Posts Tagged ‘neighbors

26
Feb
08

Sheep thievery? Yes this is what we’ve come to.

Friday night I had a random walkabout w/some folks in my neighborhood, played piano duets and made out with a random guy. Saturday I met up with dear friends and tried–unsuccessfully–to steal a sheep. The sheep-thieving was way more entertaining.

Probably because the sheep was not alive, per se, nor had it ever been. It was, in fact, a miniature reproduction possessed of surprising authenticity and charm. Its wool was woolly, its legs were stocky, its eyelids were heavy in a way that suggested it was thinking deep thoughts and was perhaps a little world-weary.

 It was one of a family (a herd? a pod?) of many fake sheep that hung out in the lobby bar of the new Custom Hotel in Westchester, which may be the most surreal property I’ve ever seen. Think Berlin decor, random West LA clientele (not Venice, nor yet Santa Monica, and certainly not Hollywood) mixed with business dudes on layover and the occasional suspected “working girl.” Then add in a pretty bomb-ass DJ and a few live puppies, wandering amidst the sheep. There. Now you’re getting me. This place was weird. But you know, I like weird places much more than normal ones, so I had a good time.

The entirety of our time in the bar was spent in huddle mode, trying to figure out how we could sneak out one of the fake sheep. We had become strangely enamored of it, and even took turns throwing our coats over it, tucking it underarmed like a large football (with legs), and doing dry runs around the bar. We even tried to stuff it inside Jenna’s oversize handbag. Sadly, it was not oversized enough. And there were security guards and cameras EVERYwhere. So we left the sheep behind, with promises to return.

“That sheep will haunt your dreams,” I told Alex, a scrappy young Jewish man who had even, for a moment, been ready to to use his wife’s bosom as a diversion while he sprinted out the door. (His wife, mind you, was at the bar at the time… the idea died on the vine once she returned.)

 Anyway. Fake sheep = fun. Random neighbors = not. Two of ’em saw me eating alone in a sushi bar…which is not too unusual on weeks when I’ve worked 80+ hours and gone out almost every night. They immediately took misguided pity on me and insisted that I come out drinking. So I did, to the lamest bar, where I met the lamest guy, proceeded to go back to the lamest house party, made out with him at some point just because I was bored, and then took a taxi back home vowing never to hang out with strangers again.

“I don’t like smart women. Actually, I don’t believe they exist,” he told me, mid-snog.

“Hmmm…” I said. “That’s…repulsive.”

“I was just kidding,” he said, looking wounded. “Don’t you know it’s a joke?”

Don’t you know I will never speak to you again? I wondered as we wandered back inside.

Apparently he didn’t know, for he texted me and asked me for a date the very next day.

Silly Neanderthal. When a woolly, football-shaped piece of wood with legs has more charm than you…well, that’s when you know you have a problem. Sadly, there is nothing I can see that you will ever be able to do about it.

Stay tuned for pics from the Custom Hotel.

27
Jan
08

Hottie neighbor, I never knew ye

Ah, well, gosh darn and heck. My hot little (not so little–about 6’2 actually) neighbor is moving away tomorrow, and I am bereft. I always thought I might hook up with him some day when we both had the time. But I was always roaming around the freakin’ world, hanging out on fishing boats and at casinos and in various Chinatowns in various cities…and my neighbor got bored of the South Bay, and off he goes.

I wonder what his girlfriend thinks about all of it. She used to glare at me because he said ‘hi’ when we saw each other in passing. She must seriously be Medusa-faced now that he’s ditched her for a $50K pay raise and a change of scenery.

(Girl. A tip from me. He’s 26 years old. That’s what boys that age do.)

When I first thought about sleeping with my neighbor, a wise and jaded former friend-with-benefits said, “Don’t do it. You’ll bump into each other all the time, and if either of you happens to be with a girlfriend or boyfriend at that moment, things will get super-awkward.”

This made sense to me, so I decided not to jump on my neighbor, even though it would literally have taken just one jump: right over the little iron railing and onto his balcony, where he’s always hanging out on the weekends, shirtless, with six-pack abs and dimples and a leftover buzz from the night before. He’s the jock you can’t help but like–the one that gave a damn about school and went quasi-corporate and goes on heli-skiing vacations and is as adorable in adulthood as he was growing up.

I have a weakness for those guys, I admit it. They’re so…mellow. Like Labs, kind of. Yeah, I wanted to sleep with him, but I also wanted to scratch him behind the ears and give him a biscuit. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why it never panned out.

Instead, I entertained vague but enthusiastic notions of introducing him to various girlfriends of mine. (“He’s sweet, he’s tall, he’s got a nice body, he’s an attorney…what more do you want?” I would demand of them.) And I promised him that I would come out drinking, or go to his house and engage in drinking, or that he could come to my house and there we would drink. But when all was said and done, I don’t feel like hanging out with frat boys in my spare time, and he was always in the midst of a pack of them. So…

 Au revoir, neighbor. I can’t for the life of me remember what your name is, but I’ll miss seeing your smile. And your abs. And I’ll miss bumming cigarettes off you at 1 in the morning when we’re both more drunk than we should be. Good luck in your new home…and I hope you find a new girlfriend who’s less of a jealous bitch than the old one.

Oh, and stop dying your hair black. I realize it’s your last vestige of schoolboy rebelliousness, but it’s more trouble than its worth, since your hair is only an inch long. If you really want to make a quiet counter-cultural fashion statement, pierce your nipples. That’ll get me over your balcony in 2.2 seconds flat.




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