rough waves splashing

So here I am, woken up, a bit disoriented and surprised, in this gorgeous incredible little chateau, to the sound of rough waves splashing and the gray mist that covers it all in Southern California til the rays of the sun burn it off around 11, leaving a sparkle instead of the gray gray that I've always loved and associated with seas.

My old Russian strip-club trick of getting myself too crunked to move worked like a charm, and I all I had to do was cuddle a bit before passing right out in the comfortable bed. Haha.

Paul was still sleeping when I woke up at 8, and got up and looked around. Not unhappy to be where I am. Now he's up and has taken his dog, Lenny Bruce for a walk. And here I am, blogging on this superfast computer with three sides of floor to ceiling windows making me feel like I'm blogging atop the stormy high tide waves of Malibu.

Last night was nice. All the music industry below-the-line famous folks are very, very nice. I didn't drink at all. W---A--- wasn't there, nor Elliot, so it was a little dull at times. But very nice. Everyone was very, very nice. This could be all right, this Coco Before Chanel thing.

Paul has W.A's book right here and I wanna crack it open and read it, but he was talking about him last night to friends, what they're working on together and how they met and all that, and I said one thing about him being a great writer and he gave me a LOOK. So I shut it for the rest of the conversation and now don't think I ought to be peeping his book right here. Oh well. There are other books I can grab as I crawl back into the bed.

Pretty morning, all in all.

Don't Do It.

Okay.

Now I've just spent an hour reading WA essays from Atlantic Monthly and New Yorker each truly more fucking brilliant than the last, I am sitting here quite literally Ling O really L, and listening to interviews and I've half a mind to... write him an e-mail.

I will not.

I will not.

I will not do this.

NO, Scarlet, no, do not be a whore, ye who spoke so hypocritically over dinner about sex industry workers and their tragic fate. ye who are 24 years old. just fucking stop it.

okay.

ok.

Sigh.

Among top 5 moments shared w literary journalist/critic/essayist/ivyleague professor/awardwinning novelist W.A:

W.A. (re: Paul literally forgetting his wallet...) Yeah, that's, that's like saying you forgot your penis at home...

W.A's GF: (laugh laugh) We were at the Halloween store in NY, and he was going to get me something, and I was like Oh no, I'll pay for it, and he wouldn't let me, he was like, Don't, that's making my dick shrink...

S: HA!!! That's GREAT--

W.A's GF: All the salesgirls were like OMG!!!

P: What is this about?

W.A: Amanda wanted to pay for something and I told her my dick shrinks every time a woman says that...

S: God, I would've CLAPPED. Like, thank GOD. I mean, really, actually, like, MY dick shrinks every time a woman says that...

W.A: HA!!!!

FamousFavoriteAuthorCrush

Doodoodoo.

I have a few shows coming up... I hung out w Paul, super-rich zillionaire w/o a real address and went swimming in the ocean, and he gave me more clothes, he has them around the house because his ex is like in charge of some big fashion company, and then we went to dinner at that awesome place again, and it was with these two other couples, and I was sitting next to this one whose name is W----, and we were thoroughly enjoying each other... It was one of those immediate things where you're like UM I'm just going to avoid eye contact and conversation with this person, for the sake of everyone involved, but then after a little bit the need to do that sort of dissolves, everyone's engaged in conversation and so you start talking and the little spark flies... I mean it was just stupid things at first like similar OCD habits, crude-ish eccentric sense of humor and wordplay, then, preferences, timing, and pretty soon you're only talking to one another and overlaughing and then you notice it and reign it in and return to deliberately only looking at everyone else... Like, you know when someone just makes you like, puts you in rare form? I always have that when I'm really attracted to someone-- unless there's some GLARING ISSUE and I find myself having to SIT THERE AND PROFESS MY FEELINGS under their controlled glaring unreciprocal STARE-- it makes me extra witty, flirty, pulling shit out my ass I didn't even know was up there............

So he's mentioning being a writer every now and then, and then telling this story about going to Nevada to do this article about hookers and I realized: he's W----- A--------, like really famous and kinda favorite authorcrush... three of his books were made into movies and one by this director who's a friend of Paul's, which was the one I saw. It was good, apparently. It won Oscars and shit. But I saw it the day I got off a plane and fell asleep. Haha. But I read all the books, like I know the backstories, and how they sold, and stuff which I didn't say, well of course, I didn't say anything about anything, but ohgod, they're SO GOOD, and sexy, and I mean, actually, fucking genius, more so than I think is like, realized, I mean, who the fuck am I to say something like that, I just mean, I don't know I don't know I thought they like have these juicy kinda characters and plotlines that could seem like, but they feel true, and like, I could tell that was really his life, it never seemed exaggerated or exploited or even anything just like that was his experience and almost probably toned down not to seem sensational, edited, and somehow, through all of it, this weird creepy modern philosophy comes through... I mean... I guess they are considered that good, because obviously these really big people made these movies, but, anyway, what the dick do I know. He's sexy. Real sexy. That's what.

His girlfriend started seeming uncomfortable but like he was just really cracking me up, and I was just returning it, and it was only the six of us at the table, and everyone was talking and enjoying it... So... When we were all saying good-bye me and WA did not even look at each other, when everyone else was like hugging and stuff, same as with Elliott. Paul has some really neat friends. Shortly after we got to dinner we went for a cigarette and no one else smoked, in fact three out of the four others had just quit like two weeks ago (including WA) and we were outside and he was like, So you like W----? And I was just like, Yeah! What did he write again?? Just to confirm, and it was, and I was like Oh right right yeah... Oh, yeah, he's hilarious... Which I said about Elliott too. It's true. They are, and, I laugh at everything, but I mean, like, by the end of the dinner, I was really laughing at EVERYTHING W was saying, like, not just the funny things, and not just giggle, but like full on laugh, and then giggle, and then giggles still trickling out until the next full on laugh.

So, now I'm going to be thinking about this. And. I think... I'm going to keep going out with Paul. I just don't give a damn. I don't have to be in hot sweat love with who I go out with. Fuck it. I'm going to go swimming in that fucking paradise ocean, and to amazing restaurants, and I do like Paul, and hang with Elliott G and WA and DTB and all these cool awesome people and be given clothes and things and ENJOY my ass a little, and then move in up there, and WA and his lady (who is kinda/very-at-first-glance but then too insecure to remain-pretty and really young, I mean, like, well, probably five years older than me... I'm not sure how old he is... I'm gonna wiki... 47...) will take this place next door in the paradise and I'll go knock on their door when he's home alone and bring over my writing and like, an apple pie I bought down the street, and...

I've no fucking morals left. None.