I Fucked Up

Our Ubers show up to Akbar at the same time, and we’re both wearing great pants. Hers are olive and remind me of a pair I’d love to own by The Great. Mine are red jean with stripes, and now that I’ve put on fifteen pounds the stripes are curvy.

Tonight is a good friend’s birthday in London. I thought going out to celebrate his birthday with someone I’m interested in would be good self-care. So I’m on a first date, with Katherine.

She drinks a tequila on ice and I drink a gin and tonic.
It is House night. I love to dance. Dancing is my favorite thing and I don’t care that I’m not great at it. We dance, and I can tell she’s tired but trying, and at 11pm I walk her to her uber and she leaves.

I think, the responsible thing to do is leave, so I go back on the dance floor and compliment some boys cheekbones?
Do they buy a lot of tequila shots for me?
Yes. One of them squeals,
”Its time to go to WEHO!”

Again, the responsible thing is to go home. I have no business in WEHO.

I get in the Uber with three boys.

I haven’t been to WEHO to dance in a long time. It’s basically Disneyland where the penis is Mickey Mouse.

I would give you many details here but everything is a blur of men dancing in thongs.
Penises are everywhere.
Beautiful men are everywhere.

I dance under a wall of Meryl Streeps until I see, Luis, as he walks sideways into the wall of Meryls. I realize he is very intoxicated. Bombastic side eye due to alcohol.
His friend Kurt and I bring him outside.

This is when I realize I am very intoxicated.
I may actually have also walked into the wall of Meryl’s.
I may actually too, look as though I may get sick.
I definitely have accidental bombastic side eye.

Standing on Santa Monica Blvd. it is is absolutely packed, people are being mugged and a pick up artist tries his best on me.

”Hiiiiii!!!” He says, acting as though we are familiar as friends and for a moment, I think he is a producer who worked with me on Pink Skies Ahead.
He hugs me and I half hug back.
”You are a good hugger. I like your necklace are you spiritual?”
This is exactly when I realize I have no idea who this very young man is and recognize his ‘Pick up Artistry’ immediately. Like, bruh- you looked at my necklace and said something weird- we all read the book in 2008. But he was probably born in 2008.

”Hey, yeah,” I say, and laugh, “You are too young for me and I’m going home. Have a nice night!”

”Wait!” He says, as people brush past me in the clamoring of after hours on the street corner. I don’t stop walking and he shouts, “Are you insecure about your age? You shouldn’t be.”
Jesus fucking Christ. The Neg.
Why are men, I think.

Winding through Laurel Canyon in the backseat of an Accord, I’m trying very hard not to pay attention to my stomach, which is fully seized.
You know when it’s beyond nausea? When the stomach tenses up into a hard ball and you know you are done for?

“I’m so sorry.” I say to the driver. “Can you pull over?”
I open the door, throw up quickly, quietly and once.
I shut the door.
”I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure to up the tip when I come out of this haze tomorrow sometime. Thank you. I’m sorry.”
My driver says, “You’re conscientious. You are conscientious, and my job is to drive you.”

It’s now Monday and I still do not feel as though my soul has returned to my body, I am self-loathing as I miss my friend in London.

I wonder if I have long covid.

I wonder if I’ll ever have energy again.