Is weather in a Mars and Venus relationship with a person’s hormones? Do the two rule my mental school like so many Type A teenagers with BMW’s? Wait were those the people who really ruled me…? It has been raining for a few days in Los Angeles. It bestows the blues upon a woman to be banished from her board by those woeful angels shedding tears from the sky. After just two days I am dying to ride a skateboard within the bowls of my local skateboarding parks.

I woke up and saw a photo Los Angeles local shredder Froggy had posted showing the Belvedere skatepark was closed owing to graffiti. Dummies. It’s never a skater who does that because you know your park will be closed by the very powerful and enthusiastically punishing city.

It was finally not raining for half a minute so I wanted to skate. I told Froggy’s friend Kevin I would pick him up in East L.A. to hit Channel Street. I didn’t think much of going 40 minutes out of my way to get him (AGAIN, what am I, wonderful?). Something just kills me about people dying to skate and not having access. A weird one-woman non-profit I’m running in my brain. Regardez: The Helpful White Lady strikes again, helming a VW Golf.

We rolled up to Channel. I immediately saw Lisa Whitaker (Meow Skateboards, Girls Skate Network) filming Lizzie Armanto in the first bowl. The bowls were just drying out, after being bailed out by a few people at the park. It turned out one of those people was a foul dude I met at the (completely useless) Torrance park. I really like most people I meet at skateparks (who are not on bikes) (or scooters) (townie time). But this guy is blunder thunder from down under. In a park full of doodz with no helmets he honed in on me, the only femalia, and started relentlessly harassing me about how I needed to wear a helmet. A few other guys I never met who were skating with me told him I was fine. I told him I was fine. He proceeded to enumerate his past injuries in gross detail, a known offense whilst engaging in a risky activity. Have I said all this before or am I sprinting through the Dreamtime?

Kevin, my new friend who traveled with me, immediately spotted Robbie Russo. He was stoked. Then Ronnie Sandoval and Oscar Navarro and Riley Stevens. The shred was on, but it kind of always is at Channel. I moved amongst the bowls and Kevin did his thing. I fell weirdly super hard in the last bowl a couple times. I swear it was the curse of that shitty dude. I would never otherwise say that but I just think he is a bundle of terrible and he seems to follow me from bowl to bowl (just like the CIA does). It felt like someone affixed a suitcase handle to my side, picked me up and shook me like a dirty bath rug. I swear I have a femur in my shoulder now. My neck feels like it’s made from tumbled Lincoln Logs. But true to the eternal rad of Channel, everyone tapped their boards when I fell. I just love that place.

Lizzie Armanto’s mom is learning to skate in her 50’s. Just started. Is that the best thing you ever heard? She looked like a total genius in chartreuse drawstring pants, kneepads and a purple t-shirt. The crowd was entirely patient and stoked when she crawled into the bowl and grabbed a line.

Before leaving I stood in the parking lot and talked to Lisa Whitaker for a bit. I saw a girl with a pitbull puppy on a rope disappear through a hole in the chain link fence under the highway, behind the last bowl. She looked like she was in her late twenties, kinda tall for a gal, white, corduroy skirt over pants sitch. I had seen her drinking Mickey big mouths since we arrived at noon. She emerged about five minutes later with what looked like a three-foot-long (also called a “yard”) black carnival barker mustache. She sat on a bench/ledge and patiently futzed with it for something like fifteen minutes (really hitting it out of the park with MEASUREMENTS today). She finally sorted things out, and slipped her arms into this giant mustache, which was actually big black insect wings a la a child’s Halloween costume. She walked over with her wings on and asked if we wanted to pet her puppy. She was just blowing through town with her dude. The puppy’s name was Indy (duh).

We stayed a few hours, then drove back to L.A. This time I took Kevin to the Gold line because I was running late to join my friend for the Clippers game.

We watched the Clippers vs. the Kings. I love basketball.

We got dressed for dancing at The Catch.

We went to the Catch. The music is always so good. Booming hip hop and a big screen covered in what looks like a Tetris graphic. We danced (I’ll remind you that my policy on dancing is to always give 100 percent on the dance floor. Full athletic engagement) and watched the young queers shake it. I mean, I absolutely didn’t see anyone older than me. Which is fine. But it also meant when I was sitting down and a young go-go dancer walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my legs and said, “I’m a skinny bitch, but you’ve got some meat on you. I want some of this.” all I could do was giggle and not engage. It just didn’t feel right!! How could I get all erotic with a girl in her early twenties in turquoise lame shorts whose girlfriend was upstairs? Then I am the 40-year-old honky lady fighting a young lover! Why would it be a fight? Don’t be dumb! It would! So I kept my integrity and lipstick and just enjoyed her and her friend with the braces, green blazer and engagement ring. Beautiful, beautiful gay people.

So this is life.