Lost at Home

Sunday morning 'Beth' wasn't there when I woke up and I find her swimming laps in my pool naked and we drink mimosa's and eventually I take her home and drive to the airport to pick up 'Erin'. 'Erin' is standing at the American Airlines Arrivals gate and an old Persian guy won't stop taking his eyes off her and I don't blame her as she's wearing nothing but a small t-shirt and a very short white peasant skirt that shows off her long legs. She slides in my car, kissing me on the cheek and we tear up the coast to her new Apartment in Malibu. I had no idea she moved and she tells me that she's staying at 'a friend's' house and I don't know this friend but apparently HE is out of town for the week closing some type of investment deal in Europe and she keeps stressing that she's not sleeping with him and the view is so good that I'd sleep with him to stay here. We drink bloody Mary's and watch Football and she keeps touching my hair and I tell her to stop. She wants to know what's wrong and I want to tell her about 'Beth' and tell her about the great time I've been having and I want to tell her how I haven't missed her and I want to hurt her, but the part of me that consists only of lust can't help but hold back. I realize that my sexual urges are taking over and its hard not to with her smoldering stare and my heart seems to constantly skip a beat everytime our eyes meet and there must be something to this this but I don't know what and I pull myself up from the couch and tell her I have to leave. She looks at me and laughs, pulling me back on to the couch and starts kissing me and stradles me and undoes my belt and tells me that she's been waiting to fuck me on this guys four thousand dollar black leather couch and she slides me in her and pulls off her t shirt and slowly rides me while pulling my hair back and I look past her, out at the Pacific and it comes to me : how did I get so fucking lucky? After I finish she collapses on me and plays with my earlobes and my cell phone doesn't get any service here. Later I finally leave and 'Erin' kisses me again and tells me that next week we're going to some fashion party in some Loft Downtown and as I start my car I remember the house keys I need to get back from her but it's too late now. I go home and have two messages from 'Beth' and I call her and we go get a bite to eat at the World Cafe in Brentwood and I go to her house after and we watch television and fall asleep on each other on the couch and by the time I wake up it is 4am and I carry her to bed and leave, driving to my place. The past three days I've been trapped in my house all alone as I've been asked to do a rewrite on a horror spec, convert a short story into a short film for a friend, and finish the first draft of another horror treatment I've been laboring over for the past month. Mon/Tues/Wed go by so quick and my only companion has been a bottle of Jack Daniels and a Daily Variety and I have GOT to start reading some real news. The election is coming up and all of Hollywood is voting for Kerry and that makes me want to vote for Bush because eighty percent of the people I deal with are idiots, but If that's the reason I vote then I'm no better then the Jack Ass who votes for Kerry because he loves Bruce Springsteen or the Hick who votes for Bush because Tim McGraw said so. I need to educate myself on the issues. The Daily Variety isn't going to do that for me. Drew Carey came out and said that he's not going to vote because his vote doesn't count and that's probably not wise since his new sketch show starts soon and over sixty million people watched the debates who believed their votes count. I'm babbling. . .see, getting stuck at home can drive you nuts. I need to go out tonight. I need to see 'Beth'. I need to get my keys back from 'Erin'. I wish there was a way to do that without actually seeing her. That's when I open up a Maxim magazine. . .and there she is. This is going to be harder for my libido than my heart...

Comments

[Rubber Duckie]

I thought of an interesting idea for movie today. Since I'll never write it I'll share it with you...Your average size city starts noticing they're having a record year for homicides. They dig a little deeper and conclude they might have a serial killer. They form a task force. This killer is non-discriminate. He kills blacks, whites, rich, poor, male, female. Plod through the plot, blah, blah, blah, come to find out the killer is the forensic pathologist who performed all of the autopsies. He was hired as a contract worker, getting paid $500.00 per autopsy. Thus, the more dead bodies, the more moolah. The exciting part of it all was he had complete access to the bodies to tamper with evidence, come up with false causes of death, etc, which made it really hard for the PD to figure out who the perp was and makes it a real shocker in the end.

Just a thought....

[JCanuck]

LOL, Duckie you must have some really wicked dreams...

Rocker, a word of friendly advice. Don't ruin what looks to be a good thing happening with Beth by thinking with your penis only over Erin. And change your locks before you find yourself face to face with both of them and floundering to salvage something that is likely unsalvagable at that point. Please

[Sass]

Oh, the girls are starting to worry over you, Rocker.
Yes, change those locks. Immediately. I fear that run-in between the two is looking like a sure thing. I'm assuming Hollywood is a small town, just like anywhere USA.
Put yourself in Beth's shoes.
Think about how she'll feel if this happens.
If there's a heart in there,(and you know there is under all that star dust) wake it up and let it overcome the penis.
Yes, you sound really lucky.
It can't last forever.

You know that.

Sass

[Rubber Duckie]

Not to be a complete ass here, but just to be real...reading your blog is like listening to a stuck record. It's the same scene over and over and over and over with the same mistakes over and over and over and over.

You know what's up, yet you don't act accordingly. Will you ever learn? The writing is on the blog....

[nikola1tesla]

Rocker-- You've already asked for your keys back once. Expect in this time she'll have already made copies, even if you do get them back, because she's also territorial, suspicious, anxious, and possibly looking forward with sick curious lust to finding out why you want your keys back -- who you might be with that is her competition. Dude-- Write her an email about how you feel & yyou won't have to think with your dick. Change your locks! Move. Whatever. Or...enjoy the drama & wait for her to let herself in when you're with Beth, and then have an exciting little triangle of insanity, which sometimes is it's own rush. A big ol fight with a hot make up session with both of them would be insanely depressing-- but highly emotional in it's own rewarding self-searching living on the edge way.

I'm with Drew Carry. Really-- duh... no one vote counts no matter ho you back, but expect to get slaughtered for saying so. Researching the issues correctly will actually confirm the truth ...that really your one vote makes zero difference whatsoever. Thank God for the legions of self-deluded fantatics who don't beleive it & vote anyway. Where would we be without them? Chaos-- madness--- unspeakable disorder. The election is a total circus... but without that circus... imagine what most of the dog-eat-doggers would be doing to each other in fear, realizing our own helplessness.

[Sass]

BYTW, what about the "doing it on that man's leather couch".....are you sure you are not a pawn in another game? Are you sure you weren't filmed?

Erin is bad news, I think....

Sass

[BGC]

I say have your cake and eat it too.

[JCanuck]

Have you ever considered that you deliberately sabotage yourself? Not that I'm pretending to be an expert and get you on a couch (hehe, you've been there, done that) but it occured to me that you maybe don't feel that you deserve all of the good things that happen to you, and go out of your way to make sure that they don't last.

[Amelia]

I want to have sex with you. I live in Los Angeles and I have a pretty good idea who you are. I don‘t just want to have sex with you, I want to love you. If you are who I think you are, and I think you are, then we can sit at the Grove all morning while you write and I know your friends and I run in your circle and we‘ve even kissed once. . .right after you sold your first script. . .you remember, on the balcony in the Hills for the VP of Prod.s birthday. . .
I want to have sex with you. . .
Written by: Amelia at 2004/10/05 - 10:18

[JCanuck]

Amelia, I don't mean to be discouraging, but from the sounds of what goes on in Rocker's life, you might have to take a number.

[JCanuck]

The silence is deafening...