Because they know that I can rock...

Recap.

Friday night, down in Orange County having dinner with one of my best friends at a little rock and roll bar/restaurant called Slide Bar over by the train station. This particular restaurant used to be my favorite coffee shop during my community college days... then one of the two owners bought the other out and turned it into a bar that plays rock all day and employs sexy waitresses.
Could have been worse.

We sat and talked for an hour or so. He let me know that my most recent ex will be attending a convention I go to every year, something my ex only mildly enjoyed in years prior, me dragging him along. Out of the five and a half boyfriends I've had in my life, three of them will be there, one of them should be there, and the other lives out of state.

How did this happen?

I'll get over my anger at him eventually, over my anger at myself for letting that situation happen in the first place, for being weak, for taking the easy route that I knew would lead to bad times.

Could have been worse.

After dinner, we went to hang out with the usual group of degenerates. I was standing there, talking to him, and this guy approached us. I blinked at him. Is that who I think it is??

It was.

An old friend with a group of people I used to hang out with, still occasionally do, but this guy disappeared off the radar years ago. I had been wondering what had happened to him. He's married, to the girl he was seeing when we were all hanging out, has three kids, works as an A/C repair man. Kept himself in shape. He can't be more than 31, max. I filled him in on where everyone was in life, what people were up to, who got married, who ran off, etc. He told me, in turn, that one of the guys that had also disappeared was busted for running a meth lab, ended up in Chicago.

Odd. I had no idea that guy was dealing drugs.

It was during this conversation, though, that music started trickling into my consciousness. We were talking, and this beat started going and some guitars kicked in and I was just lost. Looked at this guy I haven't seen in almost six years and said, "Um... yeah, I need to find out about that music. I'll be back shortly."

Took off down the way to find this band playing at this dinky little coffee shop. Another friend of mine was standing there, watching them, so I walked up, said hello (scared the shit out of him, too) and watched this band.

I don't know if I've ever heard that much emotion in music before. This band made me ache, made me feel like there was a gaping wound in my heart and that I would be forever alone, wandering empty cities like some tragic ghost. It was perfect.

After they finished playing, I walked up, started talking to the bassist, then to the singer, trying to hunt down some CDs. They had two out, I bought both of them and ended up hanging out in the parking lot with the bassist and his friend for hours, talking about music and life and sex.

Saturday, I was woken from my sleep by a screaming child at 9AM. This, this is all things tragedy. I'm so glad that I have not reproduced.

Dragged myself out of bed, attended to food and a quick shower, then got my priorities straight and went out for coffee and caught Transformers II. Ran to the post office for stamps, hit the mall for clothes. I was there for a couple hours. GADS. I don't like shopping for hours. I like finding what I want, trying it on, buying it, and leaving within 30 minutes. I was looking for one of two things, and I found neither. Every time I found a pair of pants that looked like what I wanted, they didn't have it in my size or it did the usual bag-out-in-the-back-waistline bit because of my curvy lower back+ghetto booty combo. Frustration reigned. I finally left.

GV8 wanted to meet up at the warehouse/loft thing in Hollywood, so I drove over there, mildly annoyed because I realized that I did not have a CD with a copy of MSI's "Bitches" on it and I really wanted to listen to it on my way there.

He left the place open for me, so I strolled in with my camera and took some pre-construction pictures for the obligatory "before and after" comparisions. He showed up with his truck, complete with queen-sized mattress (which made me miss the cal-king at his place), mat (for covering ourselves with oil and sliding around), a stack of towels, blankets, sheets, bottle of grapeseed oil (best lube around, I will swear by that stuff for the rest of my life), and a small Liberator pillow. Everything needed to start off our love-nest in the loft inside the little warehouse.

We grabbed dinner at the restaurant around the corner, who has the warehouse that shares a wall with ours. GV8 wanted to talk to him about using his space, about catering to the parties, about licenses and what the restaurant owner was planning on doing with the other half of the building. So we got a tour of the kitchen, the storage space, the front of the building that has plans for being converted into a sports bar-thing. I've never worked in a restaurant before, so it was really interesting to see all of the equipment, the chefs and the over-sized kitchen utensils. While they talked, I played the quiet arm-candy, I suppose. I think you need to be a blonde with plastic surgery to be arm-candy, but I gave it my best shot. Amusingly, I don't mind playing the unaware piece of fluff. Mostly because I love the looks on guys' faces when I open my mouth and actually have half a brain.

After the grand tour, we went back to the warehouse for some relatively quick sex and took off for the club, out in downtown LA.

It was a venue I had never been to, in what I am now going to refer to as "Rape Me Alley". We show up, C is already there, and the place was closed. Some licensing issue prevented the club from happening and my friend did not bother posting that bit of information anywhere on the internet.

So I'm sitting there in GV8's truck going, "Well, this is a new one." And Mr. Wolf isn't picking up his phone, so I'm getting irritated. I finally turn to GV8, "Hey, these people own another venue more towards the main part of town. I'm friends with the security manager there, he'll know what's going on."

Drive up there, leaving Rape Me Alley behind, get out of the truck, ask the valet if my friend is working tonight, then find another security guy to radio him to bring him to the front. He explains what happened, and while he's doing that, he tells me I should check out this club, that he'll guest list me, did I come with anyone and all that. The club promoter, at this time, pops her head out and asks what's going on, I explain to her the deal with the other club, and she offers to let us in for half the cover if we'd like.

I go back to GV8, let him know what's going on, and we decide to go check out this club. C shows up, we chat, and finally I decide that the club is horrible and I don't want to be there a moment longer. No one can dance, the music is scatter-shot, and I'm over it.

I offer an alternative: Fred 62's. A little scenster diner up on Vermont, just south of Los Feliz in Silverlake.

They agree, we flee the scene.

Which is why I found myself sitting outside of a diner at 1AM, drinking hot chocolate, talking with GV8 and C instead of dancing at a club. It was a good choice. GV8 and C hadn't met before, so it gave them a chance to get to know each other. Afterwards, we took her by the warehouse/loft thing to show her. She didn't seem too impressed, but she's a nature/artsy type and that place is totally steel and cement... which I how I like it.

I woke up to, instead of a screaming child, a penis sliding into me. I sleep on my stomach, so this lends to a pattern of men waking me up doggy-style. I love it. Teeth in my shoulder, hips thrusting against my ass, fist in my hair, good morning to me.

While the grapeseed oil had been lost in the boxes the night previously, GV8 found it in the morning while I was still asleep.

That stuff is gorgeous. Almost no flavor. Scentless. Lasts forever. Cheap. And you can use it with latex... which really doesn't matter to me since I'm allergic to latex. But for the rest of you, there you go.

But because of the night before, I'm sore. I slide off of GV8 and reach for the bottle.

Backstory here: I've never liked giving handjobs. I've always been an oral girl. Handjobs were these things that I didn't understand because a guy can jerk himself off, so why the hell would he want a chick to waste her time doing that when he could be in her mouth? So I avoided them. Then I was put in a wrist-bar that dislocated my wrist when I was 19 and caused permanent damage, making wrist movement painful.

This lack of knowledge started bothering me, especially with SFPlayboy, because he loves handjobs and I suck at them. So Playboy taught me the basic rundown, which I found rather boring, but whatever floats his boat. I mentioned this to GV8, so Mr. Sensualist worked with me more, enough to the point where I finally saw the art in it and enjoyed it.

That was, for me, such an awesome handjob. I had so much fun with it, really enjoyed myself before settling into a movement that he seemed to like well enough to orgasm. It really was good, the hardness and heat of him, combined with the slick oil. He came, we cuddled, both of us covered in oil because I coated my front half in it to slide down his body, I went down on him, he came again. I love how short his refractory period is.

While I showered, he called one of his friends, A, to join us for breakfast.

A... is hot. Not standardly hot, but alternative, mohawk, gothy/punk hot with a wickedly sharp tongue and a brilliant mind that makes him incredibly desirable to me. Really, I just looked at him when he started talking and thought to myself "whimper, whimper, want".

So, we went out to breakfast, over at Aroma again. A had never been before.

We talked for hours. When A brought up The Game to recommend it to GV8, I almost choked on my laughter, but we started talking about it, made for some basic conversation. A was more interested in the constant pull-back Strauss did in his writing in regards to the PUA lifestyle than the actual pick-up. He's a relationship guy. A doesn't have sex unless he's in love.

We grabbed (more) coffee at the Coffee Bean across from Graumann's after breakfast/lunch. None of us thought of the potential mob by Michael Jackson's star. So we wandered over there, into the sea of people... until we realized what a horrible idea that was, and started walking in the street, along the sidewalk, chatting with the characters.

Dropped A at his car, went back to the loft for more play, then spun by the West Hollywood Gateway (cue dramatic music for that horrible name) to grab a camera for me. Yes, I finally got a pocket-sized camera to document my adventures. I should have done this months ago. So now there will be pictures tossed in with my stories.

I went home to have Sunday dinner with the folks. There was some awesome news there.

My aunt, father's sister, has gone suicidal. She was committed for a week to a mental hospital, and now she will not leave her bed. She's going to be coming out to stay/live with us for awhile. Which means I'm getting ejected from my own room. I can occupy my sister's room, but chances are I'll just toss a sleeping bag down in the living room and get a rack for my clothes. My father is really upset.

And my sister's boyfriend is about to be ejected from the house, which is stressing my mother out, which is stressing my father out and it's going downhill rapidly as I attempt to control the path of destruction... except I can't do that without my mother's support. So I think this will explode soon. Positive side: I'll have a room to myself once my aunt comes out.

Anyhow, there's my weekend recap. I have actual thoughts and moments I'm going to be playing out in more detail later but, due to my goldfish-like memory, I wanted to get down the bones of it.

Dinner with friends tonight, kareoke tomorrow, strip club and dinner Wednesday, out of town after I get my hair dyed Thursday morning. Go go action Jackson.