Landed in LAX around 3pm and had to wait til 5pm for my homegirl Vaporella to arrive, but once i picked up my bag the fuckers wouldn't let me back in to go have a bite to eat or a drink. I was insetad directed halfway across the goddam airport to the asian international flight area where there were shops that you didn't need a boarding pass to go to. Scarfed down some Mickey D's and fucked around online via the wireless network in the VIP lounge until she got in. We hopped a shuttle to the Fox rental car joint, picked up our swinging 4-door Kia and headed north on 450 towards Los Angeles.
We're staying at Vape's friend Sharon's house in Burbank, but she isn't here, so we have the whole place to ourselves. It's a sweet little villa, equipped with a huge backyard, BBQ, and loaded with antique furniture and rock memorbilia (she directed the Imagine documentary and is friends with Queen apparently). Its right across the road from the historic Bob's Big Boy on Riverside, and theres also a great little greasy spoon on the corner that serves gigantic breakfast burritos. Yes, of course I had one, and it was delectible. Their coffee however sucks, but thats ok cause theres a Starbucks next to Bob's.
We freshened up and went out in search of some decent Mexican food. Vaporella called her friend josh who recommended this place called Casa Vega, and we made plans to meet there in half an hour. First problem: neither of us had the slightest clue where the fuck we were going. We had 3 different maps all of which proved insufficient to get us where we were going without making at least 6 wrong turns per venture. We get there eventually, only to encounter problem two: theres a 1 hour wait for a table. Now putting aside the sign that said "Appropriate attire required," and the fact that it was already 8:30 and I was supposed to be meeting my friend Ilka at some party that started at 7 and ended at 11, i still would not have eaten there out of sheer principle. No burrito is worth waiting an hour just to order, and i seriously doubt a sleeveless Brooklyn t-shirt is considered "appropriate," though i can't imagine why anyone would get dressed up to each nachos. We soon found another cheaper, easier mex place and ordered some huge ass blue margheritas. sure, we had to endure karaoke versions of Superfreak and I will Survive, but atleast we didnt have to wait.
We then proceeded to the party that was ending at 11 and got there at quarter to 11. My friends were gone and so was the beer. The store was mad cool though—Wacko, it was called—every rock, horror, and pinup girl item you could imagine. Action figures even I'd never seen before. Great art on the walls, and a predominantly gothabilly clientele. We looked arounf for awhile, then finally heard back from ilka. Apparently she'd been trying to reach me but couldnt get through to my cell. They had gone to another party at a place a few blocks away called Rosemary's that was happening, but that they'd also left already and that was also ending soon. We went there, but it was just more crazy rockabilly freaks being loud and no beer left, so we bailed.
Our next attempt at finding a party was to trek to the Silverlake area to a rock bar called Spaceland where a good friend of Vape's bartended. Unfortunately for us, she had just left town that morning for Seattle. The overly tattooed and mulletted doorman/bouncer Bear kept us entertained against our wills outside though by relating all sorts of useless information, including how his freind in Miami had found out his girlfriend was cheating on him and how he got his nickname, which he illustrated by showing us a tattoo of a bear grabbing his crotch. I thought maybe he'd gotten it from shitting in the woods...
Our final hope was my friend Julie who Ilka said had gone to see some band called the Red Onions play when she left that were supposed to be awesome, but she never returned my voicemail. I later learned she had left her cell phone in the car. I will never understand people who have cell phone and keep them turned off or leave them in the car. Why even have the fucking thing?
Nevertheless, we managed to keep ourselves entertained while driving all over looking for parking by singing along to Zeppelin songs in funny voices and making off color jokes about people. Eventually, we dropped Josh off at his car and headed home to crash. He left us his road atlas, so now we had 4 maps and still no idea where the fuck we were going. Oh well—so much for Friday night in Los Angeles. Perhaps Saturday night would would hold a more exciting form of insanity in store for us...