Beverly Hillsillies

Day #3…

Kim has found a brochure about this Dog exhibit at the Natural History Museum, so we try to go there. This turns out to be a stupid idea, since USC is playing Notre Dame and it takes us over an hour to drive around a three-block radius trying in vain to find parking for less than $50. We give up.

Mitch drives Kim home, and we head out to Beverly Hills. We drive around looking at houses and talking about which ones we’d like to live in … my favorite was a huge white boxy number that was covered in turquoise glass. Very modern-art-y. What do the people who live there actually do for a living? How are they so loaded? I am unable to answer this question.

We cruise down Rodeo drive, mocking the rich teenagers with their perfectly-coiffed hair and tight pants. I mention the fact that our high school experience doesn’t even vaguely resemble theirs. We agree that we wouldn’t give up our freaky high school for the world - even if it meant being rich and shopping on Rodeo Drive. We had more fun at 16 than they can ever hope for. This makes me feel better about being poor.

We eat cookie and ice cream sandwiches at Diddy Riese. We shop for toys. I say to myself “I’m in Beverly Hills. I’m going to go into this drugstore and buy a trashy-looking snakeskin lighter.” I do. We have a great moment outside of “Aaah’s” - I’m smoking near the five-foot-tall singing dancing Santa. This little girl runs up to him, pats his nose, and says “Hi, Santa! You’re coming to town!” and runs off. We look at lavalamps and I introduce Mitch to Emily the Strange.

It’s getting dark now, so we head off to Santa Monica. I tell Mitch that the only thing I really want to do while we’re there is get our picture taken in one of those photo booths - it’s kind of a thing with me. We end up forgetting to do it. We wander the pier, listen to a guy play Christmas carols on a three-octave set of chimes, watch people lose those stupid rigged carnival games, check out a carousel populated entirely by shape-shifters. Realize that there’s a reason we’ve been close for so long. Make fun of people. Practice unsafe jaywalking.

We end up at the promenade, listening to the 12-year-old boy who does a damn good Santana. We watch breakdancers. We look at paintings and I buy a monkey and we check out furniture and spiked-leather-wristwear. We sit on a big cushy expensive couch while I call Patti to tell her when my flight gets in - but first, Mitch calls James who looks it up for me online. Our goal is to waste a few minutes until we meet up with Ryan Fox, whom I haven’t seen since New Year’s 1997, which was held at Ryan Casey’s house. He’s just recently passed the bar, and I am excited for him! Woo hoo!

We sit by the dinosaur, and every time someone walks by, we comment on how much Ryan has changed. A group of basketball players walk by, and we say “Wow, Ryan. Were you a seven-foot-tall woman last time I saw you?” Finally, he arrives, and he is just the same. As always, I want to pinch his cheeks. We have a big group hug in the middle of the street, and I feel more at home than I have in a long, long time. We wander up and down the street - we see one of those guys wearing all black and wearing a sandwich board for a website. Ryan tells me that he always wants to go home and look the website up, but he can never seem to remember the URL. I can’t remember it either.

We end up - after much deliberation - at Buca di Beppo. The plates of food are bigger than anything I have ever seen. They are the size of a small child! We stuff ourselves, and after eating more than I have ever eaten, I go out to have a cigarette. Now, let me go back a bit. During dinner, Kim calls. She is upset about something, but won’t say what it is. We are worried. Mitch calls her back, and discovers that nothing is actually wrong. As far as I can tell, she was upset that Mitch and I were hanging out where she couldn’t keep an eye on us. I spent a lot of money on a plane ticket I couldn’t really afford. I have come to see the person who is the most important friend I have ever had in my life. I have made a point - all weekend - of keeping my distance. Of being good. I’ve been trying not to sit near him or touch him or make questionable comments. I’ve done everything I can think of to make Kim like me - to make her comfortable with me being around. I guess it wasn’t enough. It is my last night in Los Angeles - and Mitch goes home.

On one level, I’m fine with this. I haven’t seen Ryan in ages, and I’m excited to meet his new boy. I get to see his new apartment - which he just moved into THAT DAY - and it’s lovely. We go to a coffeeshop called “The Novel” to hang out, and we don’t leave there until one in the morning when we get kicked out. They drive me back to Mitch’s, and we arrive just as he does. By this point, it’s almost two - and I have to get up at 4:30 in the morning to catch my plane home. Despite all this, I’m so exasperated that I can’t sleep. I feel like I did my best to meet everyone else’s needs and to pacify everyone else’s insecurities, and it didn’t seem to help. I’m frustrated with everybody, including myself.

By five in the morning, we’re on the road. I am exhausted from the weekend and the hour of sleep I just got. I am an emotional wreck, and I tell Mitch everything. I tell him I’m angry and I tell him how hurt I was and I say that I don’t know what part I can have in his life if this is how it’s going to work. By the time we reach check-in, we have hashed everything out. He has allayed any fears I had about losing his friendship and I am feeling much better about the whole situation. We cry. We say good-bye, again… and I’m off. It was both the best and the worst weekend I’ve had in years, and I will remember both parts of it for the rest of my life.

So, anyway. Back to normal, I suppose.