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There are numerous reasons why I am staying away from certain specific stories on el blogaruu. Numerous reasons. Main one being, obviously, I have none of that kind from here in L.A. Numerous others. Lately, this became another reason. Recently, a guy I hardly know, and still not sure why he bothered, started to tell me about a game of chess, lets call it, that he played with a girl the day before. Telling me where his pieces were positioned on the table, where he put his king, none of her pieces would go near his king, and a lot more talk specifically aimed around his chess pieces. All in all, he went on and on about his king, and what he did with it. Hopefully the italics will help you along the way there. It was great fun to sit there and listen to, a pointless story, pretty much like this one. However, at least it made me realize, no one wants to hear about chess, unless your king is beaten up or something bizarre happens during the game, but even then, not really blogaruu material.

On the other hand, I do have a few stories that just about stay within the realm of bloggable. In fact, I have a bucket of them, but seeing as three occurred all within the same evening and night over the weekend, I’ll work them in here and make them suitable.

First one starts with a girl I met once, months back, during the first week or two of being in L.A. Introduced to her on a night out by either Andy or Colin Todd, not sure which, I think her first few comments to me were along the lines of how she always gets her lefts and rights mixed up, her left hand, right hand, left indicator, right indicator, left foot, right foot and a long, long list of many more that she so kindly listed out for me. I think I was distracted by her left and right something or other, can’t really remember, eyes maybe, to be able to withstand her long list. Throughout the one time I met her, she told me so many ways that she gets them mixed up. She painted quite the clever picture of herself, to be true.

Anyways, out of the blue the other day, she gets in touch to tell me she is in my neck of the Hollywoods, what was I up to. I told her I was packing up some stuff, I was leaving L.A. “Oh my Gawd, why are you leaving?” Gave her my reasons and included a joke especially tailored for her – I am leaving to go left for a while, work to be done! “Huh, go left?” Oh sorry, I meant to go write, I must get some writing done, I can’t believe that has happened again, I always get my lefts and rights mixed up! Surprisingly, my horrifically good joke, a thinking man’s joke, one of those ones, went waaay over her head, did not get it, in the slightest “Oh my Gawd, I always do that too! Just earlier I got my left & right shoe mixed up!” Good work woman, at least it is nice to see that L.A has not changed you since the last time we spoke.

For some reason, she was very emotional and hysterical that I was leaving L.A for a few days. Although it did keep in tow with her texts the last time I left for Mexico “Noooo, I will miss you, come back, I miss hanging out!”, after only meeting her once, ever, a couple of months prior. “I must come say goodbye, I am close by, I have to send you off”. Ok, you strange nut, if you insist. After she sent me off and said goodbye, it dawned on me why she was so hysterical and acting like it was so final. Well, not really dawned, more she said it specifically “I can’t believe you’re leaving L.A and going back to Ireland, what will I do now we can’t hang out any more?!” I was going to mention a few important issues, such as I was only going to San Francisco for a week or so, plus we had hung out twice since January, but I decided it would be better if I just right her off. I mean, left her off. Deary me, her ways are starting to rub off on me, I will miss hanging out with her!

She left, I got ready to go out for my friend’s birthday, and then left my house. Literally as I stepped off the steps to my building, incident number two occurred. A girl was walking up my street, and I was heading down it, we were inevitably going to cross paths. And I knew her, from the club/bar/dancing convention place at the top of my street. Only seen her once, and she had only seen me once, but enough happened for small talk to occur. Maybe I could get away with a quick nod, a how’s it going? and scuttle off down the street. 

Still not sure if she did this on purpose or not, but at times I do it myself, if and when I feel that the person asking me how things are going, does not actually give a flying funk, and wants to get away. When I feel that they are asking me to merely fill a gap, instead of obligingly giving them their desired, quick response – Fine, yourself? Good stuff – and letting the conversation end quickly, I prefer to throw words at them that they can not possibly get away with just giving a fake nod and a smile. Words such as “bloated”, “bizarre” or “Oriental” have all worked in the past to stop a person in their tracks and make them begrudgingly ask “Oh. Bloated/bizarre/Oriental? Why so? You look fine to me. Please say you’re fine and let me go” At least it lets me know if they are listening or not.

Back to this girl specifically, who again, not sure if she meant it, but, as it dawned on her that she recognized me too, responded with a grimace, and said… “Oh hi, I’m sore” accompanied with a pouting face. What could I do, tell her good work, and walk on? No, had to be done – Oh yeah, ha, that’s a weird one (but a good one), why sore? “I cut myself shaving, I was in a rush for work”. Now I thought she was the one lying to me, after quickly inspecting her face and seeing there were no cuts, what a liar! Ha, guff, where? I don’t see any cuts. By the time I said this, realized my stupidity – girls shave their legs, and not their faces (well, most anyways I hope, ha) – and was about to say, oh your legs, she put me in my place with her blunt response…

At this point I should just say, girls in L.A at times have no shame/cop on/are very open to strangers or people they just met. Anyways, she could’ve wrote a monologue on where she cut herself. And the way she bluntly told me, left me just saying dumbly – Oh, there, I thought you meant somewhere else, ha, oh yeah, for work, yeah, I get it, eh… To which she replied “Oh no, I dont ever shave my a…” sk me a stupid question and I will further dumbfound you with my brutally open answers. 

All quite random really. Not much happened after that now I think about it. This post is dragging on a bit so I will not bore you with any further details. Final story just involved me being brutal at remembering names, particularly when one girl was, so to speak, quizzing me about hers. Doesn’t matter, end of those type of stories.

Song of the funny old day is… Strange Overtones by David Byrne & Brian Eno

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