I just took a long nap. My sleep schedule is fucked up. Last night I saw Pulp Fiction at the New Beverly and didn't sleep until 5 a.m. Today is the first day since last Sunday that I didn't go swimming. Feel strange.
A few nights ago I went on a very bizarre date. I just reread an email I wrote to a friend afterward summarizing it and I felt like did that really happen? I'm going to cut and paste part of that, with some edits for identity/confidential stuff:
"We met at this restaurant and sat outside. These older guys were sitting next to us... this military-ish guy with a mustache and his quieter, drunk friend, probably in their late 50s. The mustache guy started offering us food, like "try this, try this." Then a seemingly homeless woman with bleached blonde hair wandered by, ranting and raving, saying we were evil and criminals, "spending American money," saying "fuck this, fuck that, fuck you" etc. She kept coming back, passing by and asking for money, then asking for cigarettes. Finally the girl, the one I was on a date with, gave her a cigarette. The mustache guy continued to talk to us. He started talking more to the girl, who was sitting right next to him (we were at one of those cramped outdoor things where you're seated really close to the person next to you). The homeless woman wandered by some more, really screaming now. The mustache guy introduced himself as Bill. His friend seemed embarrassed by him. He started putting his arm on the girl's shoulder a lot and saying, "I'm a rascal... I'm a rascal." Some taciturn young foreign guy sat down on the other side of Bill. Bill kept talking for a long time. My conversation with the girl was now completely hijacked by Bill. He said, "Next Thursday at 9, I'll be here. If you happen to be here. I'll be here. That's not a joke. Remember that. Thursday at 9." Bill's friend got the check and asked me to read it to him, then apologetically said that his eyes were no good anymore because of too much masturbation. Meanwhile Bill said to the girl, "Do you really want to leave it to chance, or do you want to put your number right here," and handed her his phone. She gave it back and said she was insulted that he didn't trust fate. I was watching in amazement. He was very drunk but also in control of his "game"... the only time he was shaken was when we asked him what he did, and he kind of squirmed and seemed discomfited when he said he worked for some sort of armed forces website. "Bill," the guy's friend said, "let's get out of Dodge." So finally he got Bill to leave. Then I noticed that the "homeless" woman had sat down with the taciturn young foreign guy. They were having a conversation. She was snarling and being surly, but they seemed to actually know each other. He kept saying, "Joyce--Joyce--you sound like an ignoramus. Do you want to sound like an idiot?" She said something about Salvador Dali that made him really angry, and they started shouting at each other to shut up. Then he turned and apologized to us for making so much noise. Then he leaned over and touched the girl's shoulder, the girl I was on a date with, and apologized and asked her name. He said his name was Adrian but she said he looked more like a Jerome, and kept calling him Jerome. Then she started telling me a story, but I have no idea what that story was, because Joyce, the crazy woman, started shouting at Jerome that uncircumcised cocks were disgusting and she repeated the phrase, "cut your dirty fucking penis off!" over and over again. People were staring but incredibly she wasn't asked to leave. This went on for a while. Jerome touched the girl's arm several more times and creepily apologized to us. At this point I felt like I was losing my mind. We finally got the check and left. We walked around for a while and the girl told me stories about [redacted]. I tried to kiss her but she just wanted to walk around for a while. Some car was playing a Jeff Buckley song and she wanted to get away from it. We walked a while and sat on some steps. I set down my new hardcover Martin Amis book. Then I convinced her to come over. She came over to my apartment and nothing happened, except she told me a lot more stories about [redacted]. At that point, at like 4 am, I realized I had left my Martin Amis book on somebody's front steps miles away, hours earlier. Fortunately her car was still parked back there, so I just drove her back -- and found my new book, completely undamaged, right where I'd left it."
At that point I was just incredibly relieved to get the book back.