Six and a half years in California and I’d never been to LA. For a long time I just didn’t want to go. Didn’t seem appetizing. But as I’ve gotten older and my appreciation for everything in motion has grown, I decided LA was worth a try. Aaron King called me on Thursday and asked if I wanted to accompany him and Ryan Red to LA for the weekend. Sho nuff.

We arrived late Friday night. And went directly to the HellHearse Manor in Los Feliz. This is James Oliver’s massive bedroom.

Ryan Red was just that.

The folks at the Manor bought 300 Christmas trees and drove them down from Oregon in a U-Haul. They’re selling Noble and Douglas Firs between 3 and 10 ft.

They keep them out back by the swimming pool. I guess Muska skated the pool last time they drained it.

This is Petecia La Fawnhawk and she resides at the Manor. And totally rules.

They’re all about the big screen in LA.

Red wears panties.

We drove around a lot because that’s what you do. I saw a few familiar sights.

The Gambler.

Everybody has a stylist in LA.

Need I say more. So delicious.

Red and Pete are basically movie stars.

The underlying reason for AK’s visit was that his step-grandad was having a surprise (but not startling) birthday party for his 90th year on this planet. It was WWII themed. AK was going to be Hilter, but ended up with a sailor suit from this army/navy store. Same diff.

I believe this man was supposed to be Winston Churchill.

Rosie with the Riveted Hip.

Here’s granpapa and his cousin reminiscing on all the good old days, all ten-million of them.

Apparently zoot-suits were banned during the War because they used too much excess fabric.

AK trying to pretend he’s not gay.

Oh to be on the sea again.

Petecia was Eva Braun and invested in a new wig.

Even if I didn’t look as gay as Ryan and Aaron, my specs still emitted rays of Roy G. Biv showing my true colors.


Petecia was fueling up for her performance later that night.

Ninety candles is too many.

Some party.

Oliver was the oldest attendee at 90 and four months.

He gave me the play by play of how he flew a bomber and dropped 8000 pounds of explosives on the hotel Hilter was in.

He told me how he was a hero.

AK’s backyard.

There’s always a sunset in SoCal.

That’s one good-lookin’ mirror.

Pete’s your private dancer. Dancer for money. She’ll do anything you want her to do.

Shipping off, back to LA.

But not before one of these, darlin’.

Back in LA, AK and I happened upon the Keep store and instantly made friends with Margot. Her and Grace of Bon & Ging clothing accompanied us for more vegan food.

Then it was partytime. I didn’t bring my big camera so as not to step on the Cobrasnake’s toes. But this party was super rad and took place at a huge art space. It was for some girl’s birthday. She’s the bassist in this band and was dancing around for the whole first song. I can’t remember her name but think I love her.

Petecia rocked so hard with her band Fawnhawk that her wig fell off.

Look who’s in LA. Jacob Biba was visiting Alex Klein. We chilled for a sec.

Alex Klein, a new LA transplant, was holding it down on the dancefloor.

And Zoe was there! She broke away from her law school homework just long enough to grace us with some Yunza moves.

PJ showed up. We left SF on such short notice that I forgot to call my LA friends. Fortunately, I ran into this guy.

The next day we went to the beach in OC. I’m still a tourist.

Such nice weather in December almost weirds me out.

Boys being boys. Matching shorts.

Boys being creeps. AK says that’s what Sam gets for wearing a Miller Light bikini.

We barged a private community with houses like this to get to Jump Rock.

This was a pretty piece of coast.

The tide was low and Aaron did some depth checking. About waist deep.

But we came so far. BFF jump.

We vamped in turns.

Oh, California.

Land of dreams.

As a final order of business, AK bought me my first tofu-mushroom burger from Taco Loco. Like the entirety of the trip, it fuckin’ ruled and I am greatly grateful.