i know im old.

i dont need it rubbed in. and when youre old you do things, i dont know, logically?

so the hotties are coming out here and they think LA is just going to spread its legs for them. they think they can just bop out of the plane and the golden gate bridge is going to float down here from frisco and mickey mouse is going to toss rose petals at their feet

and brad pitt is going to get their bags at baggage claim

and the palm trees will part

and eight different colored convertibles will be waiting at the curb for them to choose from and then step into.

but LA isnt like that, oddly.

and LAX at night is a scary bad place that eats up tourists and shits them onto century blvd.

all i want is a plan from these girls. are they crashing at my pad or at “some dude’s”? and i want that plan before i rush home and clean my house, before i pick up miss montreal’s jaguar, before i drive to the other side of town in the middle of the night.

is that too much to ask?

apparently it is.

apparently im not the freewheeling bob dylan that they are.

apparently im oh-so-flagrant disregard who gets upset at pretty much everyone in her universe, and now i see why. and hopefully now everyone sees why i pretty much stay at my secret beachside getaway and hide in my closet and write and write and write and write.

because the outside world is on drugs and needs to just do their own thing.

ive said it over and over to myself: dont meet people who read your blog.

ive tried to fight that rule. ive tried to set up world tours that would keep me from my closet and allow me to shake hands with the planet.

god almighty am i glad that didnt happen.

and young girls are even worse. prettier they are crazier they are.

totally reminds me of shit my sister would have done back in the day.

no worries tony they tell me. just go with the flow they say.

heres the flow in south central LA, where, by the way, LAX resides: get off the plane, get your shit and speed away as fast as you possibly can to a pre-arranged locale THEN go with the LA flow.

i lived in south central so i can tell you first hand: theres a reason why nobody from N.W.A lives in the “hood” anymore. many reasons, as a matter of fact. 187 reasons.

all i wanted was a plan Before these well-intentioned hotties got on their crosscountry flights. all i wanted to know was where they were staying tonight. how they were going to get there. what they needed from me. what they expected. what they were doing tomorrow.

but no. i got nothing. i got, call you when we arrive. gotta pack. bye!

and whats up with packing minutes before the flight?

god im old.

here’s what i predict. i will meet the early one early. we will drink at a bar somewhere. the other will arrive hours and hours later. they will yell and scream and giggle and talk about how much they missed each other over the last 3-4 months that they havent seen each other.

some other dude sniffing around who is just as clueless will be all you girls can stay at my place. i will say GOOD! and they will be all, but no, we want to hang with you tony. there will be much debate. it will be 1:30am. we will be at LAX. my parking fee will be $1302894721034987. at 1:45a i will give in and the chicks and the weasly dude will decide to go to my place. they will stay up all night drinking my booze and popping my pills as i laugh at them, not getting a wink of sleep, which i dont need anyway cuz in real life im fucking insane.

they will wake up in their own barf come morning.

and the dude will be telling me that he cant believe he’s been partying with The tony pierce all night

i’ll ride the bus to work, arrive 10 minutes late and get written up and questioned about the liquor that appears to be on my breath

and i will want to say that most people wouldnta left two hot girls with their housekeys and hangovers on a friday, that most people woulda just called in sick, but instead i will say its the cough medicine i drank, so back off before they catch what i think i have.

but all i have is idiocy

disguised as openmindedness

wrapped in retardness.

because the only thing worse than not having a plan, is allowing drunk young girls to decide the plan in the wee hours. and fuck if im cleaning my fucking house.

xtracyx + anti + the deputy + three bed two bath

two hot chicks are going to spend the night at my pad tonight.

the ghost of bukowski continues to haunt my hollywood flop house. two things are missing, however: his alcoholism, and his smooth confidence.

i am nervous.

not because of the obvious. im cool about that. im just afraid i cant live up to the hype.

it’s one thing to write a blog that people like, but to BE that person or anything like that person in real life is daunting. especially if, as is the case here, i am much more mild mannered in person than i am on paper.

plus tomorrow morn i have to go to work.

one babe is showing up at 9pm, the other will arrive at midnight.

blogstar tony would take the hottie to the nudes nudes nudes next to the airport and play footsies with her as motley crue plays and we sip $6 miller lites while waiting for her pallie to arrive.

reallife dumbass tony will probably take her to fatburger on lincoln and sip diet coke and stutter a lot.

it’s a wonder i dont have to pay for sex.

bukowski used to be able to handle this much easier, i have read.

the girls who would read his stuff would come to LA, knock on his door, they would drink all night and he would show up to work hungover and sloppy – or not show up at all.

im far too responsible. sadly. stupidly. horribly!

the other bad news is my maid called me this morning telling me that her son was in the ER last night and she wouldnt be able to clean my house today. tragic, since my place is a pig sty.

hopefully they will consider it charming. or rustic.

my towels are sorta cruddy. i have no milk. because im bald i have no shampoo or conditioner, though i think i have some samples from the hotel suite i was last in.

i have clean sheets but theyre flannel sheets. what sort of host lays down flannel sheets in the august in LA?

these are the dilemas that will haunt my day.

in better news, danielle, looking phenominal in her japanese stewardess pink polka dot dress bought me my morning apple juice.

bunnie was in la + bunny mc is in toronto with raymi + sk smith is still watching alias

rarely do i ever cut and paste

an entire post from someone else’s blog, but kate sullivan wrote about the paul loduca trade in a way that i could never.

and shes a girl.

sometimes women understand sports much better than you give them credit for. and they understand it in a different way that jimmy the greek never could.

the only thing hotter than a chick who writes for Spin, is a chick who cries over a baseball trade and then writes about it on her blog.

Kate Sullivan

Saturday July 31

I can’t handle it. I can’t handle it. We had such a good thing going. We had “It”–the thing that turns mere work into an act of love; that makes success probable, and failure bearable–we had style, we had glamour and fun; we had honesty; we had chemistry.

Now, I just don’t know what. The Dodgers’ bosses took a gorgeous, weird, number-one team, a team of friends who really knew and respected each other, a team anchored by a brilliant catcher, who also happened to be an ace hitter, and they decided the team would be better off losing its single most important player. Its core. Sure, Gagne’s a rock star, but he stands on LoDuca’s shoulders. And LoDuca isn’t only brilliant; he loves Los Angeles.

I don’t know shit about baseball whatsoever; I didn’t even know that they traded players in the middle of the season. What the fuck is up with that? That’s like dumping your girlfriend in the middle of summer or right before Christmas: It’s out-of-sync with the rhythms of nature. You dump your loser jerk boyfriend or girlfriend between New Year’s and June.

And if your boyfriend or girlfriend is a totally kickass genius team-player who helps you to be more happy and fun and successful, you don’t dump them. You marry them. And you ride out the ups and downs of the season together.

I sound like a female Tony Pierce; it’s so weird. I don’t mean to.

This is from the Dodgers’ official corporate website, so I can only imagine how outraged everyone must actually be:

“The trade rocked the clubhouse, where the Dodgers have credited their close-knit chemistry as one factor in their success.

‘There’s a lot of sad faces in here,’ said veteran Jose Lima. ‘I don’t want to create a war, but breaking up a first-place team, wow, that’s something. We accomplished this together. We overcame adversity, people not believing in us. I don’t make the decisions.’

Shawn Green agreed.

‘Right now, it’s hard to fathom,’ he said.”

I didn’t used to like LoDuca because I thought he was just a cocky dope. But I came to understand that he’s salt of the earth: He’s the guy you want as your older brother; and even if he were your little brother, he’d live like your older brother. He’s Johnny on the spot, with a good heart.

“Paul Lo Duca cried and talked openly about the pain of leaving the only organization he has ever known. ‘I always dreamed about being a Dodger for my whole life, having a 20-year career, but I guess it didn’t happen. It’s tough, so many friends I’ve made along the way. The fans in L.A., they treated me so well. It’s tough.'”

I predict after they fire Jim Tracy, Paul LoDuca will be back.

That’s who they really should have traded. Traded him for a funny monkey with a tiny organ that plays “She Bangs.”

kate’s rock blog + science blog + emmanuelle meets tom cruise