Irolo St. Apartment
Link above takes you to the apartment I lived in while in L.A. at first (the one with 6 of us at one point, with CE, MJ, JZ, etc.). Just in case you're curious to explore the area, now you can.
Nothing more exciting about this, at this time, I'm afraid.
-AA
Friday, June 24, 2011
Living in the projects, who me? ::winks::
Today, a friend commented on my living in the "projects" - of course, a white girl would NEVER live in the projects, would she? Well, not a white girl from Oregon, I suppose. Unless, of course, you're me. ;-) No, of course I didn't live in the typical projects you all are probably thinking of, "Cabrini-Green", "Robert Taylor Homes", "South Central L.A.", hoodville's. And, to be honest, there was really only, technically, one true "projects" that I knew of in Portland, but to me it's not just about the building - it's about the atmosphere, the people, the community (good and bad) of the area that makes it "The Projects".
Ask anyone who knew me from "back in the day" and they'll tell you that where I lived in North Portland was not exactly the nicest part of town. We lived on the edge of the Rolling 60's (Crips, and now not sure what territory they have...) - they tagged about 2 blocks away from us on a regular basis - right by where I caught the bus in the morning to go to work. Also, the Unthank Park Hustlers (Bloods) had territory that was close to the edge that the Crips would claim - I think that this was more of a battle line than anything. The UPH claimed territory from NE Tillamook up to NE Shaver, and I-5 over to MLK Jr. Blvd. Technically, we should have been in their territory, but the 60's territory started around Shaver, I think - thus, the reason we probably saw both sets of action and had so many problems (there was also the Irving City Park, not far away, that also boasted a large amount of UPH). The one good thing is that I don't think my friends ever really knew we were that close to "gang activity", unless I pointed it out. When they heard gunshots I'd write it off as not a big issue, just someone doing "something stupid". AO moved into the area, and as far as I know she never had any major issues. The story of how I got into that area, though, is worthy of a whole other entry.
A little back-story on me, that I haven't already mentioned. I became fascinated with "The Ghetto" as a child. Poverty, despair, degradation, gangs, territory, community and lack thereof, drugs, etc. - all of it. I breathed it in and it felt like a crisp winter morning inside my mind. Why? I'm not sure, but I'll also freely admit that Genocide in history and, separately, WWII Nazism on the Sociological aspect of how it affected the people of Germany fascinates me to no end. Growing up, I loved watching Good Times (and The Jefferson's, even though they moved out of "The Ghetto"), and now as an adult own the series (or at least most of both). When I met CW and took a trip to Chicago in 1991 I was thrilled at her stories of Chicago Gangland Lore, and the fact that I could see the Cabrini-Green buildings from the top of the John Hancock building. Amazing. I lived in a couple of scary areas in L.A. and loved it, so it only made sense, somehow, that in 1991 I'd end up in North Portland and stay there until I moved in 1994. To me, that was home. I also fail to mention, TL and I would drive around in her red truck, in known Blood territory, at night, looking for boarded up crack houses (she was, at the time, studying drugs and drug abuse in college and found this stuff just as fascinating as I did) - oh, and she insisted we leave the dome light on so that "everyone will see we're white girls and not gang bangers! I don't want them shooting up my pretty truck!"
As for living there, I loved it. I should write an entry about some of my experiences there, as they're highly amusing, to say the least. I managed to talk a bunch of people into moving into that little pocket with me (we abutted I-5 on a corner - this area, by the way, is now very upscale, trendy, nice...so different from the solitude I used to feel in this neighborhood).
To continue on with the ghetto theme of my neighborhood, here's a picture of a church that I recall was pretty close to where we lived (this is UPH territory), and following that is the Hostess store that I used to go to that wasn't that far away:
Oh, and an exciting internet find for me - the market you see in this picture below (on the left, past the abandoned building) was literally about 2 blocks away from where I was living. This was on Mississippi and about a block off Fremont. I would go in there and buy chips and such...the black guys always looked at me a little funny, but I think they respected that I didn't have any issue with supporting their business. The place was dinky, always had a bunch of guys hanging around inside doing nothing, talking, sporting colors (red), but it was all good...the pocket we were in was insanely odd, to say the least.
So, that's just a little back-drop to things to come - but, it's a start of information, I suppose. This entry took kind of a different route than I wanted it to, but here it is!
Additionally, in Los Angeles, the second place I lived was here - the link far below should take you to the street address directly, and it's the apartment complex there next to the parking lot. If you pull out on the map and look around you'll see how close we were to South Central and to the famed "L.A. River".
Enjoy, and I should be back later with more...of course. I think I need to expand here on my time there.
-AA
http://maps.google.com/maps/place?q=1348+South+Hope+Street,+Los+Angeles,+CA&hl=en&ftid=0x80c2c7c65d6984b1:0xe1a2b1cdc5aafe45
Ask anyone who knew me from "back in the day" and they'll tell you that where I lived in North Portland was not exactly the nicest part of town. We lived on the edge of the Rolling 60's (Crips, and now not sure what territory they have...) - they tagged about 2 blocks away from us on a regular basis - right by where I caught the bus in the morning to go to work. Also, the Unthank Park Hustlers (Bloods) had territory that was close to the edge that the Crips would claim - I think that this was more of a battle line than anything. The UPH claimed territory from NE Tillamook up to NE Shaver, and I-5 over to MLK Jr. Blvd. Technically, we should have been in their territory, but the 60's territory started around Shaver, I think - thus, the reason we probably saw both sets of action and had so many problems (there was also the Irving City Park, not far away, that also boasted a large amount of UPH). The one good thing is that I don't think my friends ever really knew we were that close to "gang activity", unless I pointed it out. When they heard gunshots I'd write it off as not a big issue, just someone doing "something stupid". AO moved into the area, and as far as I know she never had any major issues. The story of how I got into that area, though, is worthy of a whole other entry.
A little back-story on me, that I haven't already mentioned. I became fascinated with "The Ghetto" as a child. Poverty, despair, degradation, gangs, territory, community and lack thereof, drugs, etc. - all of it. I breathed it in and it felt like a crisp winter morning inside my mind. Why? I'm not sure, but I'll also freely admit that Genocide in history and, separately, WWII Nazism on the Sociological aspect of how it affected the people of Germany fascinates me to no end. Growing up, I loved watching Good Times (and The Jefferson's, even though they moved out of "The Ghetto"), and now as an adult own the series (or at least most of both). When I met CW and took a trip to Chicago in 1991 I was thrilled at her stories of Chicago Gangland Lore, and the fact that I could see the Cabrini-Green buildings from the top of the John Hancock building. Amazing. I lived in a couple of scary areas in L.A. and loved it, so it only made sense, somehow, that in 1991 I'd end up in North Portland and stay there until I moved in 1994. To me, that was home. I also fail to mention, TL and I would drive around in her red truck, in known Blood territory, at night, looking for boarded up crack houses (she was, at the time, studying drugs and drug abuse in college and found this stuff just as fascinating as I did) - oh, and she insisted we leave the dome light on so that "everyone will see we're white girls and not gang bangers! I don't want them shooting up my pretty truck!"
As for living there, I loved it. I should write an entry about some of my experiences there, as they're highly amusing, to say the least. I managed to talk a bunch of people into moving into that little pocket with me (we abutted I-5 on a corner - this area, by the way, is now very upscale, trendy, nice...so different from the solitude I used to feel in this neighborhood).
To continue on with the ghetto theme of my neighborhood, here's a picture of a church that I recall was pretty close to where we lived (this is UPH territory), and following that is the Hostess store that I used to go to that wasn't that far away:
Oh, and an exciting internet find for me - the market you see in this picture below (on the left, past the abandoned building) was literally about 2 blocks away from where I was living. This was on Mississippi and about a block off Fremont. I would go in there and buy chips and such...the black guys always looked at me a little funny, but I think they respected that I didn't have any issue with supporting their business. The place was dinky, always had a bunch of guys hanging around inside doing nothing, talking, sporting colors (red), but it was all good...the pocket we were in was insanely odd, to say the least.
So, that's just a little back-drop to things to come - but, it's a start of information, I suppose. This entry took kind of a different route than I wanted it to, but here it is!
Additionally, in Los Angeles, the second place I lived was here - the link far below should take you to the street address directly, and it's the apartment complex there next to the parking lot. If you pull out on the map and look around you'll see how close we were to South Central and to the famed "L.A. River".
Enjoy, and I should be back later with more...of course. I think I need to expand here on my time there.
-AA
http://maps.google.com/maps/place?q=1348+South+Hope+Street,+Los+Angeles,+CA&hl=en&ftid=0x80c2c7c65d6984b1:0xe1a2b1cdc5aafe45
Thursday, June 23, 2011
L.A. and hair, baby!
This is me, but if you know me now, you'd probably never recognize this as me (unless you really know me well, LOL)...let's put it this way, if you saw me on the street today, and this picture was what you had in your head? Ya, not so much.
Anyway, I was thinking to myself, "why in the world am I so fixated on writing about Los Angeles and my time there?" I think, aside from what I've already written, it's definitely because of the change I experienced while there - inside and out. This picture does not define how I looked at all, but it shows I was trying different things out...oh, I should dig up the picture of what I let TL do to me - that's even more amusing (and Robert Palmer back up singer-ish). I'll write about that one another time, but, for now, enjoy the pic, and know that the grimace on my face is pretty accurate to how I felt about this "change" CE did. She, by the way, was thrilled with the outcome...me, not so much. Though, I will admit this hair style kind of reminds me of some Julie Cypher pics I've seen in the past (that's Melissa Etheridge's ex, for those of you not in the loop about lesbian icons). LOL Yep, that hair was definitely late 80's.
I actually went out in public like this, to a straight club, too. Oh, the horrors!
Cat had my tongue, for a few minutes...
I have a lot of things buzzing around in my head today, but none of them really seem to want to take to the page, so to speak. Well, at least that's what I think - we'll see what comes of this piece, today.
I was sitting around, playing Bejeweled 3, because I have a hand injury and I'm not supposed to be doing a whole lot right now due to a surgery I had a week ago. So, I'm typing a lot? Ya, that's about right. I seem to be thinking a lot while playing that mindless game - it's kind of calming. Could it possibly be that a simple computer game has been giving me Zen-like peace of mind, or allowing me to think about things in the past and rectify, resolve and relive some things? Maybe...or, it could be the fact that I've been given a gift of almost a week off from thinking, eating, living, breathing my business.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still actively involved in what's going on, I mean how could I not be with it in my house? But, I'm not being allowed to do a lot of the work I usually do because of the stitches and such - and needing to keep my hand elevated for 80% of the day, etc., etc. It's actually been rather, surprisingly, nice. I feel like I'm decompressing for the first time in years. I'm incredibly blessed to be with an amazing woman who can step up to the plate and handle things...and I hope she realizes this (and I do tell her).
------------------------------
Today, I learned, once more and even more so than before, that while I may be my mother's child, I truly didn't know who she was. Her layers were more hidden than mine - at least with me if you dig a little, or even just ask you might learn something about me...but, with her, she was like Fort Knox.
My mother passed away on February 15th of this year in her mid-60's. For the past few years she's been loopier than usual, but most of what she said, up until the middle of last year, you could actually accept as probably true (based on how she conceived the truth, that is). She told me, before this time, that the only reason they moved to Florida from Oregon is because of my father, and because HE wanted to see me more often, and that it was really, quite frankly, pissing him off that he never saw me and I never came over. I found that a bit hard to believe, and figured there was more to it than that, but just kind of shrugged it off like so many other random things she's told me in the past that didn't quite make sense...keeping it in my back pocket for the future, should I need it.
Today, my father stopped by. We were talking about the horrid weather we're having here and how he wished he were still in Oregon. He then informed me the only reason they moved to Florida was because my mother was convinced she would, "never see her again" and "then she started crying, so we moved." I told dad what mom said, and his reply was, "well, I'm glad she told you because I had no clue that's how I felt!"
...yet again, another shining example of my mother having her own little secrets from people. She didn't want anyone to know her - and I think that is because she was afraid if you did know her you could use it against her. In fact, I'm fairly certain that is the issue (or, was the issue, I suppose). My uncle is "an asshole", and he "used things against" my mom to make her feel "like shit" (her words about him, exactly). I agree, he is an asshole, but he tries, sort of, to be decent and nice. Mom was overly sensitive, and always had been, and anything that wasn't in her mind benefiting her in some way was obviously against her. That included her husband, her child, even her cats. She used to cry when she'd be upset about something (either something I did or my father yelling at her about something) and repeat over and over, "everything is my fault...the whole world is my fault...everything that happens is all my fault!" I'm amazed she lasted as long as she did with that attitude...yet, if you saw her out, saw her at church, saw her socially she was great! Her friends loved her, and I found out, upon her dying, just how much everyone really, truly appreciated her as a person. It made me feel good to know that people cared that much about her, but I wish she could have opened up a bit and given some of that back to me, her kid, instead of hiding it all these years.
Of course...my mother told me once that it was my fault that our relationship was as it was. First, it was obvious it was my fault (without her telling me this) because I was no longer in the religion (or any) that I was raised in and was living a life of sin. But...she told me in her own words that when I was about 13 I told her to just "leave me alone" and she informed me that when I told her that, she decided to do just that, and left me alone. She said she assumed I didn't want to have anything to do with her anymore, so that was that.
...ummm ...leave her alone ...I was only 13 years old! ...so, that's why, after almost 30 years I still didn't know my mother. But, I knew enough to send her a program from when I moved to Florida and was listed in a Writers Night as a reader of some original poetry with a note that said, "now you can finally be proud of me." Ya, I knew enough to send her that...and, she knew enough to tuck it away in a drawer, and dad knew enough to bring it over to me a couple of weeks ago. I guess in the end, even though I didn't know her, she was proud of me in her own, simple way.
-AA
I was sitting around, playing Bejeweled 3, because I have a hand injury and I'm not supposed to be doing a whole lot right now due to a surgery I had a week ago. So, I'm typing a lot? Ya, that's about right. I seem to be thinking a lot while playing that mindless game - it's kind of calming. Could it possibly be that a simple computer game has been giving me Zen-like peace of mind, or allowing me to think about things in the past and rectify, resolve and relive some things? Maybe...or, it could be the fact that I've been given a gift of almost a week off from thinking, eating, living, breathing my business.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still actively involved in what's going on, I mean how could I not be with it in my house? But, I'm not being allowed to do a lot of the work I usually do because of the stitches and such - and needing to keep my hand elevated for 80% of the day, etc., etc. It's actually been rather, surprisingly, nice. I feel like I'm decompressing for the first time in years. I'm incredibly blessed to be with an amazing woman who can step up to the plate and handle things...and I hope she realizes this (and I do tell her).
------------------------------
Today, I learned, once more and even more so than before, that while I may be my mother's child, I truly didn't know who she was. Her layers were more hidden than mine - at least with me if you dig a little, or even just ask you might learn something about me...but, with her, she was like Fort Knox.
My mother passed away on February 15th of this year in her mid-60's. For the past few years she's been loopier than usual, but most of what she said, up until the middle of last year, you could actually accept as probably true (based on how she conceived the truth, that is). She told me, before this time, that the only reason they moved to Florida from Oregon is because of my father, and because HE wanted to see me more often, and that it was really, quite frankly, pissing him off that he never saw me and I never came over. I found that a bit hard to believe, and figured there was more to it than that, but just kind of shrugged it off like so many other random things she's told me in the past that didn't quite make sense...keeping it in my back pocket for the future, should I need it.
Today, my father stopped by. We were talking about the horrid weather we're having here and how he wished he were still in Oregon. He then informed me the only reason they moved to Florida was because my mother was convinced she would, "never see her again" and "then she started crying, so we moved." I told dad what mom said, and his reply was, "well, I'm glad she told you because I had no clue that's how I felt!"
...yet again, another shining example of my mother having her own little secrets from people. She didn't want anyone to know her - and I think that is because she was afraid if you did know her you could use it against her. In fact, I'm fairly certain that is the issue (or, was the issue, I suppose). My uncle is "an asshole", and he "used things against" my mom to make her feel "like shit" (her words about him, exactly). I agree, he is an asshole, but he tries, sort of, to be decent and nice. Mom was overly sensitive, and always had been, and anything that wasn't in her mind benefiting her in some way was obviously against her. That included her husband, her child, even her cats. She used to cry when she'd be upset about something (either something I did or my father yelling at her about something) and repeat over and over, "everything is my fault...the whole world is my fault...everything that happens is all my fault!" I'm amazed she lasted as long as she did with that attitude...yet, if you saw her out, saw her at church, saw her socially she was great! Her friends loved her, and I found out, upon her dying, just how much everyone really, truly appreciated her as a person. It made me feel good to know that people cared that much about her, but I wish she could have opened up a bit and given some of that back to me, her kid, instead of hiding it all these years.
Of course...my mother told me once that it was my fault that our relationship was as it was. First, it was obvious it was my fault (without her telling me this) because I was no longer in the religion (or any) that I was raised in and was living a life of sin. But...she told me in her own words that when I was about 13 I told her to just "leave me alone" and she informed me that when I told her that, she decided to do just that, and left me alone. She said she assumed I didn't want to have anything to do with her anymore, so that was that.
...ummm ...leave her alone ...I was only 13 years old! ...so, that's why, after almost 30 years I still didn't know my mother. But, I knew enough to send her a program from when I moved to Florida and was listed in a Writers Night as a reader of some original poetry with a note that said, "now you can finally be proud of me." Ya, I knew enough to send her that...and, she knew enough to tuck it away in a drawer, and dad knew enough to bring it over to me a couple of weeks ago. I guess in the end, even though I didn't know her, she was proud of me in her own, simple way.
-AA
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
...past, present - reset?
Once upon a time...isn't that how all good fables go? I was once "I am a writer, therefore I write", to the point of having it engraved on a watch...that I carried with me...because I was. I guess in some respects it reminded me that while I always had time, I also always wrote.
On a plane trip back from San Diego to Portland I wrote over 13 pieces, in a row, about my experience there. I say "over 13" as I know it was at least this many, but forget the total amount.
I've got quite a book of what I "used to do"...and now, what do I do? I write a lot, in my head. I'm still trying to find my mojo, or what was, I guess. I'm not sure of what I still have and what has been lost over the years, but one thing is for sure - I'm going to keep writing for myself and keep at it because I feel I need to.
One week ago I was ready to toss it ALL in...everything, just give it up. Now? I feel a lot better...I feel cleaner, calmer, more ready to face each day. Could be partially from having a mass amount of time off due to a finger injury (and yet, I'm still typing), and another aspect I'd reasonably argue with anyone is that it's because I'm allowing all this built up sludge to finally, slowly ease on out.
Things are good in the world when you are allowed to express yourself - when YOU allow yourself to express what it is you need to.
Tectonic plate movement is something we all experience within ourselves. Little earthquakes come and go inside, and they warn of an impending larger shift - that's what I'm feeling. I'm okay with that...it's the acceptance of that which keeps us moving forward, always looking for safer land.
To be honest, one of the major reasons I left my home state of Oregon was to get away from just that. The constant tremors I was feeling...in my life, and the ones I knew were coming. Waking up to a small 5.3 in Oregon, compared to sleeping through one similar in Los Angeles really made me realize this even more - and at the time, over 17 years ago, I decided that I could live with hurricanes more easily because I could plan for a hurricane - you can't plan for earthquakes. Yet, I will also admit that those earthquakes are what kept me hungry, wanting, singing, feeling. I've been stifling that for a bit too long, I'm afraid, and now I'm ready for it.
Bring it on, world. I've had my fill of pain in the last couple of years, and I think I'm finally ready to accept the fact that it's something I've had to face. Reality is here, and I'm listening. Ya, it's about damn time.
-AA
On a plane trip back from San Diego to Portland I wrote over 13 pieces, in a row, about my experience there. I say "over 13" as I know it was at least this many, but forget the total amount.
I've got quite a book of what I "used to do"...and now, what do I do? I write a lot, in my head. I'm still trying to find my mojo, or what was, I guess. I'm not sure of what I still have and what has been lost over the years, but one thing is for sure - I'm going to keep writing for myself and keep at it because I feel I need to.
One week ago I was ready to toss it ALL in...everything, just give it up. Now? I feel a lot better...I feel cleaner, calmer, more ready to face each day. Could be partially from having a mass amount of time off due to a finger injury (and yet, I'm still typing), and another aspect I'd reasonably argue with anyone is that it's because I'm allowing all this built up sludge to finally, slowly ease on out.
Things are good in the world when you are allowed to express yourself - when YOU allow yourself to express what it is you need to.
Tectonic plate movement is something we all experience within ourselves. Little earthquakes come and go inside, and they warn of an impending larger shift - that's what I'm feeling. I'm okay with that...it's the acceptance of that which keeps us moving forward, always looking for safer land.
To be honest, one of the major reasons I left my home state of Oregon was to get away from just that. The constant tremors I was feeling...in my life, and the ones I knew were coming. Waking up to a small 5.3 in Oregon, compared to sleeping through one similar in Los Angeles really made me realize this even more - and at the time, over 17 years ago, I decided that I could live with hurricanes more easily because I could plan for a hurricane - you can't plan for earthquakes. Yet, I will also admit that those earthquakes are what kept me hungry, wanting, singing, feeling. I've been stifling that for a bit too long, I'm afraid, and now I'm ready for it.
Bring it on, world. I've had my fill of pain in the last couple of years, and I think I'm finally ready to accept the fact that it's something I've had to face. Reality is here, and I'm listening. Ya, it's about damn time.
-AA
Lost Angeles...misplaced, maybe?
Back in 1988, when I was much younger, I moved to Los Angeles (you can see a picture in the previous entry...and, I'll see what else I can dig up for this one). I lived there for a little over 6 months, in two different places. One off Irolo St. which bordered the Korean Police station and Mexican gangs. After a few months, we moved to S. Hope St. (14th, I think), next to the California Hospital Medical Center, right on the edge of downtown, the L.A. River and the jewelry district.
I worked at The Wherehouse for a number of months, made some interesting friends, and generally got by on practically nothing.
I remember going next door to the "Happy Bowl" style quickie food place and ordering a bowl of rice for lunch...as long as I had the full $1.07 I needed to buy it. I ate a lot of rice...it's really about all I could afford on $4.25/hr for 20/hrs (if I was lucky) a week. I couldn't afford a soda, and I think they used to charge for cups for water, too.
I saw a lot of interesting things in Los Angeles, and experienced an amazing amount of life in such a short period of time, but I was happy living and going out and being somewhere different. Some stories I might just cover in more detail, but here's a Cliff notes version of my 6 months:
Life was hard for those months, but it was worth every second of it, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. Experience becomes that when you allow it to change you, to make you stronger and better...if you don't, it's just another day, in my book.
To close...my old "Gay Video Manager" at my job - I loved this guy. If you know who he is, drop me a line. LOL
-AA
I worked at The Wherehouse for a number of months, made some interesting friends, and generally got by on practically nothing.
I remember going next door to the "Happy Bowl" style quickie food place and ordering a bowl of rice for lunch...as long as I had the full $1.07 I needed to buy it. I ate a lot of rice...it's really about all I could afford on $4.25/hr for 20/hrs (if I was lucky) a week. I couldn't afford a soda, and I think they used to charge for cups for water, too.
I saw a lot of interesting things in Los Angeles, and experienced an amazing amount of life in such a short period of time, but I was happy living and going out and being somewhere different. Some stories I might just cover in more detail, but here's a Cliff notes version of my 6 months:
- Lived in a 1-bedroom apartment with 3, then 5 other people.
- Lived in a studio apartment with 2 other people.
- Moved down to Los Angeles in my folks' truck with a friend from High School (who was along for the ride), and he ended up getting 2nd degree burns on the move down.
- Same friend got in a car wreck in the same vehicle with my mom when she took the truck back home. He swore he'd never ride in a car with my family again.
- Had a job at a "Everything's $10" store as a 3rd key manager, for about 5 days.
- Worked at The Wherehouse.
- Dated a man from Nicaragua (who moved to NYC as a teen) - he was black, built like a football player and had a lovely Spanish accent.
- Slept with a Hispanic guy down the street from me.
- Dated a guy who was twice my age that knew Marla Gibbs and thought I should try out for some comedy night she had there, as he told me, "Black folks will think you're hilarious, you got a black soul, girl."
- Got into a wreck.
- MJ's car got broken into.
- Got locked out of the 2nd place we lived for a couple nights (we weren't supposed to be living there).
- Went on my first roller coaster ride, which ended up with us going on it literally 20 times.
- Saw George Michael twice in concert.
- Saw Martin L. Gore walking down the street on Melrose.
- Got mistaken for a celebrity, a prostitute, and a street kid.
- Got followed for shoplifting (pretty much all over).
- Made some amazing friends...many of which I still wonder what happened to them.
- Met TL, a best friend to this day.
- Watched The Sound of Music, Friday the 13th, Phantasm and Halloween all for the first time in my life.
- Got invited to my first "underground" party, and thankfully didn't go as I would have been introduced to cocaine, among other things (and I think I would have loved it).
- Was asked on a weekly basis if I wanted to sell my 1972 Pinto (yes, I'm serious).
- Found myself while being a bit lost.
Life was hard for those months, but it was worth every second of it, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. Experience becomes that when you allow it to change you, to make you stronger and better...if you don't, it's just another day, in my book.
To close...my old "Gay Video Manager" at my job - I loved this guy. If you know who he is, drop me a line. LOL
My view, my L.A.
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