Age of the Internet
It’s a proper LA house party. We’re somewhere in the Hollywood Hills, I think. I’m not entirely sure really. Elysian Park, I am corrected when I inquire, so like, where are we? Everything is just as new & unfamiliar here at this party as it felt twenty minutes ago in the car ride over. Twenty minutes ago I was seated in the backseat of a hatchback, zipping through Westlake, mulling over whether I should: A. go home, B. meet up with Max & Ella at a dive bar in the neighborhood, or C. come to this house party. I never really made a proper decision, I just got in the car and immediately changed my mind, opening the Waymo app to inspect how much a trip home would cost me. Then changed my mind again. Decided: well I’m already here, in the car, so an answer has been presented to me. Who am I to question an answer presented to me? Why not just see this through?
Exterior of vehicle: congested highways and lanky palm trees and street signs I vaguely know. Interior of Vehicle: Me & two girls I also, vaguely know. My two New Friends!
I met my New Friends ***** & *** 48 hours ago, friends of friends. We got connected through my New York friends, through our mutuals. In the age of the internet, that is fair grounds for a beautiful, budding friendship. I’m captivated by the sight of ***, how she’s balancing both getting ready & getting us to our destination in record time. It’s a perfect execution. Every red light she’ll pop down the visor to fine-tune her appearance- a fresh coat of lipgloss, a spritz of perfume, adjustments to eyeliner. Flawless. Pop music is thumping through the speakers & the three of us are humming in harmony.
So now I am here, at this party and everywhere I turn I see baby bangs & pixie cuts & rattails & perfectly set side parts & thigh high socks & mini shorts & ballet flats & everyone looks familiar to me. I do my best to discern who I really know versus who I parasocial-ly know through the internet. A gay man taps ***’s shoulder. Hey, I love your instagram reels. You’re ***, right? They launch into conversation and I decide to look for *****, who I lost sight of 10 minutes into stepping foot into the backyard. I scan the perimeter for her face, unsure of where my new friend could be. I spot her a few yards away, in the midst of an intimidatingly large group of people, they’re all passing around a bottle of liquor, laughing loudly. I make my way over and feel a full body shyness seep through my skin. She introduces me to her friends, her arms wrapped around me like we go wayyy back. We go wayyy 48 hours ago. Guys, this is my New Friend Diana, she’s visiting for the month! I feel so grateful. I reach up and squeeze her forearms, turn my head as we press our foreheads together and giggle.
I light a cigarette to do anything with my hands that isn’t playing with the ends of my hair, picking at the frayed pieces. Someone asks to borrow my lighter and I feel grateful to be useful. I hand it over obediently, the black & yellow one with the Always bee flickin’ logo, and then less grateful when another person asks to borrow a cigarette. I hand that over too then smoke a gold down to the filter, pretending to be attentive to the conversations occurring around me. I picture a music conductor floating behind this choir of new faces, waving me through the melodies of their stories. The conductor waves his baton at me to laugh at the appropriate moments and I oblige, the right noises escape me on cue. I let myself be guided by this game, putting on my best performance, swallowing my stage fright.
The man standing next to me nudges my shoulder, pulling out a flask. He motions it towards me in a Do ya want? Coy expression on his face. Finally! A real cure to my stage fright. No more nonsense.
I nod my head vigorously, so vigorously that it kills the conductor shaken baby style, and I’m all alone again. The man passes the silver flask to me and I take a polite sip. Then another, less polite. He turns to make conversation with the friend next to him and I take a third impolite swallow. Better. Oh, I feel so much better, thank you party stranger. I asked him for his name and he replied, ***.
He had an eyebrow ring too big for his face & patchwork tattoos & a mole right next to his big nose. Super Hot. The description is not aiding in the image but trust me, Super Hot. Well, maybe he wouldn’t have been as hot without the perfect outfit & nice haircut & overall Swag. He had a lot of overall Swag which made me keep repeating in my head Super Hot Super Hot He is So Hot, when staring at him. Our conversation (which I now do not recall in the slightest) kept getting interrupted by people approaching him to say hi.
He pulls out his phone to get my number and I type it in. He says, put your first & last name!
And I just type in Diana and he questions,
No last name?
Nope!
I asked my New Friends, so…what’s the word on ***?
***** whispers in my ear,
Oh you so should. I mean, he’s hooked up with…. a few… lots of …. girls… at this party… in general…. but YES go for it.
We ping pong the term “Silver Lake community dick” between giggles and I justify my future actions with a: well… I’m a tourist! It’s important for me to engage in community outreach! Voluntourism?
It’s 2 am and the party wraps up, but there’s always another party, always something to do. We relocate to a new backyard, this one about ten minutes away from the original. I again, have no idea where I am. I’m somewhere in Hollywood and it’s the middle of the night and I decidedly take ***’s hand in mine.
We migrate from the new backyard into the house where I pull him into the bathroom. We start to kiss and he offers to drive us back to his apartment. We drop off 4 of his friends on the way. The windows are rolled down and my hair is whipping across my cheeks.
When the car is finally empty we kiss some more. He speeds us through Thai Town down Wilshire back to his apartment. I’m in his home, perched on the edge of his bed, waiting for the inevitable. His room is immaculately pristine, like he knew he’d be bringing a girl back tonight, any girl, and the girl just happened to be me.
I am self aware enough to know this, but still land on the thought process of: wow, this dude is just like, a really organized guy! His bed is perfectly made & there’s nothing out of place. Vinyls on his wall & an Alex G poster above his bed. I let out a nose exhale when I make eye contact with it and he goes,
What?
Nothing…
I dart my eyes towards the parrot on the poster, then back to him.
Well, Alex G,
pointing at his poster.
He starts to laugh too.
Next morning
I don’t really care to talk to him because he’s being really kind to me and this deeply upsets me. His kindness is genuine and it’s making me Very Uncomfortable because I feel very unkind in this moment. He keeps trying to speak to me, ask me questions about myself. I find him interesting & attractive & I want to learn no more new information about this stranger. I start to kiss him to make it stop. In between kissing he says things about himself that I’m only half listening to. Where he’s from & what he does for work & how he knew everyone at the party. He’s asking me more harmless questions & I’m being evasive and giving him half answers, non answers, pretending that I am just shy, just quiet. I don’t remember any of his answers. I’m here for a distraction and now I’m being forced to think which is the LAST THING I WANTED TO DO HERE.
It’s 6 am and all I can fantasize about is leaving. I begin to get myself together, to Irish and slip away, but he kisses my cheek and tells me that he will drive me home. I protest, I can just uber, but he grabs his car keys and begins lacing up his boots. Okay well, I’m not gonna argue because my brain is still repeating the He Is So Hot sentiment, now tenfold post-coital. I slip on yesterday’s mini skirt, he opens the car door for me. We drive left through Santa Monica, up through East Hollywood, the Griffith Observatory cresting over pavement in our sightline. He’s making more small talk and I’m giving him nothing answers. Short, slightly curt responses. I feel guilty about how I’m acting. Acting like a chick in male fields. Just kinda in the mood to lash out at a stranger.
Typed into my notes app: Wanna get out of this car out of this car please god get me out of this car, I should’ve Irish-ed AHHHHHHHH AGHGGHGHHH. Jack the puppy I will see you so soon baby. He drops me off in front of ********’s apartment and says It was nice to meet you, get some rest! And I say nothing, giving him a small smile before shutting the door behind me. Why did I do that? Say nothing? It was actually great to meet him, TBH.
I punch in the door code to the studio, and climb upstairs where Jack is eagerly waiting for me, a ballet flat clenched in his jaw, his tail rapidly swishing back & forth. I kiss the top of his head, apologize telepathically for not spending the night with him, promise to make it up to him. We go on an extra long w-a-l-k and I pour him an extra teeny bit of his kibble and we snuggle up together in *******’s bed, both drifting off to get some much needed rest.
I spend the majority of my afternoon cooped up in the studio. When I finally leave the apartment, it’s to walk down Hollywood with Jack, to a 7-11 where I purchase an XL Diet Coke. I slurp on that and drop him back off at the apartment once his panting becomes too labored for my liking. I get nervous at Jack’s aggressive pants and call ******* who doesn’t pick up. Jack senses my action, me calling his father, and he quiets down, his pants cease instantly at the last ring of my attempted call. I text *******, “Sorry for calling! False alarm. Thought Jack was having like, a freak out.” Feel bad that I keep neurotically calling ******* whenever I get the slightest bit nervous about Jack, that I keep convincing myself that everyday is his last. I kiss Jack goodbye & walk up Sunset by my lonesome. I walk past a goodwill where I stop in and purchase a copy of Death Kit by Susan Sontag. I try on two pairs of flats and fall in love. Leave with just the book. (Brown were much too large, purple were falling apart.) Sigh.
I keep walking down sunset, past empty strip malls & sleeping bodies on sidewalks until I reach a Target. At target I purchase: brown eyeliner, a bottle of coconut water, a container of cooking oil, coffee grounds, a bottle of teal nail polish.
It’s 10:15 pm and I’m sitting on Max’s couch, an empty can of modelo balanced on my knee. Ella & Mona & a few of our other friends are here and we’re attempting to figure out our plans for the evening. We’re sending partifuls around the room, Max is filming us with my camcorder. I send them the address to a house party a few miles away in K Town.
I change out of my current outfit (mini shorts & an LA apparel tanktop) and into a new one, (Brandy Melville pleated mini skirt & a sheer black long sleeve).
The kitties are sitting perched on the AC unit, staring us down. I spill my beer a little on the fabric of the couch but no one notices except the kitties so I say nothing, covering the stain with a pillow. Make eye contact with Blu-Ray & 3D. Oops. Don’t tell your parents kitties, I whisper to them. Max is obsessed with their new couch. It folds out into a daybed and they keep it folded out for maximum chill-ing. We’re all piled up on the couch, iPhones in hand, no one speaking out loud.
It hits midnight and we’re still on the couch, unable to reach a decision on where to go or what to do. We pass around a dying juul & order a Waymo to a party in the hills. The five of us climb into the driverless car but then halfway through the ride, we agree to turn the car around and retreat back home for some more couch time instead.
Next Morning
Jack & I are standing on the crosswalk, waiting to cross Hollywood Boulevard. The summer heat feels soothing on my shoulders. As I’m rounding the corner to get us back home to *******’s, I pass by a sign for an available 1 bedroom 1 bathroom apartment and curiously call the number. “Hey, I wanted to inquire about this unit, could you give me any information on it?” I spend 15 minutes on the phone with a leasing agent for an LA apartment, indulging in the fantasy. The what-if. I let her walk me through the details of the apartment, the square footage & amenities & lease terms. It’s $1800 a month and a 12 month lease with hardwood floors & my own parking spot & in unit laundry. It’s perfect. She asks if I would like to schedule a tour and I hang up on her. I stare at Jack & Jack stares at me and together we stare at the apartment that is not mine.
I don’t know why I did that, I’ve just had such a good day today and it made a different life look so tangible. I had such a good non-touristy day writing and editing and long walks with Jack the puppy and finding that Toni Morrison book at the goodwill and then another long walk in a target where I got fun suburban groceries and the weather is perfect and I’m so happy walking around and, and, and
Misc. Notes
Went on a run to the Hollywood Forever cemetery. Post run & am inspecting my appearance in the mirror. Gorgeous. I love how I look sweaty. Flushed and rosy and full of life. The slickness of my skin & the color in my cheeks and the way I just feel so supple & sweet. Forgot how nice this is. Running. I say I like to run, but I didn’t realize that I meant it like this!
Most mornings go as follow: I take Jack the puppy on his morning walk. Today on our walk, we passed by an old man walking an old Pomeranian and an old woman walking an old husky. All three of us are carrying big bags of shit. When we get back home, I brush my teeth & brush my hair & fill Jack’s bowls with kibble & tap water. I change out of my nightgown & into capri’s and a tank top. I take myself on my morning walk down sunset boulevard. I walk until I get bored, until I start to reach the beginning of the walk of fame. Names I don’t recognize. I shrug and retreat home. Shower, brew a pot of coffee, pet Jack the puppy. Gather my belongings into my purse and slip headphones into my ears. I go to the same cafe every afternoon, Bru. The cafe is too millennial for my liking but it’s convenient and close enough and in a perfect people watching location. Every afternoon I order an iced cortado and sit at the table closest to the patio and let time escape me. I sit here until I get too cold or too bored, whichever comes first. Then I grab my belongings and migrate out to the patio, where I call my friends and stay on the line until I get too hot or too bored, whichever comes first. I repeat this process until I can’t bear to anymore, and then retreat back to *******’s home.
Thinking of my phone call with Garrett last night. I was taking a pregnancy test & he was sexting his not-boyfriend boyfriend. I was standing in the shower peeing on a stick, leg propped up on the ledge, he was reading aloud his sexts, asking for edits/critiques. I am on my period just neurotic & irrational. I convinced myself that I am pregnant because I looked in the mirror and looked SO pregnant so this resulted in me running to Target at 8 pm. You can’tttt be pregnant, he drawls out. “Garrett. I looked in the mirror and thought to myself, not only am I fat enough to be pregnant, I’m fat enough for the pregnancy to be too far along to even get an abortion. Like, that’s so bad.”
(Tests came back negative). (I have an IUD). (And, am literally on my period).
It’s my double-breakup-versary and I feel emotional about the whole thing. My breakup with redacted stings more than my breakup with redacted because my friendship with her felt so permanent. What happened to the second F in BFF? Ummm redacted, this was supposed to be a Forever thing.
Inspecting *******’s closet. His hoodies and button ups & everything is so cute. A piece of red ribbon tied gingerly next to his clothes. I roll out his yoga mat in the living room & do a random pilates flow, then strip out of my pajamas, trading them for my grey cotton mini dress that I’ve become newly hopelessly attached to.
Redacted wanted cocaine and was sifting through the jewelry boxes in hopes of finding the baggie that they stashed some time ago for a special moment. What more special of a moment than a random Thursday night? Our other friend redacted wanted to stay home, not wanting to go out to the party with us ‘cause she wasn’t feeling good. They started arguing because he asked if he could do cocaine at the party and she said No, don’t do strangers coke. Like, fair. And redacted responded, well what if the strangers are Diana’s friends? Like, also fair. She was firm on her No. So redacted started hunting around the apartment, sifting through the jewelry boxes, trying to find his own baggie. He did a baby bump but there was less in the bag than originally anticipated and then we each dug our pinkies into the scrap remnants, swirling dust on our gums. Nothin’!
Ive been turning *******’s entire apartment into my own personal Girl Cave. It went from being his organized space to a now full sized version of my typical bite sized mess. I usually keep my slobbish tendencies contained to my bedroom in New York, but here with all this free rein, I’ve let myself let loose, turning the whole apartment into my own personal dungeon. A friend asked if she could come upstairs to pee and I said No because of how truly foul it is in there.
I accidentally left Jack’s baby gate open when I left the house this morning for a walk and I returned to his kibble being ransacked and destroyed, paper bits of the bag strewn all across the apartment. Dumbass chick moment. He refused to make eye contact with me ‘cause he knew he was naughty. Dumbass dawg moment. He consumed approximately three days worth of kibble within the span of an hour.
Maybe I am not a writer. Maybe I am just digitally archiving my life in a very neurotic way because I am a very neurotic girl. Vlog. Blog. Naked precision. I’m filled with dread and doom when I miss a day. I often miss a day, days, so many days, they just all tend to blend together and then a Monday or a Thursday gets lost to the passage of time, no record to show. I don’t write a word about my day or pick up a camera and then I am just filled with so much dread and doom about the fact that I did not write down a word or pick up a camera. It’s the same routine as usual, I read, I make a pot of coffee, I walk around, I see my friends, we speak to each other, I have the same thoughts in my head. And yet the dread of a day being lost and not archived makes me so HORRIFIED! Well, I’m typing this out from the break room at my job in New York. Stuff happened between my final days in LA and my first few days in New York, but what exactly? Hard to recall. Maybe I will summarize this lost time next blog, maybe I'll glaze over it and move on. Time will tell!