a walking tour of all the important areas (including the green room for the celebs).  I also garnered a very useful piece of information: our part of the presentation wasn’t until 3:30.  Nap time!

 

When we were in the penthouse suite for the stars to change in between their Q&A and the after party, I noticed the western view.  “Is that the ocean,” I said, referring to where trees and roofs were no longer visible, either because they ended at the coast or because of clouds (of smog).  “HA!  He asked if that was the ocean!  You can’t see the ocean from anywhere in LA.  That’s the ‘marine layer’.”  Oh. 

 

Around 3, I went down to the green room to see if I could scavenge some lunch. I sit down in front of one of the monitors, and Michael C. Hall just casually puts his water down on the table and sits next to me.  I am about to piss my pants, and it’s all I can do not to text every living person in my phone that this actor I’ve had a crush on for a couple of years now (sorry, I never watched Six Feet Under that much) is within arm’s reach. 

 

Our presentation went well, and everything was in place as it needed to be.  Next stop, Boulevard3 for the after party.  I hitched a ride with an intern, and it literally took almost an hour to go the 5 miles and change from Beverly Hills to Hollywood.  Then again, it was a Friday at 6 (good planning, someone).  We get there, and it’s a whole Red Carpet mob scene: paparazzi, branded background for pictures, press, etc.  As my duties were long done, I flashed a guest badge and slipped inside for a drink. 

 

There were a shitload of people there that I felt like I should recognize, but I don’t watch enough TV (you think I could keep up this lifestyle and still catch must-see TV?!).  A sampling of stars present: David Duchovey, Timera (or Tia?) Mowrey, Neil Patrick Harris, Dennis Haysbert (from Waiting to Exhale), Mary Louise Parker (who was about half the waist size she looks on TV and looked really out of it).  The best looking star of the night was by far the wife from Brotherhood, Annabeth Gish, who was about 6 months pregnant and had an absolutely stunning presence.  Wooorrrrrrrrrk!

 

Note: LA has recently topped my list of regions I love to make fun of, beating out Boston, the Midwest, and the South.  If you are easily offended by the truth about SoCal, feel free to stop reading.

 

By that time I was sufficiently liquored up (to the point where two bartenders knew my order as soon as I walked up), so I gave Touchy TV Twinkfucker (TTT) a call.  TTT works in TV (obvi) and is in LA temporarily for a number of months for work.  He also dates the quintessential twink (except that he's in grad school), and he's very touchy-feely.  BTW, I stole his name from Bitter Commie.  Another Ivy League grad, of course (with masters, *rolls eyes*).  She claims to be Cuban, but then again, she also claims to be a top.  I wonder if Mexibottom would catch on on Manhunt in the Southwest.  Anyway, I had called him up to make plans for that night.  He very graciously picked me up (in a convertible, which is really the only way to do LA), and we hit WeHo.

 

Unfortunately, the big thing that night was Popstars, which is a gay night at a straight club.  Security was surprisingly non-abrasive, but the cover was most unwelcome.  We met TTT’s friends on the dance floor, and they said a total of 5 words between them the whole night (I guess that’s unfair seeing as it was a club with very loud music).  Luckily, though, I run into a friend from the past who had unexpectedly moved to the area!  A pretty good-looking friend too (much better than I remember him being).  Let’s call her Cooper.

 

I just happened to be wearing my “Beauty is a Talent” shirt, and guess who switches her way up the stairs to the VIP: none other than Mikey, co-choreographer for (and 7^th member of) the Pussycat Dolls (as well as my new favorite group, Girlicious… “Beauty is a talent” is actually a quote from their reality show).  He was obviously a fan of the shirt (on me).  I was a bit taken aback because although we had a very brief interaction, he seemed a lot more masculine in person than he did on TV. 

 

Eventually, we get over it (apparently clubs on the east coast and west coast close at the same time, despite the time zone difference), so the 3 of us go to get TTT’s car out of valet.  We’re waiting, we’re checking out guys, I’m making a few inappropriate comments, we’re waiting.  At one point, Cooper makes eye contact with this guy driving a Mini Cooper, and he waves before driving away.  Coop was like, “Goddamnit!  I don’t want to talk to him anyway if he can’t get out of the car and have a conversation!”  “Dude, you didn’t catch the fruit fly in the passenger side?  He probably has to take her home.”  “Whatever.” 

 

Not 3 minutes later, this dude walks up Cooper and says hi.  Yes, the guy from the Mini.  Dude says Cooper has nice dimples.  They exchange numbers and get into some serious text flirtation right away.  “Dimples?  Well, I want two of whatever she’s on b/c those are without a doubt fine lines.  Straight out of an Oil of Olay commercial!  What’s it called, Regenerist?”

 

The textual seduction stopped soon thereafter.  Did I mention two “tops” don’t make a right?  Yeah (right).

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