Even though we were tired from auditions and shoots, me and Sook did our usual club thing this weekend.
Our mantra, as always: get hammered, get laid, get sober and get the hell home.
To be honest, I'm finding less and less appeal in the whole routine.
It's a great deal for Suki. She's fueled by fun.
It's not that she doesn't make emotional connections. She just doesn't need them to be deep or lasting.
I kind of envy that. Because what I want seems so unattainable that I'm beginning to doubt it exists.
I want love, God damn it. With all the trimmings.
But the harder I look for it, the less evidence I see that there is such a thing.
I'm beginning to feel like a disillusioned Bigfoot hunter. Going through the motions because it's all I know how to do, but not really believing in the beast I'm pursuing.
Speaking of beasts, that's all there were at the Whisky last night.
I didn't even want to go there, just based on the name. I'm still getting over Whiskerbelle.
Anyway, that place was dead. As was the House of Blues. And the Roxy.
It was like it was Disgusting Knuckle-Dragger Night on Sunset Boulevard.
Even Suki couldn't find a guy, and she has notoriously low standards.
We did end up hooking up with a couple of bikers in the parking lot of the appropriately named In-N'-Out Burger.
I'm just saying this once: NEVER AGAIN.
No more greasy strangers. No more anonymous hookups. No more awkward, painful car sex choreographed to the music of jingling chains on a dusty leather motorcycle jacket.
No more guys who won't take their boots off and who answer to names like "Chazz" and "Turbo".
In short, no more nights that make me feel like pimping pantyhose is the LEAST sleazy part of my life.
Speaking of which, I think Turbo - the one I got stuck with - might have had a pantyhose fixation of his own. He certainly spent a lot of time pawing and tugging at mine.
And when he drove away, they were knotted around his handlebar.
Which sucks because they were nice, expensive ones. Not cheap ones like I waste on you guys (no offense).
I don't know why it is every Saturday night has to end like that. They all start out promising.
Maybe I need to watch my alcohol intake.
The lovely tramp stamp I staggered home with would seem to suggest so.
Swear to God, I'm going to make one too many trips to the tattoo removal clinic one of these days and they're going to laser my ass completely off...
Love you! See you all soon!
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