"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go."
Summer has hit me like a ton of bricks. When the weather changes it feels to me like the whole world changes. When the weather is suddenly hot, I begin to imagine myself an inhabitant of some prehistoric jungle with giant leaves and exaggerated flowers. Everything is beautiful and all the dinosaurs are docile. Every thing in the bright green and pink and yellow ecosystem settles and shares drinks at the nearest watering hole. Such is summer in Los Angeles. All the turmoil, all the monsters settle, and everyone spends the next three months at the beach trying to forget the tragedy that was the previous winter in a booze and hash induced haze. Everything wrong is right again and each one of us has the permission to stop all productivity and cut loose.
The sunshine inspires. There are more warm sunny hours in the day, more time to meet people, more time to create and explore, more time for drugs, more time for vacations, trips to the middle of nowhere, more time to stay up even later passing joints and singing songs with friends. When it’s hot I understand how revolutions could begin in someone’s living room.
This summer, my revolution began at a bar. Should be no surprise there, since the bars are where I spend a large majority of my time. But maybe this evening was special. Maybe I had just had the right combination of drink and drug to feel open. Maybe I’m in love. Maybe I’m in love with him or with myself or with everyone right now. Maybe I’m just in love with being able to do whatever I want. Maybe Independence Day struck me closer to home than it normally does. Last night, Joshua and I started a revolution.
Since he and I reconnected recently, we’ve maybe hung out a handful of times, including one almost date where we cooked at my house and ended up eating dinner on the rooftop of my apartment building looking at the stars. Still no kiss, by the way. This week, he called and invited me to his band’s show. Last night was the first in a summer series of shows, a residency, at a local music venue right in my neighborhood where Audiobahn would be playing along with a bunch of other musical guests. I spent about 2 hours getting ready while Travis sat on the bed, smoking rip after rip on my bong and occasionally passing me cigarettes that we were sharing, watching me get dressed and undressed and dressed again. Since Mike and I broke up, I’ve been enjoying getting dressed. I can be as outrageous and unbridled as I like. Tonight I’ve chosen a handmade vintage sundress, sunny yellow with small pink and green flowers all over it, 6” pink pumps, almost all of the jewelry I own, a giant brimmed floppy straw hat and black smokey makeup. I look fabulous. Travis is wearing the standard: tattered jeans with the knees blown out, tight grey teeshirt and a shabby but well fitted flannel on top. I already tried on his clothes and decided I didn’t want to wear them tonight. He rolled us a couple of joints and said it was time to head to the show.
The revolution began about 6 drinks later and after all the bands had broken down their equipment. With a lit joint in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other, I’m standing outside the club with Joshua, laughing at my own expense and raving about the show. Joshua starts talking about being an artist, a starving musician, a rambler. He starts talking about his plans and his hopes and his dreams for this summer residency. I am getting sucked in. I’m talking about free spirits and love and positive energy. He mentions he wants to move out of his house, not pay rent, really go for the true artist lifestyle. Plus he needs to be closer to Hollywood. High as a kite and 3 too many drinks, everything makes sense to me. Obviously, he should move in with me! And I drunkenly grab his shoulders, shake him, tell him to move in with me and attempt to convince him that this is clearly the best idea that I’ve ever had. In shock, but brimming with what I perceived to be joy, he accepts! We speak of plans and revolution. We will network and help each other and build an artists’ commune where we all live and love for free, fuck each other, live on pancakes, all play music and act together, take mushrooms and write scripts. The fantasies of finding 20 or 30 likeminded fellows and converting a loft into a music venue, playhouse, cultural center, drug den—throbbing, thriving, living, breathing, sticky, beautiful, and powerful—begin. So he’s moving in to my studio apartment sometime this coming weekend. I may have proclaimed that I wouldn’t fuck him while he lived in my apartment. I do seem to remember saying that last night, but today as I’m writing this, I’m thinking that vow might get ignored.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited in my entire life. My close friend is moving in with me, I’m free as a bird and high as a kite all day every day. I am going to help Josh work on the show. Josh already told Travis and I that we can perform at the residency if we want. I’m going to help promote and book. I’m going to introduce Josh to every musician I know. Everyone can come back to ‘our’ place after the concerts every weekend. I am going to finally have the dream… the dream apartment where everyone drops by all the time… the dream lifestyle of someone active who has a booming social life and constantly surrounded by music… the dream love life where I really can have it all, the friendship, the sex, the openness, the freedom… everything I’ve ever wanted and all because I’m allowing it to happen. I started paving a pathway for myself to be happy, and within a matter of weeks it has turned into a freeway—no, an interstate!—no, an enormous intercontinental transit web of highways just for me!
Mike always said if we broke up that I’d be the one that was fucked. Well, suck my intercontinental highway of happiness Mike. If I had known that not being with you would be this good, I would have left you a long time ago. And you know what? I am fucked. On a much more regular basis than when we were dating.