Finding a stapler. Selling a car. Hollywood. 9/23

As an artist my comrades, staff, fuck buddies whatever are always on the look out for cash making opportunities. We could get regular 9-5 jobs, but I am their 9-5 jobs thanks to a business loan and dead parents, but that doesn’t provide us with nearly enough to live the fabulous Hollywood lifestyle.

Any how BusTard commandeered a vehicle, totally legally (or so he said,) but the vehicle didn’t work (totally crazy dude had some how managed to fuck the transmission and drove it from Santa Barbara to LA in one gear, so yeah it was really fucked,) so we decided to try to sell it for parts.

So we meet up at Coffee Bean. I was late because I’m always late.

We decide to take the Hollywood Dash, which when you are in a hurry to get to a car- to sell it for parts-to remove the tickets that you know have accumulated on the car-because you left it on Sunset--because you can’t drive it, because you don’t have a license and you know Sunset is not a place you should be driving when you don’t have a license and you just stopped drinking about four hours before.

So yeah we could have gotten up earlier, but that’s the kind of thing that people who are accountants do.

We’re artists. Fuck getting up earlier. Fuck not drinking the night before. It was only for 250 bucks.

The bus took forever as you know it was raining and it was the Dash and old people take it and people with strollers who won’t fold it up-so they argue with the driver-but driver won’t just drive--but continues to argue with the woman, for like ten minutes “You can’t get on the bus without folding up the stroller,” “But why I don’t understand, why?” “Because you can’t.” "But it's raining," "I'm sorry man I can't help you," So each stop took about five hours (ok an exaggeration but maybe like 10 minutes.)

So we get there, but I have to go hide out somewhere. I look very obvious and while the deal was completely legit, if something went wrong I didn’t want to be in the vicinity.

So while BusTard was making the transaction I visit this store that helps you grow plants. I think the point of the store is so you can sell and grow pot, but no one talked about that aspect of it. They just kept talking about growing tomatoes. Which is a lot of money to spend to grow some damn tomatoes. I hope hydroponics tomatoes make you high or something, because if not I don’t see the point of getting all of the crap if you aren’t going to be growing pot.

A few minutes later BusTard comes in and we decide to go to Amoeba. We had bought some vintage rap cds and had burned them and wanted to return them for 75% credit. The guy who was doing the return was a person that I had read some poetry with (one of my many artistic endeavors.)

I for some reason couldn’t remember this guy, but he remembered me.

I have a real problem with that. I stand out people remember me, but I have a mind like a fish, owing to my lack of sleep. I can remember events, but not people from over a month ago.

But before going to Amoeba records we went to Borders, because it was raining. We wanted to just go through Borders to get out of the rain, of course this did not happen. We wasted  a good 20 minutes there looking at books, listening to odd conversations:

“I think we should buy two of these, you’ve got nieces who like him,” lady who was looking at the greatly reduced Tupac Shakur book as a potential good gifts for kids aka that aunt that gives you stupid gifts of ‘popular’ things that aren’t so popular anymore, but this woman is in LA, so I’m not sure what her problem was.

Anyways we asked one of the book associates if they had the Washington Post.

The guy said, “No,” but this little round portly bitch with glasses said under her breath while we walked out, “This is LA not Washington DC.”

But BusTard didn’t notice because he was busy looking at the Financial Times. That’s London, not LA you goth, bookselling, little shit.

I was too tired to verbally slap her, but I’m sure Miss Smart-Ass will be there on my next trip.

I guess the whole point of this trip was to sell the vehicle and get a stapler, but when we went to Big Lots to find a stapler, they didn’t have one. We were supposed to go to Office Depot, but what happened was that we found the Hard Mike’s Lemonade Iced Tea Flavor (which they for some reason Hard Mikes is no longer selling)  since we didn’t drive there and we bussed it. We couldn’t go to Office Depot, because we had to carry two cases of the Iced Tea.

Priorities you know.

Also I had these weird pants on that are super cute they tie on the side, but they tend to come untied, with my hands filled with Iced Teas accidents could have occurred.

BusTard told me this in regards to my pants:

"Those are some deliciously vile pants, but you look kind of prostitutti," BusTard.

But you know when we got home the beverages were flat.

Fuck, while I felt like we got a lot accomplished…that sucked…we drank one though, but then BusTard thought, “what if this is poisoned or something.” So then we stop drinking it.

We’re still trying to get that damned stapler.

Browne