JIMNASIUM

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    Still no leads for who left the note. In fact, another person has been cleared, and it’s one of the main suspects: Linda. I texted every ex co-worker who still works there to see if she was in the bar drinking last Saturday/Sunday and they informed me that she’s already left back to Cabo. Apparently, she was only here for 7 days, not a month, and hasn’t been in the bar since. She could be lying and really still in L.A., but she’s too weak not to go into that bar every night, so I’m pretty sure she’s in the clear. So no more wondering if someone is peeping on me from The Hilton. But what about the Subway? What if it was one of my sandwich boys? The green-eyed one with a faux hawk once told me that I should be careful hanging out the window, as he’s seen me from the store, and that I might fall out. I’d be honored if it was one of them and definitely wouldn’t want them hiding their appreciation. Knock next time. Maybe I should go over and nose around a little bit. Buy a bag of Doritos and ask a few questions. Not tonight, though, because I have to go to work.

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Pootin’ on Putin.

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      So I've been following Crazy Eye Hilah's instructions and she says it's done when it hits 180 degrees. Thankfully, I stole borrowed a thermometer from Ronnie, who has every utensil known to Julia Child but never cooks, and can see that I’ve got about another 15 minutes. That gives me just enough time to pour myself a second glass of wine before The Georgian arrives. I’m a supportive drunk, not like the regular drunks.

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    Well, my hero Salvador ended up just being a stock boy who was a people pleaser and said, “Sure, we can do that.” When I got to the meat department, the butcher said that they don’t cut meat brought in from outside sources. In fact, no one in the area does, not even the Kosher deli I called directly after. I should have channeled Ronnie, who’s out of town for a wedding, and said, “But you said on the phone that you would. I demand to speak to a district manager!” Sadly, I’m not like that and figured it was the universe’s way of saying that I just have to cut a duck. So I went to Ronnie’s house and used his nice, sharp knives. It was torture, but I got through it. The duck is in the oven and The Georgian will be over after his meeting. 

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     I’m hauling ass down Wilshire Corridor for two reasons. The second one is because I have to get to the carnicería (aka Ralph's meat department) before 5:30 because that's when Salvador leaves and he said he'd cut my duck's head off. Salvador is my hero.

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Met up with Rosie and Baby Rose for a fun day at the pumpkin patch, Santa Monica style. Pupusas and goats and palm trees!

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    Meatballs!!! I’ve been waiting all god damn year for this moment-- the 2015 Artistic Gymnastics Worlds in Glasgow. I can’t wait to watch Simone Biles make history as the first woman to win three straight world titles. I don’t want to put any pressure on her, as I’m sure she’s already got enough, but I know she’ll do it because she’s the SUPERTALENT. And the list of characters she’ll be competing against in this action packed video is perfect: Mustafina, the icy Russian, Douglas, the dusty old hen along with Raisman, whose overbearing weasel father better not be in the audience, and Iordache, the Romanian Pikachu. It’s all so good! 

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The Georgian banged on my door bright and early this morning to drop off a duck. He's been saying how he'd like to take me out for a nice duck dinner sometime, since it's one of my favorites, especially duck confit, but unfortunately Russia depleted his savings, so he decided to go to Chinatown instead and just buy one and have me cook it for dinner tonight. Now I have this WHOLE duck on my hands. I've never cooked duck before, let alone butchered one. My knives aren't sharp enough to cut off a head. And what a sweet little head at that. Look, she's smiling at me. Teehee, sweet lil' thang. But she's also kind of glaring at me. Ew, spooky. OMG, get this demon out of my house!

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     Amanda Bear joined us at Mama Ronnie’s for an amazing homemade Lebanese dinner. Mama Ronnie’s family is from Lebanon, which Ronnie never admits and gets angry at us when we call him out on it whenever he starts getting too ‘Merika. 

      I wanted to get Mama Ronnie’s opinion on my recent stalker, but waited for her to finish a glass of Scotch first. She’s a worrywart and super sensitive to that kind of stuff, so I wanted to make sure she was nice and relaxed otherwise she might jump out of her seat, run to the balcony, and scream for the police. I don’t know if it was the fact that I waited until her 2nd glass of Scotch or that my story just isn’t that interesting, but she couldn’t have cared less! She shrugged and said, “That’s strange, sweetie. Did I ever tell you about the time I worked for a brothel for two months and didn’t even know it?” 

      She was on fire last night. She had story after story. My favorite was about her teenaged niece they brought along to Disney World to watch then 6 year-old Ronnie. On the second night, the niece sent Ronnie upstairs alone so she could hang out on the patio until 5 a.m. with a dude she met at the park. Mama Ronnie was not happy when she found out.

      “How dare she send him upstairs alone! He was 6! I called her mother that instant and said, ‘I’m buying a bus ticket and sending her ass home!’ She asked me to buy a plane ticket but I refused. If she was going to act like a whore, she was going to travel like a whore!”

       I about choked on a pine nut.

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     The 13 year-old Argentinian girls (or any South Americans for that matter, like this lad from Chile) are definitely off the hook and no longer suspects. My aggressive suppositions stirred things up again within the fandom, and LOLOLEX had a very grown-up rebuttal to my tasteless attack. He wrote: “At least I thought that you had already grown up and minded your own business like the adult you are supposed to be. Stop messing up with “13 years old girls” on Internet. BTW You were right in one thing tho, we won’t travel all the way up to Beverly Hills to get to spy on you. Don’t worry, we have better things to do, mate. Yours, A Chilean dude who apparently is smart enough to know how to write in English. xoxo.” 

     I’d like to apologize to anyone in Latin and South America who I may have offended. I was wrong, not all of you can’t write in English, that was a gross generalization, sólo algunas zorritas. 

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Max is looking really good today, his hair is growing out. He asked me why I don't talk to him anymore. "I still talk to you," I said. "Not like you used to." Oh, he meant why didn't I flirt with him anymore. "Papa, once I found out you had a girlfriend, or wife, or whatever you call her, no mas," and threw my hands up like the yard guard had just blown the whistle. He then got a mischievous smile on his face and said, "lo prohibido es mas sabroso!" I immediately ran off. I went next door to our other restaurant, the one that's not as "fine dining." The owners love to decorate this one, hence the skeleton eating the ass of another skeleton. I sat and laughed at this for a good five minutes with Lopez the prep guy, joking about how great it is to work for queers. He taught me a new word, "fuchila", which means yuck, gross, or ew.

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    I drove Adele to the airport in my hat. It not only doubles as a leather daddy referee hat, but also a leather daddy chauffeur hat. I love this thing! I wanna wear it everywhere– leather daddy Ralph's hat, leather daddy gym hat, leather daddy post office hat, leather daddy church hat.

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The Usual Suspects

THE GEORGIAN: He got back from Russia on Saturday and is over 5’10” and likes to drink and is known to slip notes under my door. What would his motive be? If he saw me from the street that night he’d just yell up, “Ya queer!” and continue on his way. He’d also handwrite the note and add a few kitten whiskers. I had left an extra parking permit under the mat for him to pick up and when I checked, it was still there. For peace of mind, Adele needed me to send him a text that night asking if he had anything to do with it. When he replied saying that he had no clue what I was talking about, Adele fainted over the arm of the couch. The next day, she and I saw him getting into his car while we were taking a walk around the neighborhood. “Are you drunk?” he asked as I glided off the crosswalk. “No, I just took a Xanax.” What? I needed something to calm my nerves. After questioning him, Adele and I both agreed he was in the clear.

LINDA: Huge motive. Huge drunk. Not so huge height, but last I heard she was staying next door at the Hilton, and she kind of already knows where I live. I had her take me to the airport once because it was an early flight and nobody else could. I never told her my exact address, just the corner to pick me up on, and when I walked to her car I made sure to take a different route so she didn’t see which house I came from. For some reason, I’ve never wanted her knowing where I lived. That says something.

RONNIE: He’d do it strictly as a joke. I know it’s not him, though, because if I asked him if he was spying on me he’d say, “Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I waste my time spying on your pathetic life?” True. Even though he’s a professional snooper/spy, he only does it if he wants to steal your husband. I’m single, so he’s in the clear.

NOAH: Prime suspect! He’s got a motive, that time I broke his heart even though he didn’t like me. He knows where I live, has been in my house, and has admitted to creeping before  (“I don’t see you smoking on your patio as much”). The only thing that puts him in the clear is that I haven’t seen/heard from him a very long time. I don’t see his car come in and out of the garage anymore and when Adele and I walked by his apartment, it looked empty like he had moved out.

ANY 13 YEAR-OLD GIRL FROM ARGENTINA: When I wrote about crushing on that Spanish YouTuber, then made a video saying how I wanna fuck him, I received a lot of hate mail from random 13 year-olds telling me to stop interfering with their fandom otherwise they’d break my nose. But would one travel all the way up to Beverly Hills just to spy on me? Besides, I don’t think those little bitches are smart enough to write in English. Lo siento, perras!

GRINDR GUY: I show my face and the amount of feet away are known. I’ve never sent a drop pin or invited someone over, but I’m sure I’ve seen guys cruising in my alley. It doesn’t take long to recognize the same queer face smoking out the window. There are a few headless torsos mad at me for never responding: “Hi there. Hi there. Hi. Hello? You’re a coward. Are you kind to anyone? Ever? Are you a douche? U. R.” But would they really invest that much time? Queers are quick to move on to the next dick.

A TUMBLR: I’ve never been too coy about where I live and have even sent my address to people, but they all live outside of Los Angeles and I trust them. What if it’s someone I’ve never met, they just read the blog? I do share a lot about my life, like this for example, which may not be a good idea, but whatever, I like my stories so fuck it! And if for some reason this turns you on and makes you want to be close to me—don’t. Back off!

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