I keep a diary partly so that I will be able to see how I might have felt terrible at one point, but I felt great later. I’m dehydrated, but I don’t feel like putting clothing on and walking the 50 yards to 7/11 to buy water. I live in LA people; I am not going to drink the tap water, no matter what Penn Jillette says. I closed my ICQ because it was getting on my nerves. I closed the little browser windows with various webmaster boards I was posting on. That world has become so competitive that the largest board had to disable the search function because assholes kept hitbotting it. I’ve got pretty good intelligence on who some of the assholes involved are, but I don’t intend to share it.
I’m bummed that there is always one fucking fly in the ointment in every community I find. I had a most excellent chat with sinisher today and it occurred to me while we were talking that there are certain patterns of unappreciativeness on the part of models which I’ve complained about here before, but really there is just one really sociable bitch who has been a real problem. It is not so much a pattern as one jerk spreading the hate.
In the adult webmaster world, there is like one person who is pissed he didn’t get to fuck me and his manservant who I’ve got issues with. It is not even like I’m angry there. I’m just disappointed because they both seemed cool at first.
When I was at Wesleyan, there was one cunt who insinuated her way into my social circle and fucked my boyfriend and cozied up to one girl in particular I’d been close with beforehand. I was devastated by this. Mind you, my boyfriend broke it off with the girl when I asked. He destroyed gifts she had given him and sent them back to her. I later fooled around with the chick’s husband and gave him furniture and bedding, so she knew I’d been there. The girl later dropped out of school and went to work at a car dealership. I guess karma got her and thank goodness I didn’t marry that guy. But I fled to the DC punk scene because that whole world had become too painful to me because of basically the acts of one bad apple.
I felt the most intense sense of coming home to where I was always meant to be in DC in that world. But when my best friend and I had a falling out because he suddenly discovered he was jealous when I got into a serious relationship . . . well, I felt like the whole city was coated with pain in a way where I had to leave.
So I fled to Atlanta. And let’s be fair here. Pretty much everyone in Atlanta sucked.
One of the things I loved about Los Angeles was its soft plastic love. So long as I was doing okay, it seemed like people would at least fake like they liked me and be pleasant. Even if you don’t like someone, it is polite to shake their hand and ask how they are doing. I didn’t mind. This seemed to work well for quite a while.
Then one club promoter who should have been on my dick was rude to me in front of witnesses. Karma kicked his ass hard. Both his clubs failed after I stopped supporting them.
A band I had done free promo work for had me cut from the guest list at my favorite club because someone told them the totally false rumor that I was thinking about suing them for the $900 I would have been owed from their breach of contract. I don’t think they thought I’d be more likely to sue if I laid eyes on them, but maybe the guilt was too much. They got terrible pictures shot of them by people who didn’t get what they were doing like Forrest and I did. They were dropped from their label when they should have become superstars.
These are two pretty minor things in the greater scheme of my world in Los Angeles. Or they ought to be. And the offending parties got what they deserved.
But I feel the most terrible urge to flee. When I got to college, it was my 12th school in 12 years. It is always my instinct to leave, to start over, to do it all again with a new cast of characters. But I feel like Los Angeles is the big time, the end of the line, the place where most anywhere else would be a step down, a step away, an acceptance of inability to take the heat.
I just wish there weren’t heat. I know most of the heat comes from people who are smaller than they can stand and wish they could be me or have what I have; it is the flame of their bilious envy. I’m so on it, so capable, so driven that I feel like a total wuss that I want people to be nice to me. But I do. I like to be nice to other people, but I feel like a chump if they are not nice back. So I want to be nice to people who are nice to me too.
I’d like to take this opportunity to mention to LA peeps in the house that I am doing a fuck of a lot better than okay and they are all invited to go back to making me feel extra super duper warmly welcome.
