please be my girlfriend, Alanis
It was a typical Hollywood night. It never rains in LA but that night it was pouring. The teenagers outside the Whiskey chanted, Miss-ing G, Miss-ing G, as he went past them. Hollywood frightened him for that kind of thing. He never knew what he was in for.
He stepped into a bar he knew Bukowski had been fond of. He was looking for the kind of life Bukowski had been fond of. At the bar was the kind of woman he was after.
He slid up to her barstool, and after overhearing her casual remark about Charlie Estevez he said, “Hey, I’m in the trades.”
She said, “Really?” Her beautiful breasts bouncing gently, she spun so fast.
“Oh, are you an actor?” She tried to recognize him.
“Are you a director?” She tried to look pretty.
“Are you a producer?” She leaned forward so he could see down her shirt.
“What do you do? I love movies.”
“I’m a writer.”
Her hysterical laughter he was somewhat prepared for, it was the fevered repeating of, “I’m a writer,” to her friend and everyone at the bar which he could not take.
PS: Alanis Morissette: I love you just as much as Sinead. I met her first is all and I think a man oughta to stand by his woman. Besides, I’m a little upset about you singing back-up for Dave Mathews. If that’s all it was, though, give me a call, I have some things I’d like to tell you.