roadblock

George Tooker, Subway, 1950.

Can't believe I've gone on, what, four dates in the past month or so. Most of them don't.... don't seem like any kind of connection. Not so much in terms of romance or physical intimacy, but in the most important sense, in terms of CONSISTENT FRIENDSHIP. The kind of friend I can call on the fly and meet to go see a movie with. The kind of friend I truly want to call just to tell them I had an awesome day, was their day awesome, too. The kind of friend I'd write a postcard to - despite the fact that they live nearby - and pretend I'm on vacation and wished they were here.

These are such intelligent men. Beautiful men. Good men who I felt comfortable with. But....it feels like it's such great work to up and try and maintain contact with them and, based on the fact that they never called me back, they perhaps feel the same. I honestly do want to see them again, for coffee, a good conversation, a stroll. Not necessarily anything physical, but really, a grounding, a sense of connectedness. FRIENDSHIP. And honestly, if one of them falls in love with me, and I with him, well....that's that, isn't it? But really, I'm just simply starved for a new friend or two. My existing close friends are in Chicago and San Francisco, what good can that do me here in the L.A. area?

To be honest, I stopped expecting love here. It's as though this city decided I don't deserve shit in that department. I've just about given up on love in L.A., despite the good people I've met. It may not have been destined for me here. After all, when I lived here ten years ago for two years my heart was mutilated. Bad karma? Maybe. Bad ch'i? Most likely.

One of them, an exquisite, sensitive Englishman, expressed himself in such a way that I felt a bit of kinship. I felt myself to be an ex-pat like he. But ironically, in my case, an ex-pat in my own country. Strange, that. But he seems far more at home here in the L.A. scene than I. It feels like I'm in a foreign country. But I only feel foreign in that I can't seem to maintain a consistent connection with the 'natives' in terms of being able to do things with them, experience things with them.

Am I that impatient? Am I that desperate? I've lived here a year and nine months. I have not made one friend. I'm nearly in tears now. What the fuck is it about this goddamned town that is preventing me? I had serious friends in Chicago, friends who I could easily make plans with, never thought twice about calling just to say hello, thought about instantly whenever I adventitiously ran into something that reminded me of them, what they liked, what they responded to.

Is it that L.A. is simply too big and horribly designed for what I was accustomed to? It seems that a fucking car is required to have some kind of social life. In which case it's one of the most pathetic constructs we humans have barricaded ourselves with. Why should a car - or anything like it for that matter - be required for such a human connection? Or is it that we've fucked ourselves up with our dependence on such bullshit?

I'm frustrated. I would love just a simple regular, intelligent, and deep conversation over coffee. Or a bit of chat over drinks, perhaps every other week. Like what I had in Chicago. Is there something about southern California I'm not getting?