June 26, 2003babylon [erotica la]The short short version of details, cnp'd from email:
Dinner:
Catchphrase: "They come in pairs."They? Banks. There was a serious need to cash a paycheck, and no awareness of a BofA. But, seeing a Washington Mutual.... they come in pairs!
Johnny Rocket's.
Babylon:
I got lost on the way there. This is downtown LA, you have to understand, I always get lost around Staples center - it's a fucking maze. Wolf and 3rd street do not play well together. Guess where the LAEC is.... if it wasn't for the fact I missed Boylston that first time I would have been FINE. Just FINE. This is the area that if you go two blocks in the wrong direction you are suddenly in another world.Drag show. I *think* this was RFK. Drop dead GORGEOUS Queens. I kid you not. At first it was just three obvious men (dressed as men) doing this interpretive dance on chairs (each had one chair they started off just sitting in/draped over before the lights came up on stage) all dressed in raggedy clothing and wafted and waved from the strips dangling from their arms. They must have been at least 6'3" each and lean and sculpted and toned and FLEX. IH. BLE. Then these three 'women' literally stalked out, creepcrawling on killer heels decked out in the same drapey, gauzey, brown/tan/washed out linen looking stuff - yet their makeup didn't match, it was all this severe Japanese opera type of thang. They joined in the dance that just became etherial, lipsyncing to this amazing trance/dance track. Then the costumes came off. Violently. Beneath were these half-kimonos that explained the makeup.
Strippers. Ho. Lee. Chit.
The guy next to me thought he was a discoball. Shiney mirrors glued to his shirt and cowboy boots included. Biggest amusement was watching him try to catch the lights reflecting off of his discoball shirt. I wanted what drugs HE was on.
Gil.
MEL.
A sudden habit forming for guys with monsyllablistic and rhyming names.
Did I mention they were filming?
So unless I end up on the editing room floor, watch for the guy on the go-go boy platform thingie spinning the.... get this....strippa. fuckin. pink. glowsticks. I was told I was fabulous.
No, I was not stripping. They were the jeans I wore to Kingdom, with a lot more wear and tear, so did I have to?
I didn't drink, but I got ripped off for water. 8 bucks for two bottles of water. Little bottles. Ambrosious bottles at this point.
Yes. I got lost driving back to his place. Apparently there is only one exit from the 110 to the 170/101... and they label it "truck" when it serves both trucks and cars. Realizing this about, oh, 30 seconds after passing the exit, I just took the long way back. I hadn't seen Pasadena in awhile, anyway. It's right pretty at 4am. Quiet. Dark. Empty. So what if what was supposed to be a 20 minute drive back took an hour.
Erotica LA
Guess where.No, I did not get lost this time.
I hung out with porn stars.
I hung out with Hulk Hogan.
People asked to take a picture with my date. Now, anywhere else this would have been creepy, understandably, though at a convention like this it's a huge compliment. Or so we rationalized. After nearly killing ourselves laughing.
Machine Washable Fuzzy Black/Orange Flame Restraints.
Fetish Fashion Show.
Hollywood Men strip show, in which I hipchecked this poor woman out of the way to catch a video tossed to the crowd for my date (okay, I just reached up, the poor little thing tried to jump for it....) - and even got it signed by the guys after the show. My date was quite happy.
No, did not get lost on the way home.
more when I remember to type it Posted by Wolf at June 26, 2003 08:00 PM
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