If It Feels Good Do It

GRANDEUR

the thing about a rendezvous is, it’s easy for it to not happen. what would I do if A didn’t text me about where to meet her, her seven friends, and her sister who liked to get drunk and be crude?

I thought about that in the heat of Vegas. 105 degrees.

room 763 in a place literally called the Wild Wild West. ah, found it.

was she going to text me or not?

what would I do instead? go to the dive bar again? The place literally called Dive Bar would provide loud music and all the jack on the rocks I wanted, served in plastic cups.

or I could go somewhere more upscale than me and get into a fight. try to get laid.

I was exhausted from too much work Monday through Friday. it was Saturday afternoon. I took a nap.

Of course I would go to Dive Bar. the other option is my daily life. well, except I don’t try, I just do it.

next to me sat someone. underneath the trash queen makeup and the extreme hair gel was a cute punk chick. she ordered the same thing as me.

she was there for the show, but she talked to me anyways.

she sat closer to me, and i sat closer to her. the heat of her body was inviting, despite the heat of the air inside.

Wild wild west? Never been there.

Well, there’s a first time for everything.

my room was a mess, but she didn’t mind.

at one point I wasn’t sure if she was an angel or something else. then she took of her shirt.

in front was heaven but in the back were two long bumps.

What’s going on here?

Oh, those are where my wings used to be.

Oh. I was just wondering if you were an angel.

No. Not anymore.

she looked sad.

No need to be sad. I’m glad you are fallen. I’m glad that we can be together. I’m glad I have something to hold on to while I pound you from the rear.

Oh my God! I’m in love with the words you use!

Well after all, I’m a amateur writer and a professional lovemaker. Just kidding, I’m not even a professional lovemaker. This won’t cost you a thing.

HA HA! FUCK ME LIKE A COMEDIAN!

I woke to the sound of shouting, the official way to wake up at the Wild Wild West. it was 4:30 p.m.

man that was weird. clearly i needed to lay off the peyote. and the coffee. oh, and stop being a totally insane lunatic. but as often has happened in my life, only two out of three options were really options.

I came up with the brilliant idea to call A and ask her where and when to meet.

it had been since the last Vegas trip that I heard her voice. she was so cute.

we would meet at LAX (the Vegas club, not the Los Angeles airport).

I shined my boots.

LAX

some people think that L.A. is hell. I don’t, but some people do. even more people think that visiting Las Vegas buys you a ticket to hell.

if you are one of those people, take note of what I’ve about to say. the owners of the LAX nightclub have been listening to you.

they didn’t use your feedback to improve L.A. or Las Vegas. no, they used your feedback to fuck with you.

Hey, Richard. I’ve been pouring over some feedback and I’ve come up with a brilliant idea.

What’s that James?

Let’s combine the vapid superficiality of Los Angeles with the immoral excess of Las Vegas and pour them into one exclusive nightclub. People complain about traffic in Los Angeles? We’ll fill our club so full of bodies that our patrons will beg for movement. People think that good times in Vegas are pointless? We’ll make them appreciate new meaning in a lack thereof.

TOUCHING YOU, TOUCHING ME, EVEN WHEN WE DON’T WANT TO

after standing in line for one hour and paying $30 I entered LAX.

there are two levels to LAX. the top level has a bar but feels kind of peripheral. not many people want to be there. downstairs are two more bars separated by one large but not large enough dance floor.

I descended the staircase. A was down there somewhere.

it was hot. it was dark. everything was red and black, the official colors of hell. dancing meant pushing into people. scratching my face required a long term plan. I felt like I was going to pass out from the constriction. I felt like I was going to pass out from the humidity. drops of sweat were falling off the ceiling and hitting my face. I couldn’t find A anywhere.

I got out of the crowd slowly, and made some enemies along the way.

TO MINGLE IN LAX

at the corner of one of the bars I at least could order a drink and have somewhere to lean without people constantly bumping into me.

that the club is named after a Los Angeles airport is very appropriate. visiting LAX you depart from a place where too much is never enough and arrive in a world where too much is just too much.

I stood there getting drunk by myself. a silicon enhanced beauty came up to me and asked me the time.

Uh, yeah, it’s one.

One thirty?

No, like one zero zero.

Oh ok.

was that a pickup line? I gave some small talk and she looked pissed off, so I thought she really did just want to know the time.

later she came up to me and asked me the time again.

Ok, how about now? what time is it, now?

Well, it’s one thirty one.

Oh ok.

but she still had a pissed off attitude when I tried talking to her. maybe she was mad I wasn’t pounding her from the rear right there. it wouldn’t have been the first time. she incorrectly perceived that I had low standards. she correctly assessed that I had no standards. but I did have some sense of priority. I was looking for A. it was important.

movement away from the bar was difficult. in some areas of the club it bordered on the impossible.

the djs played everything from Lil’ Wayne to Sweet Caroline, but they only played about 10 seconds of each song.

I met a Canadian girl. she dropped subtle hints to me by saying stuff like

Oh, they’re probably having wild sex right now!

she was talking about people who were probably not really off having wild sex.

Really?

Yeah. Sex is good, right? Everyone likes to have sex.

later, I distinctly remember thinking that I would rather be writing. I’m not sure if there was something wrong with me, or something right with me.

we all go to Vegas in search of decadence. I had overdosed on it.

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