Wednesday, 27 August 2014

Wednesday 27/08/14

On Thursday evening I go to the gym, which does tend to be my only opportunity to socialise during the week, and by socialise I mean go there, avoid making eye contact with all the straight people that I see every night and want to be friends with because I want to sleep with them and occasionally shake my head “no” when one of them asks if I’m using the weights I happen to be standing next to. Then I go home.

At quarter past midnight I get on my bike and ride down Ocean Avenue, which is livelier than I would have thought, thanks to the number of drunken young tourists falling out of bars I didn’t even know existed. I try to remember a time when I might have also done that, but it’s really very faint after having spent so many years exclusively interacting with other people via messaging on social media websites and seeking out likes on instagram. I really, really want a family.

Then I go home and eventually pass out.

On Friday it’s another one of those days where I don’t open my mouth to say a single word and then it’s Saturday.

On Saturday afternoon I go to a pool party up in the hills. Do you really want to hear about that?

Around 5pm, I leave the party in the hills and go downtown to this music festival called FYF. The bands that I want to see that are playing that day are Chet Faker, Blood Orange, Caribou, and Grimes. But the time I’ve parked and walked the three miles they require me to get inside the festival, I’ve missed Chet Faker, Blood Orange, and Caribou. I also can’t find my group of friends that I was planning to meet, because nobody’s phone is working, though I suppose it’s my fault and I should have skipped the pool party and gone to the festival early, but that would have required me not to be an insecure homosexual that needs the pool party, and it’s too late for that.

I have about an hour to kill before Grimes is on. So I go buy some food and sit on the ground and eat it on my own. Everyone at the festival is probably 17 to 27. The fact that I’m wearing white socks pulled up and a bandana does not make me blend in.

Having nothing to do, I go to the stage where Grimes plays very early and get a really good spot. The show is pretty fucking awesome and I think I might have even enjoyed it.

After the festival’s over, I text Austin and go meet him and his friends in some bar in West Hollywood. For reasons that I can’t explain right now, and only feel like apologising for, when the bars close in West Hollywood, I continue to a house after party with Austin, Henry, and a bunch of other people I know.

I try to sleep on a couch between 6.30am and 7.30am, but that’s not working out at all for me, so right before 8am, I get up, put my shoes on and leave the apartment trying not to wake up the people sleeping around me. I drive back to Santa Monica listening to Bon Iver on the car stereo. Halfway home, I stop at a petrol station to refill my car, but my credit card is no longer working.

Monday, 18 August 2014

Monday 18/08/14

My publisher asked me to put together a playlist to go with the new book, so I put together a playlist to go with the new book. 

The songs are below. Subtle.

1. Sebastien Tellier - La ritournelle
2. The Presets - This boy's in love (Lifelike remix)
3. Yelle - Que veux-tu
4. Vampire Weekend - Walcott
5. Bat For Lashes - Daniel
6. Blood Orange - You're not good enough
7. Crystal Castles ft Robert Smith - Not in love
8. The Magnetic Fields - All my little words
9. Saint Etienne - I threw it all away
10. Bloc Party - One more chance

11. 808 State ft James Dean Bradfield - Lopez

(The title of the book is taken from the lyrics of the last song; well, quite)

If you wanted to buy the special edition of the book before the regular edition comes out, here are details. Special edition.


Tuesday, 5 August 2014

Tuesday 05/08/14

On Saturday morning I wake up and I go to the gym and then the overall plan is that I’ll go do something ‘non-scene’ with Henry, because we hate ourselves so much and we want to pretend that we’re something we’re not. Having very limited imagination and having lived this life for way too long to be able to think outside it, the best non-scene thing that we can think of is to go sit by the pool at the Standard downtown, instead of the pool at the Standard in Hollywood, where most of the gays go. I suppose I’m OK with this plan.
Then Henry texts me to tell me to meet him downtown and that he’s also bringing a couple of friends. Then I suddenly don’t want to go, because this triggers my social anxiety and, sure, I was looking forward to sitting by the pool with Henry, but perhaps I would be better off just walking down to the beach and sitting there on my own, instead of having to make conversation with an additional two people that I didn’t know were coming. Then I text TN and tell him what’s happening and this is a conversation that goes like this:
Me: “I think I’m gonna go to the beach on my own”
TN: “dont dude. go to the hotel pool party”
Me: “Sigh. It’s not even a party. It’s just a hotel. Maybe I’ll go”
TN: “GO. its Saturday. you have all week to go to the beach on your own.”
Then Henry texts and says that the pool at the Standard downtown is closed, which I think he might be making up because he wants to go to the gay one instead, and then we meet up at the Standard in Hollywood.
There was one time in London, when one of my best friends there, ST, had just started going out with a new boyfriend and I was about to meet this new boyfriend for the first time. I guess ST wanted us to like each other, and he later told me that he gave one piece of advice to the new boyfriend prior to meeting me. He said to him: “If you want London Preppy to like you, don’t talk to him too much”. ST knows me very well and this is pretty solid advice. The people that Henry has brought with him to the pool at the Standard in Hollywood talk to me too much.
We leave a couple of hours later and Henry and I go to have food at this place near his house, which he tells me he really, really likes. I walk in and see that it’s some sort of salad bar place where they don’t have a specific menu, but you have to talk to the person behind the counter and tell them to add to your plate all the things that you want as you go along. This is clearly an impossible task, or something I don’t want to engage in in this lifetime anyway, so I hand Henry my card, give him my PIN, and ask him to order whatever he wants for me and pay, I’ll eat anything as long as I don’t actually have to stand there and talk to the person behind the counter and name all these different foods to them. Then I go outside and get a table and wait. What Henry chooses for me is very good.
We then go back to his place and get changed and head out to a very scene event, Tim’s birthday party at the Wilshire hotel rooftop. There are many, many people there, I don’t know, maybe 120, and the one thing they have in common is that they all have slept with each other. This is not an exaggeration. They have all, literally, slept with each other. No exceptions. Also, everyone despises each other because most of them slept with another person when this person was still going out with a boyfriend behind the boyfriend’s back, so there is loathing, sexual attraction, bitterness, hurt, and semen between all those people, but none of this really matters, because these people are also each other’s best friends, in fact only friends, and they don’t have any social interactions outside this tiny circle and don’t know life outside of it either. I am one of them. I just live ten miles away on the beach to pretend that I’m not, refer to them in third person (“they” instead of “we”) and write fictionalised blog entries and novels about us, sorry, them, because my self-loathing and hypocrisy operate at an even higher level than most of theirs. In return, they perceive me and refer to me as “psychotic” or a “head case” behind my back, but all still welcome me in their group and freely offer to sleep with me.
Then this birthday party clears out and Henry, Austin, GD, and I go to a house party in West Hollywood.