VICTOM OF LA

Damn. Today I was sitting at this joint off La Cienega and Santa Monica called, "Mexico." Its a gay/lesbian (please do not make assumptions) bar/restaurant. Had some amazing free-range chicken mole...Which, really pleased me. :)

I was hanging out with my roomie, Anna--One of her toys, and her former best friend. She's a sweetheart, seriously. One of the most kind-hearted people that I have ever had the great pleasure of meeting. At times, I feel like she is fearful of being her sweet self...As some sort of defense mechanism. Not really sure what that feeling is rooted in for her. Though, I can definetly sense that the edge that she has is either ego or fear.

Enough psychoanalysis. We were at dinner with this rather ginererly group of young folk. We had lots of conversation about fake tits, sex stories, relationship stories and lots of shittalk. I guess it was two friends re-uniting after a long time apart. As a result, there was ample rather loose conversation. I am always a fan of this--Perhaps I was just disinterested or in some deep mood this evening. Whatever the case may have been---The entire scenario was rather disenchanting. I felt bored, drifting and I would as far to even say, at points, lifeless in this dull exhcange of bullshit.

Could have it just been the crowd? Well, not really. Anna is a pretty smart girl. She can hold her own in intelligent conversation, as could the two others. So, the only thing that I can attribute such metaphoric vomit on is Los Angeles. Now, there are a couple of people who have legit conversations with me. Most are in private. Though, whenever thrust into a social atmosphere the pools have been drained. All we are left with is this shallow, catty shit-talk. Also, please note that I have acted with the foresight to understand that differnt strata exist. I have talked with the top of society down to the lowest tiers of the social latter. All have proven to be victom of this plague of LA.