He isn’t even that hot, really; I just want something to yell at.

While I was there, I felt an obligation to check out the Adam4Adam scene (or Adam4AffirmativeAction, as the [very white] Long Island Gays like to call it… so clever, those girls).  Anyway, my profile on there is very (surprise surprise) sarcastic.  One part lists reasons to think twice about contacting me, and one of those reasons is “if you wear Stacy Adams”, I couldn’t stop laughing when this guy sent me the following message: “What’s wrong with Stacy Adams?”  Unfortunately, he was the only black person I saw in LA, online or otherwise.  BTW, Stacy Adams is a designer that makes bright yellow zoot suits among other Bamma wear.  If you’ve ever been in Harlem or Detroit on a Sunday (especially Easter), you’ve seen it.

 

I definitely wanted to check out the beach.  Not so much to ‘get sun’ as to see if I could identify various cosmetic torso implants.  Of course after 6 months in LA, TTT has no idea where the gay beach is (no surprise there).  I text her to pick me up at 12:30.  I have to give her credit for texting me around 11:15 saying that he was going to be around 15 minutes late, but I had to take that credit away when he showed up at 2:00.  But apparently LA weekend traffic is that bad.

 

I keep my damn mouth shut because it’s his city (sort of), and he really could have been like, “Bitch, take a $25 cab!”  He finally arrives (convertible top up… really?), and we’re both starving.  We wait about 2 minutes for his friend, MiLAmi (TTT’s friend who had moved to LA from FL… white-looking Cuban), to arrive in her car separately (b/c she’s leaving early to go to a movie on a perfectly sunny day… really?).  TTT puts the top down for me b/c she knows I like that fabulous shit.

 

After a half hour (at least) of searching up and down the coast, we finally ask a parking attendant who was so adorably straight: “I think if you go to the next parking lot entrance, it’s right there.”  You think?  Riiiight. 

 

We park, and TTT pulls out a goddamn handle of tequila (the very liquor that got her fucked out of her mind the first time we met… we had been on the beach on Fire Island and had gone to the Architect’s house for cocktails… at the end of the LIRR ride home, she was passed out with PEN15 written on her forearm).  I coach her on the art of hiding your public liquor, pouring the piss-colored liquid into a water bottle (hey, at least plastic isn’t illegal on the beach). 

 

We set ourselves up on the beach (sans music OR a cooler… with fewer than 8 boys… I don’t know how we survived).  I take a few sips before asking TTT and MiLAmi  if they  knew how to spot butt implants.  “What?  I wanna leave LA a little more knowledgeable than I came.” Then the Hottie packs up to leave.  He isn’t even that hot, really; I just want something to yell at.  So I yell, “Bye!  Drive safely!”  MiLAmi sits up like a rake that’s been stepped on and snatches off her diva shades: “What are you doing?!  This is LA!  We don’t talk to each other.”  I peek just over my shades: “That’s because y’all ain’t got shit to say!”  Well, needless to say, MiLAmi wasn’t a fan after that (she’s been in LA a bit longer than TTT). 

 

MiLAmi is ready to leave, and there’s really only 40 yards of gay boys on this beach anyway (plus the “marine layer” was being a real downer for sunlight and there was no parade of hotties strutting up and down gratuitously).  So we all pack up to leave, and I’m all like “Oh, you should come out after your movie,” even though I know he couldn’t stand to spend another minute with my sarcastic ass.  Who knew my humor was an acquired taste!

 

So we’re driving back towards WeHo, and we decide to take the local roads instead of the interstate.  “Oops, I think that was the exit?  I guess we're taking the interstate back.”  Well, at least TTT is pretty.  How does she have a masters again?  (Oh, I forgot they had one-year programs.)  

 

We get to WeHo, and TTT is ecstatic about finding parking at the WeHo public library (which is about the size of 2 public-school class rooms).  We go to Fiesta, and the door guy takes a good 2 minutes to finally let me in.  Okay, so my drivers’ license with an actual picture is expired; we established that at the airport.  Is it that hard to read my temporary license?  I’ve never wanted a college-educated bouncer before…

 

2-4-1?  Sweet. That means order doubles?  Okay.  Oh my god, my Husband is working as a cocktail waitress!  “Quick, sober up so we can order more drinks!  I don’t care if you have a tab at the bar!  Fucking close it!  Yes, I’ll eat fries; just call him over!”  I won’t even bother describing this guy outside of saying he was tall, beefy, white-yet-tanned, and dumb as nail polish remover (or played it well).

 

So 3 doubles later, TTT drives us back to his place in Burbank.  Apparently, it’s popular for actors coming out for short-term stays to do auditions, which makes sense because his apartment looks like a hotel (they even have an Enterprise Rent-A-Car office there… and an actual hotel section).   Shower, shower, change, change, time to go back out. 

 

We get to WeHo and park TTT’s car.  We’re walking to the Abbey when this guy stops us on the street and says something like “$3 drinks and shots in here.”  Well, he was hot enough for me to listen to anything he said, but who can turn down a $3 drink?!  It was a café with a full bar in the corner.  Very cool, except that the bar was way too crowded for anyone’s good.  TTT got some kind of coffee drink from a very cute barista who blamed all 3 mistakes with TTT’s order on the fact that he was sick.  “And you still ordered the drink?  Wow.”

 

I offer to buy TTT a drink since I didn’t have change for the valet.  Of course, he orders the most expensive thing they have, but the Abbey takes credit cards (thank god).  I tend to forget she’s a different breed of Ivy League.  What makes that funny is the conversation we had earlier:

TTT: “One time, this guy hit on me, and it came out that he hadn’t gone to college.  I was totally turned off.”

Me: “Yeah, well.  It’s not exactly an absolute rule, but college grads do tend to be on a different level.”

“Yeah, but then I remembered that I’m the first one in my family to go to college.  I mean, my parents and siblings aren’t bad people, ya know.”

“Oh, totally.  They’re just not datable!”

(Laughing) “Dad, you’ll never be my boyfriend!”

Maybe when I grow up, I’ll be too good for well liquor (read: I WANNA HAVE BOOBIES!).

 

I have this on-going joke about TTT being Mexican (he’s Cuban), which is way too easy in SoCal (don’t think for a second that stopped me, though).  We met up with TTT’s other set of friends, who were from… you guessed it: Mexico.  We stayed at the Abbey for… probably less than a half hour (actually, TTT’s friends were ready to go about 5 minutes after we got our drinks).  We ended up at Here, which was a lot more fun.  This was the bar where, when I came for Pride last year, I saw the Lesbian Coyote Ugly show.  I was mostly just gawking at the go-gos until this nice, tall drink of vodka caught my eye.  I start talking to him, and I’m trying to figure out how I can work this out without missing my 8:30am plane.  Unfortunately, within about 5 minutes I found that we were way too two-of-a-kind to lead to a hook-up.  Very much “I’m on vaca in West Hollywood, and I’m black.  I’m definitely not getting any, so I’m just gonna fuck with people I don’t know.”  Kind of like me below 59^th st in NYC.  And to tell you the truth, I was having way too much fun with him to bring sex into it (okay, either that or I’m terrible at picking up guys who aren’t obviously interested). 

 

Somehow, we got home ridiculously late.  LA has no delis, so I had to break my religion and eat fast food (I mean, it was an angus burger, but I still felt dirty).  I got about an hour and a half of sleep before my “car” came, and $70 later I was at LAX.  Did I mention my company’s definitely paying for that (since they didn’t get me a car)?  Totally (in honor of SoCal).