EXES AND OH'S

Knock Out/Knock Up

The Santa Monica Pier is littered with idiots, also known as, wannabe social media influencers — and their band of rubber stamp copycats and yes mans.

And I'm just trying to do some real-fucking-talk here, but it seems... everyone just wants attention nowadays, not influence. The latter has actually completely lost its meaning and has become synonymous with attention-seeking, instead of actually creating content that will positively change and help society. The focus is no longer on the eyes that are watching, but on the number of eyes watching — not realizing that there's so much responsibility behind having a great number of followers.

There's just so much danger to that, especially with today's pseudo-'woke culture'. Everybody's cancelling everything — incessantly calling out and ostracizing people who are not in line with their same, toxic, twisted views. And it's just so fucking easy to offend someone nowadays. Really, no one can make a simple joke anymore. And seriously, fuck that. These twits don't realize that they're just making everything worse in the world than it already is.

And now everywhere you look, there's an annoying millennial or Gen Z-er posing and pouting for the camera, for sure. I mean, does one literally have to take a photo or video of every single thing he does? Is doing a live feed while acting like a complete idiot a normal thing to do now?

Jesus Christ. And don't even get me started with those wannabe food bloggers who takes a million photos of their meal before they eat it — and that's if they even care to actually eat it. Just so fucking annoying and stupid.

Shutting myself up from this internal rant, I turn around and rest my elbows against the metal railings. I'm standing by the wooden dock outside Pacific Park at the Santa Monica Pier as I wait for Levi, who was getting us to-go vanilla milk shakes at Scoops Ice Cream & Treats. I left him alone at the line because there's just so many youngsters taking selfies inside, sticking their tongues out on their sundaes and ice cream cones. And fuck it, I'm not catching diphtheria or any goddamned airborne mouth disease because of that.

Levi and I are both starving and a little tired already, so he decided to make a stop here at the pier for a quick bite. I don't really like amusement parks because it just reminds me of Coney Island, where my mom used to take me when I was little. So since I moved here in LA, I didn't bother visiting Pacific Park. But now I'm kind of liking this place, to be honest. It's super pretty at night with all the lights, and I absolutely love the sound of terrified, tortured shrieks from the people riding the roller coaster.

I smile and hug myself, enjoying the cool evening breeze gently brushing my skin while I stare blankly out into the glimmering waves — its colors purple, pink, blue, orange, and red as the neon lights from the giant ferris wheel, rollercoaster, and the whole of the amusement park illuminated the clear ocean water. Gosh, I'll never get tired of this view.

Hell, I'll never get tired of remembering this day. I'm enjoying every second of this cheap date with Levi. I don't need to be taken out to fancy places to be happy cause I'm a cheap-ass ho. And I'm just so happy that Levi really knows what I truly want. Romeo drove and took me all around town the whole afternoon, and he really lived up to his promise to date the hell out of me. 

Levi and I first went to Leimart Park — the exact spot where Elizabeth Short, the Black Dahlia, was found dead, and then we drove to Doctor George Hodel's house, Elizabeth's suspected murderer. We then went to the infamous and reportedly haunted bar The Viper Room, where River Phoenix dropped dead due to accidental drug overdose. We also visited the Los Feliz Murder Mansion, where Doctor Harold Perelson struck his wife to death with a hammer, severely beat his eighteen-year-old daughter, and then ended his own life using a concoction of water, acid, and tranquilizer pills. And lastly, we went to 10050 Cielo Drive, where the Manson Family committed the Tate murders in 1969.