The Other Women- The Bounty and P

A true story about one of my many nights in Los Angeles.

Well, it happened again. I was the other woman for like five minutes. Some guy, a sorta interesting guy, a guy I thought was sorta cool got my number awhile back. He’s sorta kinda well known in an underground sorta way, but I won’t say what field cause god knows he might read this and then I’ll get sued or some other crap. But cool enough to go to the Oscars. That kind of cool. But, he texted me weirdly, never trying to see me but asking me the kinds of questions a guy might ask if he were interested in you intellectually and maybe even physically, but he was involved with someone else. Not that he didn't like that someone else, just that I provided a little happiness or romantic intrigue between that someone else. Only I didn't know, because I am naive when it comes to men. The ones that tell me the truth or the ones that lie to me, all feel the same, you know? I can't tell which one is really telling the truth or really not telling the truth. Which makes me feel not quite as smart as I really should be. I know you guys think I'm smart, but if you just scroll through this junkstyle blog, you'll see that I'm not smart. In fact, I'm kind of dumb when it comes to men. It's a blindspot. Don't hate. I have that blindspot with cops and shoes as well, so you could say I’m multi-dimensional.

I guess I should consider that any guy calling, texting, writing, might be involved, but since when I am involved I don't call men unless they are established friends, I assume the same morals apply to the rest of the world. Not that I don't flirt. But, there is a certain level I don't engage on and I don't text dirty things to other guys, just nice happy things. Things about birds and my love of graveyards and whatnot. So.. today, I called the person on it and said basically you've been texting me for weeks but are weird, why so weird, you married or something? He goes, if I were married would you stop talking to me? I'm like, do you know the sex act that men do with Oysters? It's super gross--unsanitary and disgusting, but I can't really find anything about it. He goes: Yeah, I'm involved. So? I'm like so, what? I didn't get dirty, text you anything that would remotely go into the direction of a strictly sexual or emotional relationship--I just met you, dude gave you my number because I'm single now. I called him dude. Swear to Jesus. Then, I said, we'll be friends, we just won't be alone in any dark alley up against any walls or anything. He goes, why not? I'm like, you can't be serious. DUDE. P.S.---he’s still texting as I’m writing this, but in a minute he won’t be because of ATT super block.

But in the midst of this, I was reminded about the time I'm about to tell you about, a time when I was much younger and very drunk most of the time, bumping around Hollywood with crazy people who I can't even picture now. Some of those people I knew, because I drank with them and some I didn't and those were the ones that haunt my dreams. 

One night, a guy--I shouldn't say his name in case one of you can track him down. It's funny that I always use names, but I am going to tell something about this guy that is kind of sad, not embarrassing sad, but call your mother the next day and cry to her sad. This guy, we'll call him P---P drank with me at Molly Malone's and we drank there a lot. So P calls me and goes a group of us are going to Koreatown to do Kareoke, but we're hitting the Bounty first. I had just had a DUI so I said, I won't come unless you drive me. So he went for it. Picks me up with three people in the car--they are guys and girls and I can't remember what anyone looked like. Just that we went to the Bounty and the guy in the suit, not P, but the other guy, liked me and paid for all my drinks and maybe other people's drinks. I wasn't paying attention. I was wearing these sex shoes and cargo shorts that tied at the knees. Guess made the shoes, they had stillettos and tied around the ankle with tiny leather straps. F**k---wait. Going to the car to see if I still have them. Scared fuckless. OH THANK YOU LORD. They are still there. If they weren't there all would be f*****g lost right now. I was thinking of eating a mound of cotton and have that big cottony feeling in my stomach soaking up all my acid-sorrow if my w***e shoes were gone, but alas---at Goodwill last week I must have known about this post. That is why you don't donate shoes, yo.

Anyway, P and suit and me and a non-pretty girl were all drinking fast and furious. Acting out little skits right there in the middle of The Bounty---greatest bar in L.A. 'cept for the lights. Too damn bright in there. But, we were drinking so after a time we don't notice anything. I'm sitting in the booth next to a girl and P and I'm holding P's hand under the table and we are pretending to ignore each other while me and the girl make best friends. Girl gets prettier and prettier and at one point I think she has the prettiest lips and her nose is the kind of nose I’ve always wanted but then I don’t know, I just go back and forth. Then, we go to some Kareoke bar and I'm in there and we are singing and a beautiful Korean girl walks in and P goes pretend you don't know me. Not like I was with him in any real sense, but I had to pretend not to know him. She comes in things get awkward and we all decide to bail and go eat. She is staring at me like I did something horrible. It was a group of us, but I was guilty in the mind of the pretty girl. Let’s call her Cindy. That seems safe and unlikely. We are eating some fried intestines and drinking more and I can't tell you where we are only that it's like 3 am or 4 am at this point and P is sitting with the pretty girl and I am sitting next to this guy, I turn to him and I'm like, gosh you are the most cutest handsomest man I've ever seen and I start kissing him. Right in front of everybody. He was in shock, the restaurant owners had kept it open for us and they were incredulous. Who is this f*****g girl kissing our "his name here" but I don't remember his name.

This was in the days of Highland Grounds and I said. I want to see you again come meet me at Highland Grounds and we will be lovers or at least a proper non-drunk date because its dark and maybe you won't like me in the light or I'll think twice about dating you because of your Asian hair or some obnoxious thing. He laughed and then we held hands. P got pissed, but was too drunk to drive me home and I was too drunk to call a cab so he said, you can sleep here but don't say anything when you get inside. I'm like, what would I say? He brings me inside and puts me in his bed or on it or whatever and he goes off to sleep on the couch. I'm like what was up with that girl, she your girlfriend? He's like, we were or are, or on again off again. Whatever. I said, who was that Korean guy I was kissing, he's famous or something, I've seen him on the TV. P was like, yeah. yeah. yeah. That was some show, you kissing him---real class act, you are. And we fall asleep---Here's the part. The part I shouldn't tell you. I have never ever been sad about telling a thing to you no matter how low people sink, no matter what I've seen and done, no matter what my friends have seen, and been and done---I'm no judge. I'm not. But... when I woke up P's place was a disaster like the disaster in A Beautiful Mind--anyone see that movie, where the guy cracks up and has clippings everywhere? In the morning  when the light hit the place I saw whatever he didn’t want me to see--- This guy P had clippings everywhere---and I mean everywhere---up every wall on the ceiling on every surface. Clippings of cartoon strips. He was a cartoonist or something. Can't remember. Anyway, I was like, holy f*****g jesus P, you need some help. You can't live like this. The rest of the place was dirty. Like layers of dirt, like you would see on that Hoarders show. I said, sweet P, please, I'm happy to come help you sometime. I kept shaking my head and he said, you swore you wouldn't say anything. I go, I'm sorry, but Jesus man. Come on. I can help you---we're friends. I started to cry. Weeping. Please let me help you. P was PISSED and dragged me out of there and  took me home and never ever ever ever ever spoke to me again.

A short time after that one of the bartenders at Molly's took his life. His girl found him hanging from her tree in the front yard. We all met at Molly’s to celebrate his life and to kill the pain of being a human. P didn't show for that party--he never showed his face again as far as I could tell. I felt bad, I knew his secret. He looked exactly like Ralph Fiennes. A few weeks after the event, I was at Molly's and the Korean actor dude came there looking for me and he was the handsomest man I had ever seen in a long dark coat and he was tall and had shiny eyes. I pretended not to be myself. Like as in not-Lisa. Not that I didn't like him, I just didn't feel good enough for him and he saw me pretend to be not me and he smiled and shook his head and went away like I never happened. I felt ashamed, but I was too scared or something. I hope he didn’t think it was his fault. I really loved him for that one moment and no one can take that away from us. 

Author's Note

When I was little I didn't realize life would be so hard, did you? I mean I like shoes and boys and stuff, but everything seems SO HARD like an endless hardship. Then, I go to sleep and it all starts again---what do you do about that?

Reviews

[Emily Rae]

another fascinating read!
I happen to LOVE your digressions, they reveal more of who you are behind the story.

[Eagle Cruagh]

I seem to be caught up in you.
You have some style, a type of writing
that has possession of me. This is about
the third writing that holds me spellbound.
iNCREDIBLE
----- John