5/19/99 -- (Written at La Jolla Shores after nightfall on May 16)

San Diego is very pretty.  It's got blue skies, a scenic downtown, and it's full of hotties.  For a town that lacks the ethnic heterogonously of Los Angeles, it sure attracts some fine-ass looking women.

It's such  a beautiful city that I've gotten depressed just by being here.  The feeling that I don't belong here runs through me even though this was my home for the better part of 13 years -- half my life.  All the beautiful people are everywhere, except for the retirement homes like where my grandmother lives (assuming you're not into the over-70 scene).  The city has its "bad parts" that your mom tells you to avoid, but those sections are blocked off from the casual visitor.  I lived here for 13 years, and had I not actually chosen to go to the wrong part of town a few times (to see where all the black people live), I could have lived here for 83 years and never seen the dark side of town -- no pun intended. 

(It's not that I think black people are ugly, or for that matter Latinos.  It's that the enclaves saturated with color are economically marginalized from the rest of the city, and as such, don't fit into the projected image of "America's Finest City", as SD vainly bills itself.)

I really feel like a transient in SD.  I don't feel like I belong at all now, and I roam from one part of town to another, longingly gazing at everyone and everything else.

Maybe that's why I enjoyed my experiences at Cheetah's so much -- for twenty or twenty-five minutes and $60, I felt like I belonged to someone.  It's the only time or place in SD where the feeling of belonging has hit me.  C'mon, a hottie rubbing her scantily clad bod over me and smiling seductively the whole time, how can I not feel like I belong?

I get the feeling of being outcast in certain places in LA.  The west end of Santa Monica, or in Century City, to name two.  But that's somewhat tempered by the realization that I'm not alone in that feeling, and that most people in LA aren't as beautiful or don't have fine-ass Asian honeys on their arms.  There's a decent amount of visible losers in LA, maybe not just like me, but with me in spirit.

On this trip, I found myself looking into the eyes of women who are clearly with their men.  I don't do it out of a purely psychotic habit -- at least, I don't rationalize it that way (your psychoanalysis may vary).  I think I do it for a hint of of, I dunno, the "light" that must fill their souls.  To be with guys they wanna be with, looking boner-inducing beautiful, looking at beautiful things, living the beautiful life.  I try to capture just a spark of that, before turning away and hoping their boyfriends don't catch me and put their 15 years of Tae Kwon Do on display on my face. 

God, I wish I could belong here.

Previous Next
Haole's Homepage stark raving mad