I’m flying to Los Angeles tonight. Hell if I know why, man. I guess I don’t want to sulk in my house all weekend, and I don’t want to walk around my neighborhood drinking Trader Joe’s wine, and I don’t want to end up climbing up the side of a building on the UC Berkeley campus. I’ll do that next weekend . . . and probably the next thirty weekends after that~

Well, what the hell. I got a rental car real cheap for the whole weekend. I’m going to bring a blanket with me and use my bag as a pillow, and sleep in the trunk of my rental car. On Saturday I’m staying with my buddy, world-famous model-person Sarah Pardini. She’s real cool. She wants to get a pizza and talk about boys who have hurt her feelings. Yeah OK!

(Anastasia! You don’t read this, do you? I don’t have your phone number. I wanna see you, you god dang pirate. Email me or something!)

If everything falls through like it tends to do every time I ever go to LA, I’ll just walk around listlessly and wonder what I’m even doing on Earth anymore. Hah! I’ll go to Astro Diner or something . . . why the hell not. That place sucks but the booths are good. It’s near my hotel . . . by which I mean the sidewalk parking spot next to Silver Lake Reservoir where I have slept many times, having no place else to go.

McCune said last night, at Grant Gleason’s (no Instagram!) birthday party at Missouri Lounge, when I told him I’d probably be in the trunk of some damn compact car: “See baby I can’t do that stuff anymore. You still got that edge. I would rather die.”

I wouldn’t call it that! It’s more like I still got that sad desperation. And I’m still broke. And also I have this sick urge to punish myself, or at the very least purposely put myself into dire situations where I will almost certainly feel despondent and tired and worthless. Oops!

My itinerary is the same as it always is in that strange godawful city: drink on Venice Beach at two in the morning, read in stripmall parking lots, drive up to Griffith Park Observatory and chill with the James Dean statue, and eavesdrop on Tinder dates . . . and on and on. I like skulking around on Sunset Boulevard and ripping down the highway in the middle of the night too. Yeah baby . . . I sure am going to do that.

Just now Sarah Pardini invited me to go WARDROBE SHOPPING with her tomorrow. I have no idea what that means. I said: “duhhh.” I’m going. What the hell. This stupid world, man. My stupid cartoon life. I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. I’m a doomed freewheeling idiot. I reckon there are worse things to be~