I Love L.A. (or Single, Bilingual, and Ready to Mingle)
October 9, 2006 at 6:00 pm | In l.a., love and relationships, misc, sex | 2 CommentsLast night I went and enjoyed people-watching at the Taste of Los Feliz booths on Vermont. I’ve spent most of the time since I came back from NY walking around my neighborhood. I wanted to stay in the habit of using my legs occasionally. Did a little shopping, got a haircut, had a manicure, bought a birthday present for Ashley (Rina’s daughter who just turned 5, god bless her little OCD heart), and browsed Halloween costumes at Ozzie Dots. Everything out there for women is just a variation on “Whore.”
There’s Nurse Whore, Pirate Whore, Maid Whore, Cop Whore…a wide selection, actually. Just, not for me. So I’m trying to come up with something (I’d like to top last year’s VICI costume) because there is a dress-up-not-optional party I plan on attending.
Anyway I had a point when I started that paragraph, and this is it: while New York was great, Los Angeles is really really great. And my neighborhood is downright fabulous. This trip has given me a renewed energy. I feel enthusiastic about figuring out where I’m going next, but also happy and thankful (again) for where I am. Coming home to the haze of smog was strangely comforting, and my shuttle from the airport was shared with some very excited (albeit nauseous) visitors, which gave me permission to show off a bit. I think nothing will ever give me a greater sense of hometown pride than pointing out the Hollywood sign and watching someone’s reaction upon seeing it for the first time. Like I made it or something.
After the booths were closed last night, I headed up to Skylight Books and picked up the Los Angeles version of my indispensable-for-a-week Not For Tourists Guide to New York. It is the coolest book ever, with plenty of out-of-the-way listings, helpful advice, and detailed maps. Sadly it’s not the same handy, discreet size as the NY guide. But I’ll mostly use it to help me keep track of all the places in LA I have yet to see, so it’s more of a reference that I can leave at home.
God, am I really being this boring right now? It’s amazing you’re still here. Let’s talk about boys already.
I was just thinking last night, “Oh fuck dating, I’m going to be alone for a while.” Now, I know I’ve said it before, but this time it isn’t just out of spite. It’s out of (I think) a real need to figure things out and break some patterns. But here’s the problem: it’s only been a few weeks since I stopped seeing someone and I’m already reaching critical mass. I’m sure you can deduce my meaning. Granted, “a few weeks” is longer than I normally spend not dating or at least looking for a date. In fact, I’ve usually begun to move on before I even move on (I know it’s not healthy OR nice but I’m being honest). But this time it was different. It’s like I just totally lost interest in dating, intimacy, the whole thing. It’s like I ran out of steam. And I didn’t even care. So I figured, this is a sign. This means something. But no sooner do I make a pledge to myself–embrace the idea, and formulate plans to relocate to a solitary abode in a small mountain village–than I start to feel the twitch.
It’s back. With a vengeance.
What’s a girl to do?
Keep your pearl necklace
June 12, 2006 at 11:49 am | In sex | 6 CommentsI’ve got a good one for you.
So remember that guy I was dating last year about this time? You ‘member, the one that made me hate all men for about a week? Today I was searching for something in my email and it brought up an old message from him referring to a really embarrassing thing that had happened the night before. It took me a moment to realize what the message referred to…and then I started laughing so hard that my office-mate asked what was so funny. I told her it’s really not work-appropriate. And it so isn’t. This is another one of those entries not for the faint of heart, or loin. If you’re related to me it’s probably WAY more than you want to know, if you’ve dated me it will be unsettling, and if you don’t know me you will be appalled that I’m crass enough to publish something like this on the world wide web. But, for me, it’s liberating. I didn’t write this story down before because I felt like it would be a disservice to him, but you know…eff that guy. Disservice drops out of the equation when he’s banging his ex-girlfriend.
Here we go. As a final warning, make sure you’ve already eaten your lunch because you may not be hungry afterwards. This one’s rated rated NW (No Wussies) for sexual content, bodily fluids, and general grossness.
The Boys of Poetry: Nathan the Jackhammer
January 9, 2006 at 11:03 am | In dudes suck, nostalgia, sex, storytelling | 13 CommentsNathan started one of the first truly monolithic sites devoted to poetry—local event calendar, books, contests, you name it. That’s how I found out about him. He hosted a well-attended reading in the Valley that I’d never been to, but heard of. I especially liked the picture of him standing in the rec room of the school where he worked as a music instructor. And his list of likes included a number of things that seemed like a crazy coincidence…or FATE! I sent him an email. Which I still have. It should be noted that I had turned twenty less than two months prior to the incident I am about to relate. I was practically a teenager! And that I continually humiliate myself so that you may be amused, dear reader.
The Boys of Poetry: Isaac the Amnesiac
January 5, 2006 at 12:18 pm | In dudes suck, nostalgia, sex, storytelling | 6 CommentsI was remembering this open mic I went to about a year ago, to watch an old friend who was visiting from out of town do a feature. Once upon a time, he was an important figure in the LA and OC poetry communities, and his return always seems to bring folks out of the woodwork.
The reading was at a small coffee shop (you know, the kind that was a dime a dozen in 1994, but is now part of a dying breed). It had been years since I went to a reading, I was nervous just being there. But as I saw some familiar figures, I relaxed. I sat at the table with my chum and enjoyed catching up before the performances began.
During the host’s warmup, someone entered through the back door. I looked to see the latecomer and was met by another face from the past. The curly-haired boy ambled over to a table just in front of me, sat down, and plugged his laptop into the wall. He turned around and asked if I could see ok. I recognized him, but clearly he didn’t remember me. Granted, I had lost a bit of weight, changed my hair, my clothes—I did look different. But he really had no idea.
As the reading wore on, I found myself distracted by his presence. The performer’s words became background noise, as I lost myself in a memory I had long-forgotten.1
Kiss
November 2, 2005 at 12:29 am | In dudes rule, love and relationships, sex, storytelling | 8 CommentsI was choosing a cologne to give to one of my boy cousins today. I sprayed it on my hand to test it, and now I can’t get the smell off. I’ve washed my hands at least four times. Each time, the smell just comes back stronger.
It reminds me of this boy, Tom. He was 15, I think. I was 13. He was the first person to go past second base with me, though we never had sex. And I thought he was the greatest. Except for he smoked, which I hated. I used to give him shit about it. I’d run into him, somewhere in the park (this all went down at Knott’s Berry Farm, of course), and I’d make him kiss me so I could see if he had smoke breath. If he was chewing gum, I’d smell his hands. Not sure how I ended up a pack-a-day smoker at the age of 17. But that’s another story.
We made out whenever, wherever we could. One time we kissed for so long, by the koi pond, that by the time I had to go, my lips were actually swollen. My dad, when I got into the minivan, asked what was wrong with my face.
Another time we were at the Stonewood mall. We walked around the perimiter, looking for some little dark corner to get into. We found a small, walled-in area. Maybe for a dumpster. But it was empty. So we snuck in there and groped each other for a good hour and a half. No sex. Just kissing, touching, holding each other. He wore Aspen cologne, I smelled it on his flannel shirt when I rested my head on his chest. And now whenever I catch a whiff of that alcohol-heavy men’s cologne, the kind that teenage boys wear, I think of him.
It was nice not having anything expected from me, not worrying that I was being used for anything, besides a kiss.
Snap and Smut
September 12, 2005 at 10:39 am | In dudes suck, love and relationships, poetry, sex | 5 CommentsAshes to Ashes
I’ve had it.
Yes
and
Finally.
The last not-nail in your coffin
has been driven in by inaction—
every thing
you didn’t do,
every promise
you made
and broke,
every emotion
you gave me
and took back again—
they’ve
finally sealed you
into that box.
The pallbearers
will see you
to your final resting place
in the rolling green hills
of my mossy heart,
with all the others
who were interred
for disappointing me.
You’re in plenty
of ham-fisted company
and one of the lucky last
in fact.
Next week
in the interest of conserving space
I’m switching to cremation.
Satiated
Do you remember that time
I cooked you dinner?
Chicken and rice.
Plantains and warm bread.
We ate and drank
and had a fight
and then
you fucked me
so long and hard
we forgot all about
dessert.
What a Tramp.
September 8, 2005 at 4:51 pm | In desires, dudes rule, love and relationships, poetry, sex | 1 CommentIt’s Not the Heat, It’s the Humidity
I’ve been thinking about you
and that summer we spent
sweating
on the mattress
on the ground
The nights were short
but even so
they seemed long
Though you pleased me
though you did
everything
right
I couldn’t wait
for you to leave
I couldn’t wait
for my chance
to pick up the phone
and call him
to hear his voice
like a breeze
like rain
like shaved ice
cherry flavored
melting sticky
down my arm
I looked forward to it
the way I looked forward
to long winter nights
all
summer
long
Three from the Deck
September 1, 2005 at 12:23 am | In desires, l.a., love and relationships, poetry, sex | 6 Comments
Filling in the Blanks
on the roof
with the sunset
i watch the hills
go gray
and think about
the wisps of colorless hair
that surround your face
in the picture i know
so well
your expression frozen
in the photograph
doesn’t tell me much
but i’m so good at inferring
and assigning my own meaning
i decide
that you are kind
and humble
and funny
and sweet
you are all the things
i want you to be
all the things
i hope for
in my mind
you are everything
but in reality
you can only
be you
Secret Stuff
August 26, 2005 at 12:05 pm | In desires, dudes suck, nostalgia, ranting, sex, storytelling | 15 CommentsI thought this would be a good opportunity to post something from last year.
I acknowledge that “recycling” an entry is a shitty thing to do. And the truth is that I do have a new piece of writing that I would love to post, but it’s a little too obscene and personal for me to feel comfortable putting it up here. It is the story of a teacher I looked up to, and how that ended. Fill in the blanks.
So here is the deal. If you want the story, leave a comment saying so, or email me. Then you will receive the secret link! And now, enjoy the brutal self-loathing of…
“Helena’s Man Quiz” or “The Emotionally Retarded Woman’s Quiz for Potential Suitors”
To Titillate and Amuse
August 24, 2005 at 5:03 pm | In desires, on the lot, sex, storytelling | 24 CommentsI am considering changing the theme of the site yet again, in light of Neil’s comment on the last post. I feel like I need to develop an official seal. And around this seal should be stenciled my blog-motto:
Helena Lazaro
To Titillate and Amuse
I am accepting concepts for said seal.
That being addressed, on to the smut!! And lest you say you weren’t warned, I’m making this clear: Way Too Much Information Ahead.
Visit my shop!
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