I’m posting this from somewhere over Nebraska. I left L.A. super early and saw the sun rise from the airport windows. I love NYC so much and always feel like I’m cheating on it whenever I say something positive about Los Angeles, but it’s moments like this when L.A. seems so full of promise that I’m actually moved. The feeling never lasts very long.
This trip was awfully quick, so I didn’t get to do too much. Here’s the highlight reel: Awesome Photographer, whom you may recall from the post below, and I continued our particular brand of sightseeing.
I’m thinking we should start a series. Just to backtrack a little, here is the segment from New Orleans:
But back to the City of Angels.
I was also introduced to what’s undoubtedly going to be my favorite summer cocktail: vodka with cut up fresh grapes and basil over ice. Delightfully delicious and refreshing, just like my friend who’s holding the drink.
I saw another friend I rarely get to see. He once sent me clippings from his lilac tree via FedEx and seeing him always makes me think of kisses.
Despite appearances to the contrary, I’m not always talking about kisses. But since I’m on a roll…..this trip was oddly marred by a flashback. A bad kiss flashback. Said incident should have just been a forgotten glitch but I’ve made it so horrific in my mind and there it’s stayed ever since.
This one time at band-camp, I had dinner with a friend of mine who, although I adored, was really just a friend of mine. What I mean, is that I had no designs. We always got along great except for one tiny incident another time earlier where he, apropos of nothing – sort of – told me how un-into me he was. This always made me feel kind of bad, especially because I wasn’t thinking that we were ever an ‘into’ thing.
During the night in question, and over the course of two bottles of wine, I suddenly got all annoyed about the slight that happened way before. And damn if I wasn’t going to prove a point. We were going to kiss if it was the last thing that happened!
He knew I was going for it and actually tried to block me. He could have been drafted as some hot-shot left tackle at that moment. He put up his hand and said rather loudly, “Go with past knowledge! You know how this is going to end up! Go with what you know!” Literally. It was basically the anti-financial statement: past performance is indeed a guarantee of future results. But I didn’t listen. At this point, it wasn’t even about him that much, it was about me not feeling bad.
So I went in for the smooch and, oh my god, he wasn’t kidding. Absolute disaster.
Afterwards, I was so embarrassed by my behavior that I could barely look at him, let alone talk and be normal. And this is someone who I loved hanging out with. (Incidentally, that’s a big statement for me since as a general rule, I hate everyone.) My extreme mortification and simultaneous annoyance that he wasn’t trying to make it better made everything worse. Then I realized that all of this weirdness made it seem like I really, really liked him, which I didn’t, and that any time I did try to address things just made it seem like I really liked him even more. Talk about a downward spiral.
The last ten minutes of that night were spent looking at my second-favorite tree in the whole United States. I kept passing that tree on this trip and I felt embarrassed all over again, every time. Plus I’m annoyed that I now feel forced to find a new second-favorite tree. And I want to call him up and tell him that. But then he’d think I still liked him.
Which I don’t. Though I wish we were friends.
See, Los Angeles, you’re not really full of promise. I ‘m glad to be home.