The Death Scene Where Paula Performs CPR

Well, hopefully it won't turn out that way. Hopefully, it won't happen on my watch.

Being at the old film lady's house is depressing the crap out of me. Today, the son, who is 60, had an appointment with a man from The Neptune Society. This "society" is not a social club at all. The salesguy came in to sell cremation services to the son. How macabre!

So, FilmLady (I guess now she has a nickname) has only one son. He's never been married. I could tell this guy is quite lonely. I could feel the air of resignation about him, like he's accepted the fact that his life has stabilized into a puddle of lonliness and solitude.

He talked to me about his reasons behind the cremation choices he made. I overheard him say to the salesguy that he didn't want to bother his half-siblings with his ashes so after dies, the Society should just spread his ashes over the sea as soon as possible. That saddened me, hearing that his half-family might not want to care about him when he passes. He even said that looking at his mother, he hopes to die when he's 73, while his mind and body are still able. What's more frightening is that I agree with him because I'm seeing his mother deteriorate before my eyes. If I'm going to go, I want to have my faculties about me too. Also, I'm sure the arrogance of my youth is speaking here when I say that with the amount of friends and cousins I have, I'm sure when I die, someone will want to take care of my ashes. But you know, anything can happen between now and when I get to be the son's age. 30 years. That's my whole life, right there. I might have lots of people who will care. Or none. I might be surrounded by by a hundred loved ones. Or, I might be resigned to a life of lonliness and solitude.

The old FilmLady's room smells like medication. After she pees, you could smell the medication in her urine long after she flushes it. I have gotten used to the smell that it doesn't make me feel nauseous anymore, just sad.

She is the same age as my grandfather yet my lolo is living a far better quality of life. Granted, he's overmedicated too but not for the same reasons as FilmLady is. She is dazed most of the time because of the pain patch and anti-dizziness pill she has to take for the cancer and the brain tumor. My lolo only needs to take his allergy, blood pressure medication, and cocktail of vitamins everyday.

I could tell she's going to die. And soon.

I am morbidly curious. I want to ask her how it feels like to be dying. I want to ask her how it feels like as the cancer eats up her lungs slowly. I want to ask her how it feels like to not remember what you ate for breakfast the day before. I want to ask her what she feels when she sees her once young arms now covered with paper-thin skin with ugly brown age-spots. I want to ask her how it feels like to see her body waste away and her memories fade. But I don't want to upset or frighten her.

On the first day I met her, she was super alert and bright. She told me about her film career, all the while calling me "honey" when she asked for water as she told the story. But she was describing her life in past tense, as if it happened to someone else. She was still alive and was talking about herself as if she was already dead! It was chilling to hear.

Here's an even more macabre thought: I'm hoping I can witness a life pass from old age before my eyes peacefully. I'm even hoping that she might describe it while it happens. But at the same time, I don't want to be within 10 miles of her when she dies. I hope I never have to perform CPR. I hope she dies during the weekend when only she and her son are at home. Why these mixed feelings of desire and repulsion? Because I'm scared.

Looking at her and looking at all the older folks around me just reminds me that all of us will die. That even I, looking not at all my age now, will one day turn wrinkly, feeble, and forgetful, if I'm (un)lucky. That scares me.

So here I am now: dancing, drinking, laughing, getting high with my friends, hugging little kids in my family, feeling the wind go through my dyed-brown hair, expressing myself in the way that makes me happiest, allowing myself to feel like shit when I get heartbroken, feeling the electic sparks of orgasms, and feeling a sense of wonder about the whole world outside my door. I feel invincible in my youth. But at the same time, when I am at the old FilmLady's house, I am feeling my mortality. I am scared of the inevitable. Perhaps the closer I get to the end, the less scared and more accepting of it I will become. I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. I'm so in-love with life and all that it throws at me I might still be scared when the lights in my brain go out for the last time. But for now...

I don't want to waste a single day.

Mix-Mix, Erotica Piece

I'm plugging away at the erotica piece and I was fortunate to get another email extending the deadline for it! Whee! I have 3 extra days to work on it!

I just realized that in one of my contacts was another gay man that could help me out. He used to work with me at Public Storage. He's still there, btw.

He and I talked for about a half hour about some places in San Francisco such as the "Midnight Scum". Trust me, I didn't know about that particular nomenclature for this one bar... He also volunteered to edit the piece for accuracy and to a smaller extent, grammar. I was so happy!

Mix-Mix
Tonight was the Filipino Mixer/Meeting I attend every month. I met quite a few interesting people there and some old friends. I just found out tonight that I wasn't the only traveling fool Filipina who went throughout South America. The guy is a DJ too, in Hollywood. He bought a copy of the anthology from me! Yay! So, his copy is not only autographed, but it has my email address on it too. Needless to say, if I needed to go to Gotham or The Arena on a Thursday or Friday, all I gotta do is email him and I will be in the guestlist.

I always enjoy these mixers. I got to plug the two readings I will be doing in July. People also know I will be vending at the Filipino Farmers Market all day Saturday.

This is a short entry because I want to get to writing the erotica piece again.

Well, I'll be honest. I haven't been doing as much writing as I want to because a young man has been occupying my time.

His name is Harry Potter and his buddies from the Order of the Phoenix. ;)

Another Life Lesson, Castro Night, Feijoada

I learned a ton of life lessons this June. The Dave fiasco taught me two in one shot:

Life Lesson 30: Slow and steady wins the race.
Life Lesson 121: Guys have baggage too.

Here's another one to add to the list:

Life Lesson 6: Do not cut off the CHP (California Highway Patrol) car.

I wonder how much my speeding ticket is going to be? The guy was kind enough to nail me for the slowest speed I was going on the 5 North (before Gilroy) which was a whopping 88 MPH on a road marked 70.

I'm a hellion on the road, I really am. With the way I drive normally, I'm amazed I don't get more speeding tickets. BTW, this is only the second ticket I got in my whole, entire life.

Castro Night With Asian Latinos
Because I got the speeding ticket, I didn't get to Walt's house Friday night until 12:30 AM. I would've been there sooner if I didn't stop to get myself a ticket.

While on the 680, Walt called to tell me that he left the key out for me and to just let myself in.

I got there, found the key, and quietly slipped in.

I went to bed around 1:30 AM, just in time to let my body calm down from the high of driving for almost 6 straight hours.

The next day, I woke up around 9:00 AM. It was so nice to actually get around 8 hours of sleep. Friday night was the second day in a row that I had gotten a full night's sleep. In fact, I don't remember the last time I went to bed before 3 AM on a Friday night.

We spent most of the day finding ingredients for the feijoada I was going to make the next day. But we were missing a key utensil: a pressure cooker. So, we went to the Costco in Vallejo hoping to find it. We didn't. But I found a whole pallet of the new Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix out by the entrance. We bought nothing else in the store, after sampling food for a few minutes, but the Harry Potter tome. Walt made a comment that everyone in the checkout line had a Harry Potter book.

We hit a couple of other stores to no avail. Then we decided to get the wet ingredients. We drove to the Mexican grocery store in another part of Vallejo to pick up some bay leaves, smoked (block) ham, tripe, and pig's feet. Yes, pig's feet. The recipe I was following came from watching Bruno make a batch while I was at his dad's house in Copacabana.

Click for the Feijoada recipe from Cooking.com: Feijoada

As a last ditch effort, we went to a tiny Filipino grocery store. I started pointing out that the word for bay leaves in Filipino is also laurel. Calabasa (squash) is spelled with a K and so is camote (yams). Sili is the Filipino word for chiles. He shook his head. The similarities are not only in food but in tons others...

Filipinos are Asian Latinos. Sadly, most Filipinos don't know it because they don't go to Latin America.

That night, we didn't go to dinner at Limon because we couldn't get a reservation!!! I was sooo bummed! However, we went to Mecca instead and I learned to make this great non-alcoholic drink with spearmint in it. How fortuitous for me that spearmint grows wild in Walt's backyard! ;) We tried the ceviche there. Yup, Limon still makes the best ceviche in the whole city...

Then we went to a video bar in the Castro. I walked in and was only one of two real women there. We saw a mulher (our word for cross-dresser) who looked just fabulous from behind with her blond wig and tall, thin, legs in Mecca but her face! Oh GOD! She was a butter-face!

We saw another one on our way back from the video bar (by the end of the night, I was only one of three women in the whole bar) who needed a 5-gallon tub of wax for her chest hair too. She even started flirting with Walt telling him if he was hungry, she'd give him some! We shivered. Oh! Muchas feas!

We then called it a night.

Cooking Feijoada
The next day, we started doing some real work while we gobbled down some tosilog (tocino, rice, and egg) breakfast from the nearby Jollibee (a Filipino fast food chain) that Kent brought home to us. Again, Walt got a pleasant surprise about the way the rice was made.

"Oh God! Rice with garlic. How very Hispanic!"

"But sinangag (rice w/ garlic) is the traditional breakfast rice in the Philippines!"

He shook his head yet again.

Walt was copying from my pitacora (travel journal) and I was writing the outline for the novel. Yes! Real work was being done!

Then I had to make feijoada. Mind you, I don't remember the last time I used a pressure cooker by myself. I'm amazed the thing didn't blow up. Oh yeah, in my sleep, Kent went out and got one at the Wal-Mart.

I even made a batch of caipirinha.

All in all it was good. I got work done. He got work done. I gave him soft-copies of all my poems and the surviving short stories I have in his computer. I revised the spreadsheet of my submitted work. I mean, he and I went in complete writer/lit.manager mode.

Then I started the long drive back home. On the 780>680>580>5 alone.

Alone Again, Naturally
I don't mind driving alone at all. Long drives are Heaven for me. It's like therapy. While I drive and see scenery, I think, listen to music, and enjoy the feel of wheels turning under me. A good, long drive or trip somewhere always renews my spirit. It helps me more than a night of dancing or schmoozing with Alex and Ryan and all of my other friends. I just know that the call of the road just overwhelms me sometimes, enough to leave my family and friends behind. I guess it's the only time I have to be alone with my thoughts. I wonder if my own father went by the same call of the road? I have 95% of the guy's genes, except for my gender, so I'm sure he had wandering feet too...

I know for a fact that I only seldom feel a sense of wonder when I go into clubs and other places where tons of young people congregate. Sure, there's energy there but the road and traveling? Oh! That right there is 100% renewal of my sense of wonder. Nothing beats it.

This is why when I'm feeling blue, the best thing for me to do is to take a hike or take a drive. Leave. Escape. When I come back, I'll have a fresh perspective and my spirit would've been lifted extensively.

I got back to L.A (driving 80 on cruise control the whole way) at around 1:00 AM.

San Francisco Reloaded, This Little Old Lady

It's Friday and I should be getting ready to run errands like get my oil changed and whatnot but I'm here typing. I should be packing up an overnight bag for my little trip to San Francisco today but I'm not. I will in a second. Let me post my thoughts first.

I am currently buzzing on Cafe Pilão and ideas are flowing into me and coming out sounding so wonderfully exciting. I have to admit, being on caffeine and thinking writer thoughts are akin to sexual desire. It's so overwhelming to me that I lose myself in the excitement of creativity.

Well, Walt and I have to write the erotica piece to submit to Joel. I have a week and a half to do it plus his and Joel's edits. Needless to say, I'll be reading, eating, sleeping, dreaming, and perhaps even masturbating gay erotica for the next few days.

I threw in another bone for Walt to chew on: scriptwriting. I threw that bone to Chris too but these guys will kick my ass and demand that I focus because I'm all over the place now.

Priority 1: Gay erotica piece.
Priority 2: Travel novel outline.
Priority 3: Job hunting.
Priority 4: 2 pieces for Mondo Marcos (deadline September)
Priority 5: Personal essay to perhaps send to Filipinas Magazine sometime this year.

So, I need to get my ass in gear to San Francisco so my editor and literary manager and I can talk. Well, not before we hit The Castro nightlife tonight... ;)

This Little Old Lady
I normally don't talk about the little old ladies that I help out during the day. I mean, it's a shit job but it gives me some pocket-change and time to write when they nap. Most of the little old ladies I help completely come from a different time and place. They all have money (their secret is rental property) though.

But this particular old lady is different. She will not get well. She might even die on me or during my watch.

She has lung cancer from over 40 years of smoking, some kind of brain tumor that is getting in the way of her balance and memory, but she's a firecracker, this one.

She curses like a sailor. She's more politically left than I am. She's creative as fuck. She was one of the old time film and music editors. She's so cool, she worked on the music editing for Marilyn Monroe's Some Like It Hot.

When I told her I was a writer (literary) and I wanted to get into scriptwriting, she told me they were two completely different animals. I knew that though. But she recommended that I take scriptwriting classes at UCLA extension. As an added bonus, since she reviews films for Academy Award consideration/nominations every year, she gets films and scripts sent to her complimentary.

She told me I can have as many scripts as I want laying about.

I took the script for The Pianist, Chicago, and Adaptation (best adapted screenplay of 2002) home with me lickety-split.

She's great but she's dying. She has so many tales to tell me. She told me one about Sylvester Stallone already. Now I know some stuff about Sly Stallone in the same way I know stuff about Lenny Kravitz. I would've loved to pick her brain more.

It's a shame, really.

So let me go and pack... I will post during the weekend.

Freakin' Cariocas! (Residents of Rio)

Original MSNBC article: http://www.msnbc.com/news/928767.asp?cp1=1

Friendliest city in the world named
And the winner is ... Brazil’s Rio de Janeiro

LONDON, June 19 — It’s crowded and dangerous but Rio de Janeiro is the friendliest city in the world, followed by San Jose in Costa Rica and Madrid, according to a new study. Residents in Kuala Lumpur, New York, Singapore and Amsterdam are the least likely to help strangers in need, which made theirs the least friendly cities in a survey of 23 countries.

“IT ALL COMES DOWN to simpatico, a Brazilian word that describes a person who possesses certain qualities such as friendliness and openness,” New Scientist said.
According to a six-year study by Robert Levine of California State University at Fresno and a group of social psychologists, Brazilians have simpatico in spades which is why Rio topped their list.
When the researchers conducted tests of the willingness of residents to help strangers, they found that Latin American cities, where social relationships are highly valued, came out on top.
Many of the poorest and least stable cities were the friendliest while people in overcrowded, fast paced ones were less likely to help strangers.
“This suggests environment has a greater influence than ethnicity or cultural background,” the magazine said.
The findings also support the “stimulus overload” theory of social psychologist Stanley Milgram in the 1970s who suggested that people in crowded environments cope by ignoring emergency situations and depersonalizing strangers, it added.

Let's travel down memory lane, shall we?

During my second visit to Rio, while my palanca Bruno and I were hand-in-hand walking on the black and white tiled streets of his city, enjoying the foreign smell thick with humidity, I asked him what made him like me when he first met me. No, not like me in a sexual way since he had a girlfriend then, but like me as a person he can party and have fun with. He replied that I had simpatico. I made an assumption, since I knew what simpatico meant in Spanish, that the translation was exact.

Well, Portuguese is a language that's a cousin to Spanish BUT there are many words in Portuguese that are "false friends" with Spanish. In short, the words may be the same but the meanings are not, in some cases, they are opposite.

This was why when we finally sat down, after walking hand in hand, to have a little cafezinho, he was at a loss with words in trying to explain specifically what simpatico was. He just told me that it was a Brazilian thing...

So I guess, despite the heartache I endured before returning to Rio, I had with me a little Brazilian simpatico.

I hope I hadn't lost it now that I'm back. I know it's faded a little bit because of folks like Dave and Chris but I hope... I hope...

Simpatico rocks! :)

Public Storage Reloaded, Penis Sizes, Good Advice From An Unlikely Source

Public Storage Reloaded
Oh! I wanted to tell everyone that the stress level in La Casa Filipina (my home) has gone down considerably. Friday night, I borrowed a monitor from Ryan and on Saturday, I set the old tower up. Now, I barely speak with my sister again! Whee! Peace reigns over the land again!

Monday. I had a lunch date with Nitin and one of his buddies from PS MIS who will be going down to Brazil for two weeks for 4th of July. (Green with envy.) We went to our local Burbank mall and ate there, all the while I was dishing out palanca-type info to this real cool geek (who I think deep down inside, since he's a surfer, is not). I told him the swanky address is Ipanema but the bulk of the hotels are on Avenida Atlantica in Copacabana. Marius' is a great seafood and meat churrasscaria and never go to Help Discoteca.

Then after lunch, Nitin and I roamed the halls of Public Storage, I the obvious intruder, and went to the Call Center hiring offices. We ran into the main hiring man, John. Nitin and him are friends.

We talked. The guys around us who were listening in on our conversation laughed when we said something witty about women and clubbing.

I told John that I used to work "upstairs", meaning where the corporate crap is being done. In Marketing. With "my old boss". He sorta rolled his eyes. ;) I told him I quit because I'm a writer and the opportunity to travel came about and I grabbed it by the horns.

"Good, there's tons of actors, writers, dancers, musicians, and all sorts of artists at the Call Center. You'd fit right in." John said.

"Any scriptwriters?"

"One. In fact, he quit two weeks ago because he got a job at Fox's Green Room Project or something or other." He replied.

"That's awesome! Good for him!"

But no, they don't have to worry about me because I don't write scripts.

After I left PS, I then called Rob to let him know I'm turning in an application "downstairs" and that he should put in a good word for me.

"Remember JP?" Rob asked.

"Yes."

"I have lunch with him once a week. He's away this week on family business but he'll be back next week. I'll talk with him. He'll hire you. He knows you, I bet." Rob added.

"Dude, I would really appreciate it. I mean, it's going to be funny working at PS again but you know, it'll pay for the bills until I leave for Rio next year." I explained.

"It's all good. I'll put in a good word for you. Heck, all of us here would."

Then I thought about my old boss and how I know for a fact that asshole will not say nice things about me and the lights in his office.

Whatever, dude. I can always dream of slapping him with the tome of an anthology I recently got published in. I'm sure nothing he's ever written ended up being called literature in his whole, entire, social-climbing life.

A Discussion With A Gay Man About Penis Sizes
Speaking of not writing scripts, I enjoy writing the conversations me and Walt have about all sorts of crap. So as much as possible, I think I'm going to write dialog in my entries... So here's one we had one day about penis sizes.

CAVEAT: I'm not going to mention any names because I know for a fact that insulting a man's penis size and sexual performance is the worst thing one could do. Just pick any random month, day, or year for when this conversation happened...

FADE IN:
EXT. DAYTIME, LOS ANGELES CITY STREETS.

SPLIT SCREEN. PAULA is driving in her car on her cell phone talking with WALT who is sitting at home in VALLEJO, CA.

PAULA
Dude, I'm totally disappointed about the sex I've been getting lately.

WALT
I'm sorry he isn't doing the job for you.

PAULA
You know, I have a theory about penis sizes. He was pretty tall and I was surprised that his dick was small for his height.

WALT
Height is not an indicator.

PAULA
No shit! I used to use thumb size and shape before and that didn't work. I used to think shoe size was an indicator. You know, the bigger the feet, the larger it was. But that's not true either. What do you guys use?

WALT
Oh! We look at the middle finger to see if it's long and thick and we make assumptions. Sometimes the nose. If it's big and broad, it should be big and broad down there too.

PAULA
And? What else?

WALT
Yeah but those theories don't work out either. The only way you find out is when it's too late and you're like, 'Oh...' (sounding very, very disappointed)

PAULA
(throws up her head and laughs uncontrollably)
Oh shit! Oh my God! You're so right! Hey, what's the average anyway? I mean, the average that you've seen?

WALT
Well, I heard about an American study that said the average was four and a half inches.

PAULA
Four and a half inches?! (incredulous) That's a freakin' roll of quarters! I have never seen anything that size before! I must've been lucky all this time! But really, I don't care about the average according to the study. How about what you've seen? The smallest I've seen was between 5 and 5 and a half inches.

WALT
Same with me. Wait a minute, but aren't girls unconcerned about penis sizes? I thought girls didn't care about 'the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean'?

PAULA
Well, yes and no. Any guy can get the G-spot since it's only 3 or 4 inches in but technique counts too. I mean, (this guy in question) may be small for his height but his tongue can compensate.

WALT
So it's a combination of both for you girls.

PAULA
Yes but let's get back to penis sizes. (Some other guy) was six and a half and with a 1.75 inch diameter. (PAULA makes an 'O' with her thumb and forefinger and nods happily.) He had good technique too. That was nice!

WALT
You measure in diameter? You don't measure in circumference? Because 5 inches is a good circumference.

PAULA
Oh, I'm terrible at math. I can only measure in diameter.

WALT
Yeah, 5.5 is common in lenght. You know, guys are very visual creatures and they think bigger is better.

PAULA
Guys are. Wow. They're visual even in the gay community. Straight guys? They think bigger tits are better, tall, thin, and blonde is better, etcetera, etcetera...

WALT
Well, both you and I know this: you can make assumptions all you want using noses or thumbs or shoe sizes but there's only one way to find out. And when you do find out, it's too late!

PAULA
You know it! Oh well, I'll continue on with my research and theories. I'll let you know the results.

WALT
Good luck!

END SCENE

Good Advice From An Unlikely Source
Yesterday morning, I was having an AOL AIM discussion with Alfie about how Dave disctracted me from writing. I told her the last time I wrote anything novel-related was right before I met Dave. The timing was uncanny. I meet Dave. Drama ensues. I stop writing.

Alfie rocks. She's such a beautiful person inside and outside. She is definitely a spiritual/creative sister.

She was telling me that I need to refocus, find my center, think about ME again in a spiritual and creative sense and write from my heart/soul/mind/spirit. She told me I have a lot of power and talent and I should cultivate it.

She totally rocks. She has tons of power and talent herself. :)

But anyway, I got the same speech from an unlikely source too, a source less soothing but as equally effective: Chris.

Lately, he has been calling me or emailing me to touch base. Since he's moved to Redlandtucky and I resumed my party-girl lifestyle, he and I haven't touched base at all. Besides, we had a fall-out a few months ago but we had been slowly communicating again despite some wariness on my part.

It seems time and distance really does give perspective on relationships with people. I truly enjoy talking with him about the writing process and despite the fact that he is a hard-ass about editing stuff, he was good in encouraging me to write. I miss the times when he and I used to talk about writer's writing styles, our contest on who can use big-sounding words grammatically, his persistence and insistence that I produce quality writing, etc... However, I keep on also remembering some bad times when he and I used to literally fight over certain aspects of specific pieces and his pig-headedness about my writing about certain things that should be kept private. He shivers when he sees that there are indeed no holds barred on the stuff I write. He can be a control-freak too which is something remiscent of my Psycho Ex-Husband. I know I can tell him almost anything. Perhaps not in the same caliber of honesty as I would talk with Mike or Ryan or even Walt, but honesty nevertheless.

But you know something? Being honest to your editor is crucial in a writing relationship.

He told me straight out that he was going to give me very harsh criticism. I told him to bring it on and I'm not even going to brace myself for the impact.

"You have been living this party girl lifestyle and I haven't read anything of quality from you in weeks. In 10 pages, I found one paragraph of good descriptive prose, which is the thing you're expert on I might add, and one paragraph about existentialism and even you insult me over that. I mean, you made me look back into my four dictionaries lying around to see if I was losing my mind that you are mocking me about misunderstanding the concept of existentialism. But I was right. What was that all about? I know what I'm talking about and you mock me? Will I now be looking up things like "door" or "window" or something?" Chris said.

"That was a joke. Irony. Cynicism. You know, I love that stuff, you know?" I replied.

"Well, that messed me up for a little bit there." Chris sighed.

But that talk with him was just another reminder of what Alfie said to me: Paula, you must focus. Chris also reminded me that I have a lot of talent but I don't have discipline.

Ouch. But he's right.

Then while I lay in bed before sleeping, I realized something: Having Walt as my Literary Manager is fine and dandy but I do need someone to kick my ass ever so often here in Los Angeles. So I am breaking down people's roles: Walt will be my Literary Manager and editor. Chris will be my L.A editor but he will not have any say on the events I go to or how I spend my time. He will try to, no doubt about it, but no. I will stand my ground about attending book readings/open mics/my friends' events.

Here's another thing...

When I was working with him, I produced a chapbook with 7 or so poems with one complete short story piece. This short story piece was rewritten to turn out to be a completely different piece. Then, he was helping me out to write the piece that went on FPAC's Literary Magazine last year. I have to admit, I was very productive working with him even if he did drive me up the wall.

So...

I owe him and Walt the outline of the novel. I owe both my editors a shitload of stuff.

I better get cracking at 'em.

Stereotypical Friday The 13th

Today is the 14th and I'm feeling like shit. Last night, we had snafu after snafu going out with Ryan, Alex, and Nitin. Actually, in the end, only four of us made it to the leather club. To make matters worth, we found out the club was closed.

Posting Signs On Club Doors Using Gum
While attempting to take a nap on the couch before we left for the club, thoughts were zipping in my mind about whether I was going to see or even talk with Dave Friday night... Then one thought shone through like a ray of light though the fog: he will not show up.

I was right.

We went to the leather club, I dolled up in much leather as I can muster, and saw it was closed. So all four of us regrouped and tried to find out where to take the party. Alex wrote a note on a sheet of paper and posted it on the door with the piece of gum Ryan was chewing. Before we left the place, we changed the venue twice. We told people to call us if they needed any directions. I left messages in the answering machines of Mike and Dave in the event they were checking it for updates. But no one called us by the time we went to this one 80s club on Santa Monica and Vine.

I wore those boots I bought in Argentina and because I never wore them before, it was actually painful to be in them. Dancing was torture. As Nitin would say, "Anything beautiful is always a pain in the ass."

In the meantime, I was beating myself up for Dave not calling me. So here I was, prematurely sleeping with him and then he doesn't call me for a week. What am I supposed to think? While I nursed a Shirley Temple that I had to teach the novice bartender how to make for me (therefore I got it for free), I felt like the most used, rattiest piece of dishcloth ever utilized by some guy and then cast on the wayside.

I know. I know. It's his fault for not calling me. But I will own up to the reponsibility that I too allowed things between him and me to go too fast, too soon.

At the dance floor of this 80s club, I was seeing that Ryan and Alex were indeed lovers. They kissed. They touched. The connection they had was palpable.

I was very, very envious. I wish I had what they had. I thought I had what they had.

I danced but I broke off one of my heels and I had to stop. A while later, at the bar, I saw this one guy who looked glum and I thought he was cute. Alex and I walked up to him and started to talk to him and later found out that he was nasty instead.

I walked away.

It was pretty much near the end of the night when I asked Nitin if he can help me walk up to my car especially with my broken heel. Besides, I volunteered to take him to his car that was parked near the closed club we went to earlier that night. We talked and I just realized that he really is indeed a friend with a pure heart.

Writing A Test Matrix For A Software Program Only In My Head
The night before we left the club, we all decided to go to the leather club on Saturday night instead. But when I woke up the next morning feeling physically exhausted and emotionally spent because of feeling like a dishcloth, I called Walt instead.

SPLIT SCREEN. 10:30 AM. Paula is under the covers cradling a cordless phone. Walt is on the other line as tears stream down her face and her voice is shaky.

ME
Walt, what am I going to do? He hasn't called me since last week and I feel used. Like a ratty dishcloth.

WALT
Forget about him and find another one to ease the pain caused by this one!

ME
I was trying to do that but the guy I was trying to pick up last night ended up being nasty. I quit. How often does this happen in the gay community?

WALT
Oh my God, more often!

ME
What do you guys do?

WALT
Like what I told you. Find another one. There's a lot of peixes (fish[plural]in Portuguese) in the sea!

ME
(laughing while wiping tears streaming down her face)
Oh my God, you're right! There's muito peixes (more fish) in the sea!
(voice lowers and turns pensive)
But you know something, because I feel like I was used like a dishcloth here, I feel guarded, reserved, and reclusive now. I thought I had shed all that when I traveled and become a more open, trusting, and genuine person. Being myself back here in the States, I'm screwed. Being reserved, I'm screwed. Where's the common ground?

WALT
Don't feel like that! You need to go back to Brazil again and feel open and friendly again.

ME
I'd like to think that I was able to take that back to the States. I guess I have to go back to American mode. I guess I have to go back to Los Angeles mode. I hate this city and the people here.

WALT
Are you going to start playing mind games now?

ME
(sighs)
No. That takes too much effort and it's not worth it.

Walt then asks me to drive to San Francisco next weekend to cleanse my palate from this cruel city of Los Angeles. I said yes but I may or may not do it because my car is not travel-worthy anymore. I hung up the phone still feeling blue and a lot less hopeful about the city I live in.

So I called Mike and we talked on the phone. I decided to drive down to West Hollywood and I did what I normally do at his place: I cried.

Mike is so used to the routine of my going to his house and crying after some sort of emotional turmoil or breakup, he has a box of tissues waiting for me and ice cream in the freezer. Every time, I never touch the ice cream. When I'm depressed, I lose my appetite.

When I got to his place, we talked about how I feel like my instincts betrayed me. I Friend-Dar™'ed Dave at Friend-Dar Lite™. Then I jumped into geek mode and in order to make method out of the madness, he and I talked about Friend-Dar™ as if it was a software program you can test.

This is what we came up with. Friend-Dar™ has three versions: Friend-Dar Pro™, Friend-Dar™, and Friend-Dar Lite™. Pro is when the instinct is strongest, regular is when the instinct is of medium intensity, and Lite is when the feeling is a "tickle."

We came up with 18 test cases for all three versions of the software.

As ridiculous as it may sound, we made the test matrix and have placed people based on how they rated on the versions of Friend-Dar™. Year after year, along with trying to track my "Things To Do Before I Die", I will now be tracking where they are in the Friend-Dar™ scale.

I think I am losing my mind. No, I think in my emotional distress and self-doubt, I am now constructing metrics for something that can't be measured: friendship.

I know it's crazy but doing this makes me feel better.

Then Dave called my cell while I was filling out the test matrix. We talked. I was honest with the stuff I felt. He was. He admitted that not calling me sooner was not a nice thing to do. I admitted I felt strange after our encounter. It was nice to talk to him but obviously the magic is gone. It was a fragile thing and it seems that we just wrecked it because it was too roughly, agressively, and hastily handled.

You live and learn.

Ryan and His Girls - More Sordid Talk

Last night, I finally went out to see Ryan and Alex. But before that happened, I was watching The Pianist on DVD with my mom. Ryan said to be at his house by 8:00 PM. I didn't get there until 8:45 because I was watching the movie.

Alex and I were parking on the same Glendale street at the same time. We just walked to Ryan's house together.

During the car ride, Alex gleaned from Ryan about the very female type conversation we had the night before. Of course, in typical female fashion, Alex and I expanded on it.

We talked about how you can manipulate your period schedule when you're on the pill. We talked about the different ways we orgasm in graphic detail. We talked about the proper way of giving blowjobs and this one particular website that shows directions on how to give cunnilingus.

As the conversation became more NC-17 by the second, the music in the car got louder and louder and louder... Ryan was very much trying to tune us out.

We got to The Killer Good Martini Bar in Hollywood and I ordered a yummy, and very potent, apple martini.

We talked some more. Then Ryan's friend from Pittsburgh came.

He's okay. Dark hair. Blue eyes. No shiver ran up my spine to indicate he was "bolted" by my Friend-Dar™. However, when I first met Dave, I had a little "tickle" up my spine which is Friend-Dar Lite™.

On the way home, we decided what to do tonight, Friday: We will meet at this S+M bar somewhere in Hollywood. Alex has all the details. So, she will either call or email me today while I'm taking care of the Old Lady in Bel Air for the last time.

We decided on our outfits: Black leather.

She has a catsuit that she wants to wear. I have my black, fuck-me, stilleto-heeled, pencil-toed, leather knee-high boots I bought in Buenos Aires. I will try to pair that with my short black skirt and I guess I need to buy a shiny silver top to accentuate the silver in my boots.

The theme for tonight, with the girls at least, is LEATHER.

Oh yeah, while coming home, Ryan gave me an autographed copy of his book of poetry to give to Bruno, my Brazilian palanca. He also let me borrow his old computer monitor before my sis and I come to blows like yesterday, almost.

I came home at 1:40-ish AM. Buzzed and anticipating tonight's activities. It should be fun.

Paula's Life - Scripted (Wednesday, June 11)

My Child, Don't Do Drugs
I have to admit something kinda hilarious. My mom found out that I was dropping E and smoking pot so she gave me the "Don't do drugs" speech over the weekend, ironically, while I was crashing on the E I took with Dave the night before. I haven't dropped E since March. It made me laugh the whole time because it's not as if I was smoking stuff or dropping everyday. I have a feeling my sis overheard me talking to one of my friends and in typical sis mode, she tattled.

My mom then started to tell me that my dad used to do the same thing, with the pot smoking, when he was around his artist/writer friends back in the early 70s.

ME:
(secretly)
You go, dad!

MY MOM:
(exasperated)
Ay! History is repeating itself!

I can't drop or smoke out often. It's expensive, dammit! Not only that, I only do it in the company of my friends, or of those I know I will have sex with...

Now that I got that out of my system... (ironic sub-entry ahead)

Level Plane
I keep two journals. My Rated-G, family-friendly version (this version) is the version my friends and family read. Sometimes, that stuff is edited for content that would freak the shit out them, like the drug use and the sex and whatever else. Ryan reads that journal.

He was bummed when he realized that I was editing. He said to just fuck it all and just write/journal as it is. So I decided to heed his advice. Besides, since my sis tattled, I'm sure Katherine knows I'm a "big drughead" now. But then again, she knew I was a big drughead and slut-ho before so what's stopping me again?

Nothing.

My closest friends know all this. Heck, they were witness to it as it happened!

My "wildness" right now is just the appetizer to the insane other drama happening in my family.

(The other drama is waaay too wacked to post here.)

Sometimes, when I see some of my older family members, I wonder if they're really happy with their lives. Many of them just do stuff because: a)they're told to, b)it's their duty, c)it's practical. What about d)it makes me happy?

Some of my aunts and uncles should be divorced but they're not. Some are unhappy but are complacent. Some have just become downright complacent because they don't know of any other life.

I was sooo close to that when I was married. The nail on the coffin would've been a kid since I got the house with the white picket fence and the (unhappy)career thing going on.

But I left and now I'm an unemployed emerging writer who travels while living with my mother.

I love my life right now. This was the life I was dreaming of when I sat behind the computer doing technical writing stuff before I had to go home and make dinner for my husband years ago. Sure, I'm broke. But I'm expressing myself more than ever. I can actually call myself a writer and not think of myself as a fraud. In the last three years, I've seen 13 countries. I have the most loving, supportive, nutcases for friends right now and I love them all and they love me back.

This is my level plane.

American Guys
Yesterday, I was frantic and begged for Ryan after Ryan sent me that email. I actually had to give Mike my email address password so he can go into my account to email Ryan. Then, Ryan called me on my cell. I was helping out the old lady in Bel Air, hence the lack of internet.

Ryan assured me that Dave is just doing the American Guy thing of giving himself time and space to sort his feelings/stuff with me. It's normal. Here's the sorta-kinda paraphrased conversation.

SPLIT SCREEN. Paula sitting on a lawn chair on the backyard of a Bel Air home, trees and hills in the background. Ryan, sitting at his desk at a large cube in his office.

ME:
But us American girls want to communicate and see if everything is okay!

RYAN:
But us American guys would rather see you over the weekend instead of talking vapidity on the phone over what you girls consider "communicating".

ME:
But us American girls want to know anyway! I noticed he's terrible at calling. He's a non-caller. However, he did say he wanted to find out what the deal is for the weekend and he might see me there.

RYAN:
Good! That means he might see you there. Now, I don't want to plant a seed and all...

ME:
What seed?

RYAN:
Oh shit.

ME:
What seed!?

RYAN:
Well, it's only Wednesday. See if he emails or calls you by Friday to let you know what he wants to do to see you. You got time. If he doesn't... Well, he better have a good excuse like he was out of town all weekend.

ME
(Panicked, whiny mode)

RYAN
(trying to salvage the moment by putting on a soothing tone of voice)
Well, we'll need to plan what to do over the weekend since my best friend from Pittsburgh will be in town. Wanna go out to dinner with us tomorrow night? Then we iron out plans so you can tell Dave? It's going to be at (This ultra-killer-good martini bar in Hollywood.).

ME:
(composes herself)
Whoohoo! Apple martini! Okay.

Baseball
Last night, after I got home from taking care of the old lady, I was flipping channels. I stopped on Fox SportsNet. The Angels were playing against the Phillies.

Then I realized I never saw a real-live baseball game in the 17 years I've been in this country.

Heck, I've never seen a real live game of any sort since being in this country.

Watdafuq!

I called Ryan. Poor guy.

I told him that me, him, and Alex should all do a baseball afternoon. He then started to laugh. (Another paraphrased conversation.)

SPLIT SCREEN. Paula lounging on her couch. Ryan lounging on his couch. Both holding a T.V remote control. Both watching Fox SportsNet.

RYAN:
God! It's bad enough that I have to explain to this German girl the concept of the knock-knock joke. Now I have to explain baseball while drunk.

ME:
Screw it. Just make shit up.

RYAN:
Wait. Can't this wait until we go out to dinner tomorrow night?

ME:
No. I'm a girl and I just have to tell you this now since it's knawing at my insides.

RYAN:
Gawd! Now I have six of you girls doing this to me.

ME:
You do? Consider it an honor that you have inside information on the female psyche.

RYAN:
No it's not. I envy the guys who don't have this problem of six girls calling him "just to talk."

ME:
You know, I'm like this for other purposes too. I'm hormonal right now because I'm on my period.

RYAN:
God! I didn't need to know that! Now I know there's three of you girls with your period right now.

ME:
Really? You know when girls live together, they get their periods at the same time. Who's on their period now?

RYAN:
You, Alex, and Brooke. God this is too much! Back to baseball.

ME:
Okay. Coolness! We'll buy some cheap seats and we'll go to the ball game and get drunk. Or you guys will.

RYAN:
Great! We can take Dave. He goes to the ballgame all the time.

ME:
Whee! We're going to be participating in a piece of Americana over the summer! I can't wait!

RYAN:
Okay, we'll have dinner tomorrow and plan out the weekend and this baseball thing.

It's going to be an interesting summer.

Panicked with a Fag Hag and Chris - Tuesday, June 10

Okay, I'm starting to have a bad week and I look very, very calm for someone freaking out on the inside.

A List of Panic Reasons
Panic Reason Number 1: The old lady I'm helping out said today that she will probably not need me anymore starting next week. I'm broke now. I mean, REALLY broke. I almost sorta kinda forgot about my secret stash-o-cash but that was my Plan Z. I'm afraid I might have to tap into it if my job situation doesn't change by the end of the month.

Panic Reason Number 2: I still haven't gotten that second interview and (circle back to Panic Reason Number 1).

Panic Reason Number 3: Dave hasn't called me since he cancelled on me on Saturday. I'm beginning to feel rather foolish for my actions over the weekend and nervous. If he's going to dump me, just do it now and not make me wait, please....

Amirah is a Fag Hag
Today was Amirah's graduation from one of our local community colleges. She now has an Associates Degree. Then, she will transfer to CSUN. After the graduation ceremony, I got a call from Katherine that the dinner will be in L.A Chinatown. Knowing the restaurant we were going to go to, I knew we were going to have duck.

Okay, am I foolish for doing this? But I left a message on Dave's machine because we had an inside joke about ducks the last time I saw him. He told me that there was a slaughterhouse near where he lived where they killed ducks. So I called him and said that since I was going to Chinatown (about a mile or so away from his house), I will be having duck. If he wanted to call back, he can.

He didn't.

I noticed that this guy is terrible at making phonecalls. Hell, sometimes even Ryan surprises me with a phonecall or so every few days but Dave? Hell! I was messing around with him (and more) the last time I saw him and I'm not even getting a phonecall. Am I acting like a psycho girl here? God, I think I am...

Anyhoo, I totally digressed.

At the restaurant, I saw my extensive Filipino familia and three strangers. Amirah had three guys with her at the dinner tables! (Tables!!! That's how big our group was!). Amirah has a diary at FreeOpenDiary and I read it occassionally. It was nice to finally put names to faces. Two were Mexican-American and one was a regular young white guy. She talked about these guys all the time because they always hung out. They've been friends for years now, from work. They're all in and around the same age. In fact, she and a couple of other girls and the three guys went to Vegas for a few days around Mother's Day.

Well, I can see why my conservative aunt and uncle don't mind having Amirah sleep over those guys' pads.

They're gay. All three of them.

Amirah is so cosmopolitan, it kills me. She writes. She goes to book readings. She parties. She travels with friends. She's also a fag hag.

*sigh* I'm so proud of her!

I started talking about my Latin America trip to them and how I had a blast learning about the culture(s) down there PLUS a sneak peek into Latino gay culture. Now they want to know the fun places to go to down there if they do decide to do Latin America.

Hey Baby
While I was driving home from Bel Air, I was thinking about Chris. I was thinking that I hope this woman he's shacked up with knows that he's only playing house-husband to get some poonani and (almost-)free lodging.

Guess who calls while I was driving up the 405?

You guessed it. The devil himself: Chris.

He said he printed out 10 pages of my other journal. (This journal now that it's uncensored.) He said even in (this) journal he could see my descriptive prose talent shining through. He even commented on an entry I wrote there, a Rated G version of what I wrote here. His exact words were, "This, my friend, is existentialism."

Whatever, dude.

He asked me if I was going to go to the expo I talked about in Vegas at the end of the month. I said I never heard anything from C.Brainard about the guy I was supposed to meet at the expo to sell books with.

He said if I were going to Vegas to go and pick him up along the way since he was only a couple of miles off the 10.

Uhm... Okay...

But I wasn't just thinking about him and his domestic situation. In fact, I was thinking more in the lines of working with him again in writing screenplays/scripts. Oh God. How Hollywood! But you know, I really do think that he and I would make a formidable scriptwriting team, that is, if we don't kill each other or if he doesn't do his control-freak shit on me.

I don't know. He's the last person in the world I should be thinking about working with.

But anyway... Back to me. I'm going to go back to panicking now over the three reasons I outlined above. It's getting late and I need to get my insomniac thing going on.

Have a good night, everyone.

Fuck It! Censorship Is For Puritanical American Television, Not Paula's Sordid Blog

Thank you very much Ryan for reminding me that I'm still a red-blooded American with the right to speak what I want to speak despite the fact that I will be boo'ed, judged, or imprisoned for my opinions and jokes. Especially those made in airports. Indeed! Censorship-Schmensorship!

Presenting, the entries I have failed to post because I needed to edit them to make them Rated G. But now I don't care...

The Weekend in Review

Why I Hate Asian Clubs - Friday
When I opened up my little stash-o-E, I found that one of the capsules burst and I had E powder all over the place. It was irretrievable. There goes $25 worth of E in one tab. But the other one was intact so Dave and I shared that right before we got to the club.

However, by the middle of the night, we found that 80% of the crowd had turned Asian on us. It was weird for me. It was weird for him too. I'm Asian and all but it was just weird for me to be there. I'm used to mixed clubs. In fact, I prefer mixed clubs. There wasn't any posturing or enmity toward anyone. It just felt weird. We skeedaddled out of there real fast.

Not only that, the club was an icebox. We had fun hugging each other for warmth and all. The kissing was also very nice. But no, it was not our scene.

Oh well, I guess we found ourselves a sucky club to go to that night. There are always others. Los Angeles is a huge city.

We ended up back at his place where the making out continued.

And from this point on, I'm not going to talk about the date anymore. No, it wasn't bad. I just have tons of stuff to ponder about it. He's a nice guy and all but...

Yeah, there's the killer "but".

I don't know. I really don't know. I went into this thing without any expectations and I'm still in it without any expectations. I'm on "wait and see" mode and I guess that's what's preventing me from saying anything more.

No Flying For Me
That is at least one thing I let out a sigh of relief about. Eric couldn't make it down to Santa Maria due to June Gloom conditions. He couldn't fly into the little valley surrounded by hills in fog. He didn't think it was prudent with his novice flying experience.

So he's going to try again some other day.

But starting July he will be in England until October. I believe this will be the permanent beginning of the end for me and him.

Thank goodness. I've only been waiting for years for this.

Sunday Backup Plans
I invited Dave to go hiking with me instead but that fell through. He and his buddy went to see a ballgame instead. I didn't care very much that he cancelled. I mean, we're grown-ups with our own lives to live.

Instead, Mike and I went to Leo's place to see more of The Hundred Incher! Whee! Big screen movie watching madness!

We saw Adaptation, a wacked but neat movie about writing, and Snatch (the old Brad Pitt/Guy Ritchie movie) from Leo's collection. That was fun.

But before that, we had some Peruvian food near where Leo lives. No, no cuy was eaten. They didn't serve it.

Leo was still cracking sexually themed jokes with me but it wasn't as personal as it was the last time I hung around with him. I told both guys about Dave and needless to say, both were taking jabs at me for throwing the relationship a tad more into the physical realm. They were jealous.

Mike's date fell through too. He didn't want to talk about it either.

I'm oddly not talkative today, not even barely philosophical or analytical about the events of the weekend. I'm in "wait and see" mode for pretty much every aspect in my life right now: Dave, the job market, and the future in general.

We shall see.

The Food and Sex Entry

The Big Black Fly In The Chardonnay
Tuesday night. June 3. I couldn't help myself. I schlepped on over to Dave's place in the industrial area of Downtown L.A to have a drink with him and to hang out. It was an impromptu date drink that came from a call he gave me while I was helping out the old ladies buy prescription eye drops in Brentwood.

Shit. I really like him. Bastard. Last thing in the world I expected. Really.

He made me a rum and Coke and we talked. Okay, the ratio of talking was 75% talking, 25% making out.

We started off with honesty.

We talked about the past relationships that fucked us up the most. (Edited to respect his privacy.)

Me? I told him about my failed marriage with the Psycho Ex. That's usually a big one since I was with the creep for 8 years. He said he was totally okay with the fact I'm a kidless divorcee. I was SO relieved.

However...

I just found out that he's very squeamish with food. I mean, he will NEVER eat sausage. He's not fond of onions (but likes onion rings). Doesn't like anything vinegary (my favorite dressing is Italian). Doesn't like tomatoes. (I eat grape tomatoes like grapes.) And my list of "Animals I've Ever Eaten" sounds like the most macabre, Fear Factor, list he's ever heard.

Hello Miss Will Eat Anything on a Stick in Some Street Corner in a Third World Country, meet Mister Picky Man.

180 degree difference, I tell ya. God/Fate/Vishnu is making fun of me.

When people read my bio when I get introduced at book readings, it reads: "Paula loves to travel and is obsessed by foreign food." See! Number two!

However, it doesn't matter. I like him. I really do. I know he doesn't object to Brazilian Churrasca (grilled, big, chunks-o-meat on skewers) or Argentinian steaks, the meat-and-potatoes man. We talked about it. I know.

Walt and Burritos
I love that guy. I really do. I had to call him to make chismes/tsismis ("gossip" in Spanish and Tagalog) about Dave and how I started seeing him.

I told Walt that Dave is Mexican-American. Born and bred here in Cali-forn-i-a. Everyone else thinks he's Italian. Mike thought he was white. I had to correct them all. I am known to date white guys since I was a teenager hence the confusion.

"Oh! So now you want some salsa on your burrito!" Walt quipped.

I just had to really laugh at that one. Leave it to him to say something funny and snide to make your day.

Pilots, Sushi-Divers, and Jazzheads
Friday. June 6. Dave and I have a date tonight. We set it up last week. We're going to go to some techno club downtown tonight, drop some E, make out like crazy and give each other massages, talk (because I talk a LOT MORE on E--God save him), and touch each other's clothing all the while feeling the beats as we lean on the speakers. I can't wait! However...

Guess who shows up at the most inopportune time? Our favorite Transient: Eric.

He sent me an email around Wednesday wondering if I wanted to fly with him. He's going to be at Santa Maria airport around Sunday and if I wanted to, I can go up on his rented two-or-four-seater Cessna and perhaps join the mile high club? (His exact words.)

I love the thought that he's finally going to fulfill a promise he made to me about taking me flying. He got his pilot's license last year.

I said yes but with a caveat. This morning, Friday, I sent him an email filled with honesty about my seeing Dave and how I would feel guilty if I did join the mile high club with him.

I have yet to get an answer...

Thursday, noon. June 5. Alex rocks! Ryan, Alex, and I met for sushi for lunch in Glendale. I was off from taking care of the old ladies and Ryan was on a lunchbreak.

I finally gave both of them their birthday presents. Framed.

We had sushi. It was good hanging out.

Thursday night. I asked Ryan if he wanted to have a drink with me. He said yes. We went to a local jazz bar around his way. I offered him a free apple martini only because it's nice to talk with a little alcohol to grease the words.

I talked about how high schooly and giggly I am about Dave. I told Ryan how unexpected this was. It was like, all of a sudden, someone gave me a hot potato (or his metaphor-an empty plate) and then my toppings would be a mystery based on what the Great Chef in the Sky decided I should eat. He said I should enjoy it.

Ryan said since this was unexpected and innocently developing, anything Dave does will be a total surprise. If he opens the car door for me, it will be sweet. Hearing the pitch of his voice rising on the phone when he talks to me will be the cutest thing. Or him touching my hair would just be ecstatic. Kissing? Kissing would be heavenly. He's right.

*sigh* When a 30-year old like me can giggle like an 8th grader, there is still hope out there in the world.

Today is Friday. I have a date tonight. Mike also has a date tonight with a girl in his building. Ryan and Alex will be driving to San Diego for the weekend to visit Steffi.

Life is good.

36 Hours in Paula's Life - May 30-31, 2003

Before you read this journal, please open a new window to view the accompanying photos that document these two days. Think of this journal as running commentary for the photos.

Prologue: On Wednesday May 28, I went to the FAN mixer held at the same place Ryan had his birthday party, the Pig N' Whistle in Hollywood. In fact, we were in the back room where the beds were. It was strange to see that place during the daytime. But that mixer allowed me to mingle and meet new people of the artist persuation. I also got to meet old friends there like Alfie, Allan A, Moonie, and the other FAN folks. I plugged my event that was going to happen that Friday, May 30. I asked Alfie and Allan if they could read stories from the anthology for us. They agreed! That's how cool Alfie and Allan are! When Friday finally came, I noticed a lot of people from the mixer came to the reading! With that in mind, let's begin!

Growing Jitters
Friday, 6 PM. I got to the book reading and already the food trays were out. The room had around 100 chairs or so and I was freaked when I went in there and only saw a handful of people! But slowly, as the night wore on, people started filtering in. Alfie was ready after coming from the LAX area. Mike came in all the way from Woodland Hills. Nitin came from Glendale and Dave came from Downtown L.A. Roland and Moonie from FAN came and so did Jilly from FilAm Arts! She invited me to table at the Fil-Am Farmers Market happening the next day in L.A. I said yes.

I was a little nervous because not only was I going to be doing my own story, I was also doing a story by another author that I barely practiced for. But I was confident that it was going to be a good reading because Allan has always been a good speaker.

We all did our thing and it was quite successful! We had about 35 people attend. My cousin Celine and Tito Jun came. That was their first book reading ever. They had never seen a book reading before and I'm sure it was a surprise to them that the story I read was about Tito Jun's mother (my lola). The actors from Stateside Girls came also.

After the reading, we were headed out to Brooke and Jenny's graduation party in Glendale. It was being held at Brooke's place and as customary, we brought some wine, soda, and beer. Lo and behold they already had a ton of drinks and people were getting pleasantly smashed. Dave was already there since he left my reading early to run some errands. Mike followed us as Nitin and I walked in. Brooke and Jenny were having a bonfire of all the notes and handouts that gave them misery over the past four years in their backyard. It helped warm up the place as the night wore on.

It was a lot of fun to see the Tres Marias again. Then finally, after much waiting, Ryan and Alex walked in. They were a shocking two hours late. (Let the sordidness begin.) There are times when I am totally jealous of those who can drink. I'm sure my liver is hating me for the dumb decisions I've been making about my drinking habits. One glass of wine was enough for me. Thankfully, Dave brought some stuff to share that I can partake. However, I just realized that due to my rather sensitive composition, it only takes about a hit and a half for me to get totally messed up. Ryan and Jenny had some too. I know that Nitin has always been good company and I know he's grateful that hanging around me means he'll be meeting new people. That's a good outlook. Nitin then volunteered to move my car closer to Brooke's house since I was impaired. He's such a nice guy who lets out good vibes. Like Ryan, he likes life a lot too.

The party broke down around 3 AM as Brooke passed out on the armchair with a kitten in her arms. I bid her congrats and good night as Dave and I walked to our cars.

The Farmers Market and an End of an Era
Saturday, 11 AM. My left lower eyelid was twitching violently because I woke up at the disgusting hour of 8:30 AM. I didn't come home until 3 am and working on less than 6 hours of sleep was not my idea of having fun. But when I got there, Jilly invited me to sit in the middle of the Farmers Market (the FilAm Arts table) in front of DJ AceticFish (Wendell) on the ones and twos. I ended up selling two copies of the books (autographed) and one of Linda Nietes's books (courtesy of Philippine Expressions Bookstore). Vanessa was there to keep me company that afternoon. Kat, looking summery, and Alfie, looking very Farrah Fawcett-like came in later along with Moonie and his girlfriend. Many thanks to Julie from SIPA for a job well done. She is always down to help artists.

It was here that Jilly told me that there will be two more Farmers Market events going on before FPAC in September. I volunteered to do both. Now how insane am I to not even have any time in the world and THEN volunteer to vend? I don't know. My insanity and over-extension of myself knows no bounds sometimes.

After the Farmers Market, I went to my car and literally changed clothes there to go to April's graduation at the Forest Lawn Cemetery Hall of Liberty. I mean, so here I was, in the car with my bra on, slipping into a black rayon dress in broad daylight. Off came the jeans and my yellow Havaianas (Brazilian brand flip-flops) with the Brazilian flag on it and on went the make-up and black sandals. After that, I drove with all my speed to the graduation.

I got there with literally 30 seconds to spare. They were closing the doors since the event started promptly at 4 PM. When my sister handed me my ticket a la baton pass, they shut the door. I carried with me a copy of the book as a present and a stuffed toy. I didn't have time to buy flowers. :(

It was so cool to see April graduate. She is the last of my cousins to graduate. Out of all my first cousins on my mother side, she is the youngest one. Everyone, and I mean EVERY ONE of all her other cousins are older. (Edited out by request.) These are the times when you are very cognizant of the passing of time. I know I was. There will be no more talk about proms, high school Theme Day productions, or donating service hours. The conversation will turn to thesis papers and college credits. But then again, she has always been an advanced one for school. Next year, she will already have her Associates Degree on something. She's a cool kid and we are not surprised she's one of the most popular girls in school. She will not be too far away from her now-old alma mater's sights: she will be the assistant coach to their flags team this summer.

Katherine was already dressed up for her role on the last day of her play. She plays an androgynous person in her community college's production of "Sylvia". She came with Jun and Mika, her Japanese friends, because they had never seen an American high school graduation before. I like them. They're a little shy but they are totally cool in a proper Japanese sorta way. Katherine couldn't come to dinner but Jun and Mika did. We all schlepped on over to Barrio Fiesta where a huge section, made with a few tables connected together, was reserved for us. We all ate the standard artery-clogging fare that makes Barrio Fiesta famous: fried calamari, lumpiang shanghai, crispy pata, kare-kare, pansit bihon/canton mix all on white rice.

It was fun to see the whole family together for a celebration. But I left dinner a little early with an apology because I had to drive all the way to Santa Monica to attend Nommo. I'll be damned if I missed this month's Nommo! The last time I was there was around November and I needed my capoeira/poetry fix! My Tita Pat commented that I'm certainly very active when I explained to her that my friend Alfie was hosting Nommo and I wanted to show my support. She wasn't with my cousin Celine at my book reading but I told her that I will have three more during the summer. Later, I found out that the dinner finished up a little after I left.

The Power of Spoken Word
I have to thank artist time because if it wasn't for it, I don't think I'd ever get into events on time. By the time I got in at 8:30, I yet again saw Allan with his friend Agnes along with Elvin from Room To Improv. Phloe was also there just like in the Farmers Market.

Nommo always starts off with a capoeira demonstration by the students of the school. With chanting and the strumming of Brazilian musical instruments and the banging of drums, the capoeira students and instructors get into a frenzy of tumbles and flips. The beat increases in tempo to the speed of legs spinning around in circles until it reaches a deafening crescendo where the students, satisfied with their performances, proceed to circle around the perimeter of their circle still playing instruments. By the time they get to this part, you can already feel the energy in the room reach a fever pitch with everyone exuding a feeling of anticipation and excitement.

See why I can't stay away from this event? Not to mention the fact that this was the first time since Rio that I heard spoken Portuguese.

A whole bunch of poets and spoken word folks got on the mic including the dopest spitting poet I've ever heard. Then, zero 3 came up. Then, the closers of the show, the open-mikers.

By the time I got out of Nommo, it was already 11-something. I was scheduled to meet Ryan, Alex, and Dave at The Birds in Hollywood. The traffic was horrendous and parking was nearly non-existant. When I finally got to the meeting spot, it was past 12 AM.

Who Owes Who A Beer?
When I finally got to The Birds, Ryan already got us a nice table at the corner of the patio. Because Alex is cool and she's mah gurl, she always gets the warmest hugs from me. I greeted the other guys too.

Okay, you all know I'm a non-drinker. Sometimes I just wonder why I just don't order a Shirley Temple all the time everytime. So what do I order? A rum and Coke. Rum agrees with me unlike vodka but they made that Cuba Libre a little strong and my face warm and red a few minutes after taking my first sip. I ended up doing my rounds and talking with people but mostly I sat and talked with Dave and told him the story of why I don't have a dad to celebrate Father's Day with. (You all know the story.)

Then the plotting began. Okay, not plotting. Maybe making fun at other people's expense. Okay, friendly ribbing. That's a better word.

Alex and Ryan started to whisper amongst themselves. They made a bet. Here was the bet: Alex bet that Dave and I would (tongue) kiss. Ryan bet against. The winner gets a beer.

I was aghast! Okay, I was amused.

I said no way, no how, was I doing such a thing in public and making a spectacle of myself. I've done enough spectacling of myself in South America, thank you.

So with a pat on his shoulder, I told Ryan that Alex owes him a beer that night. When we were forcibly kicked out of the bar, Dave gave me a ride to my car which was parked a block away.

Funny but I talked with Ryan the next day and he doesn't remember the specifics of the bet. All he remembered was that he won and that beer was involved.

Heck, I have half a mind to just give both Ryan and Alex a beer just because I like them. :)

So with that, that ends one of the craziest 36 hours I had here in L.A in a long time. I hope you enjoyed the photos with the running commentary.

Until next time!