Bat Wings, Public Urination, & the Most Handsome Waiter in the World

For some reason, I could not get to sleep the other night and I didn’t feel all that great when I got up. I wasn’t in the mood for much. I just wasn’t having it. Not sure what that was about, but I moped about the apartment for hours before finally working up the feeling to do anything.

“What do I want to do?” I moaned as I flopped back onto my bed, feeling disenchanted — still without enough energy to put on a single article of clothing. I scrolled through dozens of websites, but nothing seemed to inspire me. I thought about food, as I often do, and decided that I would treat myself to someplace nice. The Ivy was the first place that came to mind, so I put in a reservation and finally found the motivation to do something — I had an outfit to put together!

When I left for Hollywood, I thought I packed pretty adequately: cute tank tops, cute shorts, seventeen different pairs of underwear and a my suit jacket. And I also packed everything in different shades of brown. This was a bad idea. I love dressing in blacks and greys. Not sure why I tried to change myself. What a fool I was! So, obviously I had to find something in grey to wear to The Ivy. I was very lucky that I had built a fairly decent wardrobe of grey pieces: a Calvin Klein button up from Ross, shiny grey pants from It’s a Wrap, grey Converse from Ross, too, (I would have preferred dress shoes, but I have what I have) but these elements needed accessorizing and the pants were too long!

So, I got myself dressed and headed down to Melrose where I deposited my pants at the tailer. They were only going to take an hour, so I had a lovely time walking down the opposite side of this avenue. This side was lots more fun. It seemed to cater to a more unique crowd — the kind that wears grungy clothes and the goths. I don’t dress like them, but I always fit in with them for some reason. People who have tattooed bodies and a hundred piercings are often the friendliest people. I don’t know why society condemns the fun people.

I stumbled, literally, onto a shop called Necromance and fell in LOVE. It’s just my kind of place. It reminded me of a creepier version of Deyrolle back home in Paris. You could buy all sorts of wonderful things there: freeze-dried bats, antique medical equipment, beads made from bones, antique Addams Family cards, actual human skulls, tarot cards, wonderful prints, raccoon jaws, pens that looked like syringes, skeleton keys, oh anything! The ambiance was incredible and if I had to get a job in Hollywood, I’d want to work there. I would look absolutely ridiculous behind the counter because I’m far too cheerful for a place like that, but it would be such fun. I bought a bat wing. Those of you who have read my novel, Terrible Miss Margo, might understand why. (I really need to finish my draft of that and send it out. I just want to be published so badly! I think it’s where I might become known for something. I can’t sing nor dance nor act, but I can write.)

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I headed back down Melrose and picked up my pants and paid a reasonable sum. Delighted, I scurried back home to put them on and took a look at myself in the mirror. I needed details: a belt, some socks, a tie clip, and some black sunglasses.

With a mission in mind, I hurried off to the Salvation Army — no belts, and then to Goodwill — success! They didn’t have anything else I was looking for and I don’t think I’d buy socks from a Goodwill anyway.

I decided to finish my shopping expedition at the Grove. There was a stand outside of Topman that sold sunglasses — two for twenty — and who am I to argue with a bargain? I took a long time and surely annoyed the vendors by trying on each pair, but I’m very sensitive to my appearance, that’s why I get compliments. The kind I wanted were not available in black, so I sighed dramatically and turned back to the selection. Next to me were two older women who were looking for sunglasses as well and they reminded me of the Golden Sisters, so I, of course, adored them.

“You’re so cute, you know?” The short one said to me, randomly. I thanked my fan and continued shopping.

“You’ve just got such great hair! Remember, Bo, when I had hair like that? People used to come up to me all the time.” Bo agreed to this memory and they both told me that I was adorable.

Now, I swooped my hair back in a different direction today and it really changed my day for the better, I think. I saw a guy the other day walk by Duff’s Cakemix and I was totally enraptured by his hair. I’m very appreciative of good men’s hair, reader, it’s rather hard to pull off. I’ve been blessed with some nice hair, but I have no end of trouble getting it to look good each day. That and I get bored easy with it. It’s one of the major reasons I want to be a model. Somebody will cut your hair and style it for you. No hassle on your part. You might look ridiculous, but you’ll still be a model, you know?

I went to the J. Crew Men’s Shop, which was a far too dangerous place for me to be. My eyes were wide as I took in all the wares on sale. I JUST FREAKING LOVE SHOPPING AND CLOTHES. Maybe I should get a job in the fashion business? You surely get some kind of discount? I don’t know what, though. I never know how to get anywhere. I just know where I want to get. It’s the details in between that befuddle me. In a just world, a person could declare an interest in something and there would be people there to help you on your way — not stick you into speech class at a college. Ugh, I’m so anti-college, but I think I may have to go eventually. I’ll be that creepy guy in the back, probably. Anyway, back to J. Crew. I found the most wonderful tie clip. It’s plastic but it’s meant to look like ivory (which I don’t support, but it was cute) and is carved like a whale. SO CHARMING! It cost way too much money. I bought it.

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I totally forgot about the socks, but that didn’t prove important.

Now it was time to go! I decided to walk down Oakwood instead of Beverly and that was a great idea. It’s a quiet street and rather cool with all the trees that line both sides of the road. That was nice because the day was awfully hot and I was all in shades of grey.

It didn’t take long and soon I was standing in front of one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Seriously guys, I don’t know why he was a waiter. Yes, I do, he was waiting to be discovered. The Ivy is supposed to be a hotspot for celebrities and for others in the industry. It’s the same reason that I pose on street corners — somebody has to be a model scout! I didn’t see anybody who was anybody, but there were loads of wonderfully wealthy people just throwing money away. That’s the kind of crowd I want to roll with.

“Inside or outside?” the handsome man said to me. Of course he had an accent.

“Wherever I might see somebody who’s somebody.”

He smiled conspiratorially, “Table thirty-one, then.”

Lowering his voice as he sat me next to the entrance, he said, “We don’t have a rear entrance, you’ll see all who come and go.”

I thanked him and took my seat facing the street. I quickly moved to the opposite side of the table because I wanted a better view of the crowd and thoroughly enjoyed people watching while sipping my gimlet. I’m crazy about mint right now. The food came out far too quickly for my liking — I was in no rush. I wouldn’t have minded sitting in that charming little spot for hours watching all the ladies who looked like castoffs from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I should catch up with that show.

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I had spinach ravioli with a butter and sage sauce. It was fine. Nothing exceptional. It didn’t need to be, though, the exceptional part of the dining experience was the experience.

I thought I saw Bob Barker, but then, no, and then I thought I saw Robert de Niro, but then, no. I still kind of think it was him, but nobody was taking his picture. There weren’t any paparazzi anywhere! I was told that I would have to push through the paparazzi just to get inside. There wasn’t anybody there. That was rather disappointing.

The Australian waiter with the hard-to-decipher accent asked me if I wanted dessert. Did I want dessert? Is the Pope a Catholic? Is the sky blue? Is Joan Crawford the greatest actress of all time? OF COURSE I WANTED DESSERT. I LIVE FOR DESSERT. DESSERT IS MY EVERYTHING. I ordered Ricky’s Chocolate Cake à la mode. It could have served an entire birthday party. IT WAS MONSTROUS. There was no way I was going to eat a quarter of a four-layer cake, a pile of ice cream, and chocolate-chip cookies. My stomach is surprisingly cavernous, but that was just not happening. I had the kitchen box it up for me.

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In the end, it wasn’t as expensive as I had feared — I’ve spent more money in Des Moines, and I don’t really mind spending money on food. I just fear poverty, you know? I was very good with my money today, so I’m super proud of myself. I can be frugal when I need to be.

I couldn’t help asking the most handsome waiter in the world what product he uses in his hair. I want his hair. It was perfect. Slightly shiny, not a bit frizzy, wonderfully wavy. I think he was Italian. I didn’t really understand everything he said because he smiled a bunch and I got distracted. “You get it at CVS, yellow bottle that you shake.” I nodded as if this meant something and said goodbye.

“You have nice hair, too.”

I don’t think I had the power to answer. You should go to the Ivy just to look at him.

I took the long way home through the trendy part of West Hollywood where Sur and the Abbey are because I wanted to see people living it up on Friday night. They weren’t really. Maybe the parties started later in the evening? I wouldn’t know what to do in a club anyway. I know how to drink cocktails, but I don’t know how to dance. In my mind, I’m twerking on top of tables, but in reality, that probably wouldn’t ever happen.

I peered through the windows of a fetish sex shop for a while, wondering. I don’t care what you do in your free time, but some of that looked awfully painful. I did like the leather daddy hats, though. I’d totally wear one of them.

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It was a long, long, oh such a long walk back to my apartment and I had to pee. So, I did. In a parking lot. I felt like a trashy Justin Bieber. I never want to feel like that again.

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