Autumn, Me, Peach, Aoki 4/30/09
I'm sitting at a dinner table on Central Ave, Brooke and Paul across from me, a few girlfriends and Steve Aoki (Benny Hanna's son, Lindsay Lohans best friend) to my side. Any girl decked out in American Apparel would be peeing her gold spandex right now over the celebrity hipster DJ god on my left, but all I can think about is if I will be paying for the $12 martini I'm about order and how not to call Steve out on the $100 dollars he literally tricked me out of the last time we played poker. I decide to spare him since he is currently offering me some of his steak.
Paul stares at me for a few seconds and somehow I know he isn't about to compliment me on my wonderful Urban Decay eye makeup job...
"You look tired Meghan".
Agreed. I'm fucking exhausted. After 3 days of non stop coughing and 5 whole hours of sleep, I have concluded that I am not tired, I am dying.
Funny thing is, as distant and drained as I look and feel, I'm still happy. I spent the next few hours hiding from Kevin's camera on stage while trying to decipher the words coming out of Brooke's mouth, reluctantly dancing at the sides of four other tall beautiful friends amongst a sea of scene androids to the obnoxious beats vibrating and bouncing off the dilapidated club walls, and landing in the Grand Bohemian for some post partying. Sometimes I really hate myself. Maybe because I really had fun. Thanks P and B.
The rest of the weekend concluded in the company of JW's guitar playing as I scrubbed the tub and kitchen floor tiles in my Star Wars t-shirt and sock monkey slippers. Still happy.
Sometimes, I can't figure out what the hell kind of life I have made for myself in this humdrum city I half heartedly care about. Why some of the things I hate, mesh so wonderfully with some of the things I love in this world. Why my life is such an utter contradiction. All I know is this time, for the first time in a long time, I'm not complaining.
Maybe it's because no matter what, I'm not this guy...
or this one either...
