Friday, September 28, 2007

Ma vie en centre ville

Last night a guy came in to our building. My bud lived in this building a floor upstairs of mine. We were walking from buddy's unit to mine through the stairs and when I opened the door to the stairway, I didn't know the dude was sitting behind the door on the floor shooting some crap there. He scared the crap out of me sheesh! I think I might have kicked his leg actually. I screamed. Buddy ran to the front to see what happened and the dude murmured he was tying his shoe lace. Yeah right. I went to grad school too dude.

This chemical consumer then went to the other dude that lived two doors away from me and held a sandwich shaped tissue wrap in his hand on the way back when buddy and I went to grap a beer in 107. I called the manager this morning and complained for no security guard at the front desk for an hour with the door opened last night. The mental ward's management is too busy to listen to my complaint.

[Photo from] My door is beat up. I have no phone jack, no Internet. My neighbors are convicted murderers, retired / practicing drug dealers and crazy Russian ex-girlfriend of one of theirs who still sleeps in the building somewhere with her 7-years-old son telling me about their affair in tears. I had a crush on her Russian boy who told me about the migrating birds all flying to Downtown lately though. I was just afraid his mom would offer me her son so I kind of took off after slightly socializing with the boy, cuz the security guard did tell me in the past, in Rosslyn Lofts, there were times when people would just drop infants off in other people's units and disappear. I don't know what I'm gonna do if suddenly I have a 7-years-old Russian son. I think I might really just keep him and take him to watch birds with me everyday, you know? I already have a pair of binoculars anyway. And I did have a wonderful time watching the pelicans in Pismo Beach. There're just so many big rocks and cliffs where the pelicans and seals just hung out. They're so cute and free. Oh god, speaking of that, I love watching birds. It's so relaxing.

Why would I live in Downtown instead of Pismo Beach? I think it might be for Angelique and the pain concentrated I can witness everyday here. Just to celebrate for that I'm not shooting crap. Just to celebrate for that I'm not thrown off the fire drill from the 11th floor. Just to celebrate that I left the jerk behind and embraced the insanity of life. When I see the birds in the sky in Downtown and my neighbor's kid's face smiling, telling me about them, it kind of worths the ridiculous crap I put up with.

The other day, I opened my door at 6:30AM and instead saw a yellow bath mesh and some half-full sample-sized bottles of bath products there. [scratch head] What the fuck? Did somebody take a shower right outside of my door on the hallway when I was imitating Ella Fitzgerald on DVD at night?! I think that could be a flirt. Nah, just kiddin'.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Nothing Compares to You

I was working in East L.A. It's as poor as Downtown but the visibility of such is not as obvious. It's a different junkie and crime culture out there.

I was pumping gas today and a woman, with the pores on her face all eaten up by drugs already, came to me and asked for some bus change. When did I start being able to identify the junkies' faces? I think it started when I met my Cuban drug dealer neighbor on wheelchair next door. He always opens his door so I see him everyday. His entire person, is eaten by drugs. He calls me the Asian bitch when he talks to his girlfriend in his apartment. I can hear it.

So going back to the woman in the gas station. She had a sweet voice, was blonde, in her 40s maybe, equally torn as I. I was pumping the regular class with my door wide open at 5PM, and playing Sinead O'Conner's Nothing Compares to You very fucking loud that everybody hated. I told her I had no money. She said she really liked the music. So, for a minute, not for any reason in particular, I looked at her and she looked at my car, we spent some time together listening to Nothing Compares to You. Two broken women, one song. Sinead is haunting. Will everybody please stop reminding me of him?

It's been so lonely without you here
like a bird without a song
nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling
tell me baby where did I go wrong?
I could put my arms round every boy I see
but they'd only remind me of you

I think she was beautiful. I don't know what happened to her. But she was probably born blonde and pretty. And now, I don't know, she's probably sleeping with strangers to make a buck to buy crack. She probably met the first guy that broke her cherry when she was younger, laid on his chest like in heaven like every girl does, stared at his light brown tiny nipples thinking they could build a beautiful house and raise some beautiful kids together too. When she went to bed in her parent's house's bedroom in Little Rock, she probably thought of her knight in shining armor wondering what he was doing too. She probably thought the pores on her face and her pussy would stay tight for as long as she wanted cuz she's so pretty too. She probably thought she was willing to do anything for him too. She probably felt that was the greatest love of all too. He probably told her he loved her too... Argh, I'm running out of breath...

And tonight, a few hours after I met her when I'm sipping this nasty Umani Ronchi Montepulciano D'abruzzo 2004 alone in the the Banquette that tastes like ketchup mixed with hydrogen peroxide before my gig, she probably is staying in hell for another night too.

I have no pride

If somebody put a tape recorder in my psycho-therapy room, here’s what it’ll hear:

Downtown Chick: Shrink, I have a question.
Shrink: What’s your question Downtown Chick?
Downtown Chick: Why does my love marry a virgin instead of me? I thought he liked making love to me.
Shrink: I don’t know him, so I really don’t know why he marries a virgin. Maybe he likes someone more submissive?
Downtown Chick: I’m submissive! What’re you talking about? I let him go all the way in my butt! That was so big! You know how big it was for a size 4 girl’s butt?! I’ll never forget that for the rest of my life!
Shrink: But you also have your own opinions about everything else from homelessness in Downtown to advocating democrazy in Burma, don’t you?
Downtown Chick: Well, no, not really, I was the cuddliest little kitten. I did everything he wanted. I was there only when he wanted to see me and shut myself off when he didn’t call me. I even told him I would hook him up with my girlfriends and have sex with other men to entertain him when we’re talking dirty about other people in bed. He was God. Come on, who goes that far for a man except me?
Shrink: But you’re still not submissive.
Downtown Chick: I AM SUBMISSIVE!
Shrink: Did you hear yourself?

Okay, time to go to bed, alone, again.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

2004 ADELAIDA--Paso Robles

Sorry, no photo. I could have taken my chunky dinosaur Sony digital camera out and shot a picture of the half bottle by the candle light but I didn't hehe... I'm not a food blogger... Just trying to make a journal off some good experience with my dinner companion. But this's a great one. Had it in Cambria. Super nice aroma, full-bodied, smooth, not dry, fruity, rich flavor but is not thick and heavy. I always love full-bodied even with vegetarian vietnamese rolls, so this can go with really anything for me.

Monday, September 24, 2007

2004 Stephen Ross Zinfandel "Dante Dusi Vineyard" Paso Robles

Had it in Santa Barbara. If it is a woman, she's one easy on the eyes, you sleep with, then immediately disgard... Sorry Steve but this wine has close to no finish, no complications, no aroma, only medium bodied. She's definitely smooth enough to be sleepable but she has no brain at all...

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Catch me if you can

Somebody is trying to find out who I am. The stats’s climbing.

It started this Sunday. Somebody reported me with some stupid excuse just to force me to come out from the bushes. A chain of very fishy conversation with the domain registrar asking about my identity was initiated, threatening to close this domain down. I was confused. I was dumb enough to believe it and complied. Luckily, an hour later, my bud raised the question of that was my host or a person faking my host. I immediately kicked around and backed it up. Problem solved. No one caught me so far. Poof. Almost! Gotta be more careful. The guard’s trying to take me back to the asylum… I’m not going back there… Those wackos’re gonna make me exercise, eat healthy and think in my right mind so I can’t talk crazy anymore…

Who’s trying get Downtown Chick? Is that another downtown chick? Maybe a downtown dude? Hm… Know what? He’ll never be able to track me down.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Lasagna, foie gras and sangria. Now this's life...

I wanna introduce my hero Bob of Foggia for today's Italian lunch. His homemade deep-dish lasagne with New York ricotta, mozzarella, provolone and parmesan cheese is too good... I think my friendship with my French dinner companion was seriously challenged when he asked me what dishes I wanted him to make and I said lasagne and tiramisu. As much as we successfully made our first chocolate soufflé to celebrate for our dysfunctional codependency on Downtown-Chick-invented-Chinese + French food and wine, Italian dishes still always live at a corner in my heart... Especially Bob's! I think those popular Italian joints like Celestino, Santorini, Mi Piace, Buca Di Beppo, Louise can all just close down if Bob happens to be competing in the same area. But you know where this Italian guy lands? Lakewood! Crazy! That's how some Hong Kong girl in East L.A. would get to know about his place. By the way Louise really makes me want to throw up.

I'm really a little too pampered with fantastic food these days. Last Friday, dinner companion and I went to the beach. He got some radish, crab meat, foie gras, cheese, bread and champagne and we ate it under the stars on Newport Beach. The foie gras was like good sex I think. You know what I mean. No need to say more. You'll never forget it. I don't want to go into detail how it's made and don't plan to have it again in particular but it was memorable, just like a past beautiful love.

That was good time but that's another story. To continue recapping my lucky chow week, the next day, Wikimond took me to Ciudad. I had been to Ciudad years ago but I didn't remember how the food tasted like anymore. The little tiny dishes of everything were not bad but the best was really their sangria in a late summer night. I think we both had 3 or 4 glasses. It was amazing near the patio heater at night. I had so much fun with my encyclopedia friend. Seriously, did Wikimond do 10 degrees in college? Is there anything under the sun that he doesn't know about? I think this German guy should be the President of the United States.

Dinner companion and I are heading to San Luis Obispo this weekend for the Hearst Castle. I heard I should wear flip flops. I bought a Hepburn style podka dots coctail dress when it's on sale... Oh well.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

“The fuck” in my binoculars

I saw Grass-eater two nights ago. He came to the mental hospital I went to. I did not even know he was coming because he did not write back after I told him that was the only place I could think of where I could forgive him.

I did not forgive him, because he put nothing in my bowl. I wanted a little sugar, or salt, or anything, but he poured me nothing. The “mediation” was unsuccessful. But the love of my life, when I first saw his face, the first time, or the 100th time, felt the same. It felt the same as the first time he kissed me in Golden Gopher. The man of my dream. The part of me, that still loved him and retained memory of him, was devastated. “She” was a so dead person.

I decided to therefore buy a pair of binoculars. I would no longer love anybody the same way I loved him for the rest of my life. I would however observe, just like other sickos in the old buildings, the rise and fall of love of these people in Downtown. When people love one another, and when they no longer love, and separate. And if this gets too poetic for a crazy woman’s blog, you need to understand, comedians have feelings too. Plus, I’m only a part-time wacko. As much as I enjoy being the “funny girl”, I do have a reliable car, a real job, loving supportive real friends, parents still married and loving each other, and perfect health. I have already deleted my early email communications with Grass-eater, but he did quoted “Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against passion and your appetite.” when we first met. Kahlil Gibran was right although the quoter however was in question. Sometimes, I happen to appreciate love feelings, and enjoy voyeurism.

So I have been ebay-window-shopping for a good pair of binoculars. I think “observing”or what you can call “stalking” is more acceptable in Europe than the U.S. Think about Kieślowski’s characters in Red and Amelie. Hitchcock’s Rear Window period is already so gone for the U.S. We are so suppressedly interested in others’ lives where there is almost no way we could know about them. As much as Grass-eater was a completely gentle, nice, behaving, appropriate Mid-western gentleman, he would fuck my ass so well the first time we casually met until I could no longer stand his x-large sized sex. This’s the world we are living in. Unlike the Japanese businessmen who put their fingers in the pussy of the schoolgirls or secretaries under their skirts in the subway, who immediately show up as the conservative businessmen / husbands kind after the train stops, it is just simply more fashionable for the American men to appear “open-minded”, “accepting” in a “diverse” environment, then fuck the smoking hot Asian mistress really well but marry the wife who doesn’t fuck them. This’s such a great healthy relationship culture in L.A. we’re living in with prejudice and superstitions disguised as normality.

I had not been fucking quite a number of guys for a while already by telling them that I did not like sex. I’m not sure about other women with issues but in my nut case, I’ll definitely be more interested in watching other people having sex with my future binoculars than having sex – with those men that I don’t give a fuck. You can’t argue against that, it really was true that literally I didn’t give a fuck to and about them. As much as I don’t want to admit, sometimes, for a number of reasons, we date guys we hate fucking, especially when we’re very fucked up ourselves, if you understand what the fuck I’m talking about. Oh, don’t I sound familiar?

Friday, September 14, 2007

On drugs

[Photo by Francine Orr, L.A. Times] Last night some dude told me the Rosslyn Lofts used to be under the police custody because there were too many people smuggling drugs and committing crimes. The security guard of that building at that time also told me how much of a hell it was when he was working there. He also said there’re times in the past the police would actually push people to some of those hotels to do drugs so they didn’t have to do it in the streets.

I’m thinking Edith, Billie Holiday, many people and I all have lived in these hotels at certain point of our lives. I can even feel them in the air. Yes, I can. They talk to me every night through the night breezes when I get home. The suffering spirits and myself are all neighbors.

When you hear Edith’s singing, when she lounged that “Quand…”, it was like there was an enormous stomach of air from men that used her, hurt her then left her she breathed out although she’s only 4’8”. She had never experienced the happiness the woman in the song was having about meeting the man of her dream and spending her life with him. That was only a fallacy. For a woman in despair, singing about perfect love is definitely a torture to her soul. No wonder she had to shoot morphine.

I read one of Billie’s greatest performances was her recording of I’m a Fool to Want You. She came out from the studio red-eyed, and her version became so unquestionably the best. It’s natural. Just the pain from being raped, prostituting then being duped by some aholes again and again already exceeded the quest for the love that was never available to the woman in the song. Of course she’s the best. You tell me, who can handle so much pain without shooting heroin?

Even I am on the edge of contemplating death at some point because the idea of injection’s just plain scary. My skin happens to glow and feel supple. I’ll never get close to any needles. But as much as I know I will always live, I am tempted to die instantly sometimes. When the pain is too overwhelming, not just a bit of it, not just an abstract amount of it, but actually as much as it becomes enough to blow my consciousness up when I remember how I was looking at the models in MOCA, felt Grass-eater’s lips were just next to mine, slightly turned around, they touched and we smiled at each other like a couple. How he held my hand when we’re walking off Grand Avenue and he had to stop at the middle and kissed me on the lips. Then he whispered to me in the night air that it was unbelievable how much he felt from it just from kissing me. And now he is getting married to a woman that was always a girlfriend the entire time he was seeing me of which I was unaware. Of course I know such a scumbag is not worth my life. But the pain drowns me. I cannot breath. It blinds me. I cannot see. It crushes me. I’m in pieces. It’s almost like I can feel the pain all the junkies in these old buildings around me suffer now, the alive and the deceased all these years. I wish somebody can just shoot me.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

"Baby, this’s my heart, you can cut it. I love you, forever."

I had an emotional injury earlier this year. That’s why I’ve been cognitively paralyzed for quite a while and in recovery. What happened? Well, metaphorically speaking, a Chevron truck of the biggest tank of gas that you’d even shiver in your cheap Japanese coupe when it got so close on the 710 crashed into my Hello Kitty Honda Accord and blew my brain up. Ever since then, what I do everyday are just work and write.

Of course, I’m not gonna write screenplay. That’s too provincial for a disturbed, crazy woman like me. Everybody in L.A. writes screenplay. So what. Instead, I only write stuff that get men that broke my heart in trouble. So now I’m writing a kick-ass x-rated love story about Grass-eater as my top-priority project every night. I stare at the street where he kissed me, his trees, his lamp poles, his open lots, right in front of his home, sip some cheap beer with almost no food, and write. You think Bukowski is tragic-cool? Not even close. That dude’s just a drunk fuck. Wait until you see how a mentally disabled woman on her $8 Ikea folding chair with Miller beer in hand writes, THEN publishes it. As much as I know nothing I write is libel or invasion of privacy and Grass-eater will have no case, I have asked my lawyer friends, read about them and am prepared that not even until next life, but just soon after I publish it, I may see his lawyer’s letter in my mailbox and meet him again in court. Woo! I’m gonna see my used-to-be knight in shining armor again in the U.S. Supreme Court! How new! I’ve never been sued before. :-D

Why do I have to do that instead of let it go? Cuz I’m sick of being silenced. How many times have mom and dad and these men tried to drive me out of my nut head so they can take over it? Since the moment I sat on the couch in the model unit in this building, read through the terms and signed the lease of this apartment in Downtown and my own head after Grass-eater scorned me, I make no deal with anybody that shuts me off again. I have my own place, and my own head, and they are both under rent control either in the sense of the City of L.A. or my emotional security, so no one can kick me out as long as I pay rent. Ever heard of the story of Echo and Narcissus in Greek mythology? She was punished for talking too much. Know what? I’m SO going to talk about grass eating all out aloud! Instead of repeating the last few words others say like how Echo is cursed to, I fuck that narcissist dude’s brains out AND write about him. He may only see his own reflection on the river. He may only run away from me as far as he can because he is frightened of the burning flame in me, but I know so well that he is going to remember how it was like when my beautiful naked body was in his bed every morning he wakes up hard and the intense writing I do that he dares not even read. This’s not even feminism. This’s simply hysteria.

Monday, September 3, 2007

What a wonderful world

Edith Piaf said she was more afraid of solitude than death.

To live without love is more tragic than to die.

I think I’m much luckier than she. I am surrounded by things that love me. When I blog, Blogger’s and Wordpress’s ”auto-save” looks after me and regularly hits “save” for me every other minute without me even asking for it. I think their engineers must love me. My neighbors also play their reggae and ghetto hip hop so loud which I believe they must be doing that to invite me to their crack parties. It also makes me blushed. The buses also say “hi” with their transmission noises when they pass my street even late at night. Of course, my neighbors opposite to my building give me a morning kiss with their eyes through the windows every morning when I wake up naked. And my sexy Filipino receptionist gives me a ”hate look” every morning I step into my office. I’m sure she means it well just to celibrate for another new day fresh out from rehab for me. And oh don’t forget the Latino teenagers scandalously soaking-wet-kissing, grapping, snuggling like they’re about to have sex right in the street on Broadway, I’m sure they are just showing me how passionate a man and a woman can get about each other and so… Ever heard of using affirmations to assure our confidence and faith in life? ”I am living in love. Everybody loves me. I’m never alone.”

The colors of a rainbow… pretty the sky
Are also on the faces…..of people ..going by
I see friends shaking hands…..saying.. how do you do
They’re really saying……I love you.
I hear babies cry…… I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more…..than I’ll never know
And I think to myself …..what a wonderful world

Saturday, September 1, 2007

Eggplant and pork, on choy, hot chocolate and croissants

I actually cooked this weekend! Indeed, I had almost never cooked in the past 14 years as I can recall. But I managed to remember how Mom taught me to cook everything with her universal paste: corn starch, salt, sugar, soy sause and put some minced pork, eggplant together and fried some on choy. This's pretty incredible I have to brag about.

Dinner companion and I went to watch La Vie en Rose after I finished cooking. Aw, that's heavy. I could not speak. For a personal reason. I did not know who Edith Piaf was. Grass-eater sent me a CD of her songs after he told me about her. I wish that did not happen. Dinner companion asked me what I thought about the movie. I really could not speak a word. He looked into my eyes and asked me what happened. I was scared. I was haunted. I told him about the "shit" I had been carrying on my back all these years. He told me it's okay. Everybody made mistakes. We had my Hong Kong dinner at almost ten o'clock after that movie of two hours.

Hot chocolate and croissants for breakfast. I was a little girl. I had cooking chocolate added to my croissant. I didn't even know cooking chocolate is different from the usual. I'm impressed dinner companion could tell me about this pack he bought it from Spain of 80% cacao. 80% cacao?

Cantaloupe, wine, cheese, and more...

Aw I had some cantaloupe last night... There had not been cantaloupe for quite some time. But like everything else, when the karma is ripen, things happen.

I had never had cantaloupe over Port wine before. It tastes very special. A little bit bitter to me. But drinking it alone is a bliss.

Never had I enjoyed the cantaloupe, the wine, the cheese, the very complicated aroma, the mixed sensations when I slowed down, contemplated things just the way they were and allowed myself to stop doubting life and wondered how we could just enjoy the very simple success of just living as a human being, our jobs, our families, our health, our passion, our vision, our cheese...