Adventures in Highland Park

Tonight I found myself in Highland Park. I drove myself over after a friend of mine demanded my presence. I don't think I've ever been mandated to attend an event. Apparently, without me there, the whole night would have fallen apart. I doubt there was much truth to that, but me, in an eager attempt to placate some folks and show them how "in" I am, I hopped into my automobile and lurched down the freeway, into one of the moste scenester areas of Los Angeles I've encountered (for those that haven't been through the trials, Highland park is adjacent to Echo Park).

I arrived in Highland park, when not a second after, I received a phone call from a friend, asking for a ride.

Allow me to introduce my friend:

She's a very cute girl, 24, who is in a relationship that almost defies sensible logic. She's an intellect, reads great books, watches amazing films, knows how to strike up a pretty good conversation, and has the self esteem of a fish in a shallow pool of water. I waited in front of her place for close to 20 minutes while she "dressed appropriately". Whatever. I have Love Line to listen to on the radio.

We get down to the bar and meet up with the rest of the folks. Apparently her boyfriend is going to be at the club. That leads me to wonder whether she asked to hang out because she genuinely wanted to "kick it" with us, or if she wanted to show up with a support group that would help her rally against her deadbeat boyfriend. It turns out it was neither, and as soon as boyfriend showed up, she dropped us to go have some kind of argument with him. I met him. He seemed okay, but appearances can be deceptive. She left the bar with him about 20 minutes later, tears pulling lines of mascara down her olive cheeks.

The group and I spend the next 30 minutes talking about how great she is, and how much she completely misses that fact. We agree that boyfriend is kind of a douche for spoiling her night. It's not the first, and we all doubt it'll be the last.

We carry on with a few drinks and hanging out on the smoking patio. There is a couple discussing music and slow sipping their beers. We watch and observe the interaction, deciding that they're just the exact type of folks we'd expect at this bar. Good looking, but about as deep as a convex lens.

We listen in on their apt observations about the music scene, the way that our world politics boil down to defeating bush, and how their shopping sprees rule their paychecks. At this point I realize that the folks I'm hanging out with are at their exact level. I love them, but at the same time, I grow a sincere disdain for my company. I'm probably not better than them in the least bit, but I recognize their failings and their trappings. It makes me wish I had stayed home, reading a book, or sleeping soundly.

The people I'm with run out of cigarettes. It's time to ask the attractive couple for a couple of smokey treats, and my friend shimmies herself over to their corner to ask for a couple of spares. Their eyes light up and they spark up a conversation while the rest of us look on, almost envious at her predisposition for engaging strangers in comfortable interaction.

The others decide it's taking too long to score a couple of cigs. We roll on over and find them discussing breasts. Our friend works in the lingerie department of a well known department store. They're sizing up breasts and comparing cups. At this point, I really want to head home. She implies that she wants to go home with the girl with whom she's sharing bra strap tips with. This provokes the other gentlemen I'm with to hoot and howl and egg them on, perpetuating some strange schoolboy fantasies that they've been nursing in secret. The girl looks over at me and runs her fingers through my hair noting how soft it is. I raise my glass to her and as soon as she's turned around I can't help but roll my eyes. Why aren't I home yet?

Friend goes and makes out with girl, her significant other turns out to be her cousin, visiting LA, and my friend engages in friendly (yet subtlely hostile) music speak. They don't agree on the Beatles, and for them, the night is set in stone, chiseled by the music fates. They're inseperable. The rest of the gang decides to get these two girls making out. They do so, head to the bathroom, I talk to a homeless person about homeland security, and why 10 drinks are never enough to keep us down and out. It's the most interesting conversation I've had all night.

Somehow it all comes to an end, I have to drive people home, and all I can think about is Her. I think about how much I'd have easily given up this terribly pitty night for five minutes in her arms. It's almost too painful to think about, but it's sobering. I get home and write this post and I look through some of her pictures. It's time to call it a night and sleep tight.