Today is day 60 since we received work-from-home orders. And right now I’m loopy, bloated and horny. Very very horny.

With all of the moving I did at the beginning of this so-called quarantine, I admit I cheated a little out of necessity. But since then it’s been this apartment or the market. Day after mind-numbing day, everyday is exactly the same.

Monday to Friday, wake up at 7, wash up, start work at 8, have lunch at noon, log off at 4, take a nap, eat dinner, then watch YouTube and then sleep.

Saturdays and Sundays are glorious breaks of the monotony! I get to wake up later than 7, make breakfast, go to market, then nap, eat dinner, watch YouTube and then sleep.

Every now and again I’ll have a video chat or a phone call that really is my only socialization. And as someone whose social skills can sometimes be lacking, once societal reintegration happens things should be interesting. In other words, let’s see how fast I get fired.

And the horniness. I’m like a teenager right now. Just a mere look and I’m ready to disrobe and hump. The toys are no longer cutting it. I need a touch, a slap, a choke, an anything. If I don’t feel someone grabbing me while inserting their turgid penis into my asshole soon, I fear all my gonads will shrivel up into an aged impotence.

I guess it could be worse. I could have the damn Rona. But anyway, on to living with the monotony.

I am going to fucking kill my mom.

A few weeks ago as the seriousness of this pandemic started to elevate here in Los Angeles, I decided to call by 68-year old mother to make sure she is all right. It went straight to voice mail. Hmph. Knowing the nature of my relationship with my mom, I automatically wondered if I did anything to piss her off? Or maybe she just couldn’t take the call.

So I called again when I got home from work. Again, straight to voicemail. Strange. Even though we get mad at each other from time to time, she always picks up the phone. But whatever.

Then was my big moving day. I gave her a call again that night after the movers were gone. Voicemail. I then sent a text saying that I moved and wondering how she was doing.

Nothing. Days and days of nothing as everything here in Los Angeles County was shutting down, as the number of cases exponentially increased, as my anxiety over my mom grew and grew.

Finally a couple of weeks ago in the early morning, my mom first sends me a text message then a message on Kakao Talk (a Korean SMS app.) She texts me in Korean, I text her in English. It also doesn’t help that she misspells a lot of things in Korean.

Basically, she was stuck in Peru. I was relieved and pissed. She had left for Peru on March 11 to go see Cusco and Machu Picchu, the pandemic got real, Peru shut everything down and she got stuck.

On my birthday on Friday, she managed to get a flight to the States and got home on Saturday. She’s fine, although with the dust and pollen that built up in her house her allergies are on fire.

I’m going to kill my mother.

I imagined friends and family being able to drop by my new place to check it out and give me suggestions about how to decorate, which furniture goes better where and all that other stuff you rely on your friends for.

But as we are all stuck indoors, I just have to be satisfied with myself. And trust me, that I have no problems doing.

It is weird to be in the middle of a move while we are all being told to stay home. Last Saturday before life shut down, I had a moving crew move my big furniture to the new place. I scheduled junk guys to clean out the rest of the apartment today, and fortunately they made it.

But it was strange driving from Downtown LA to San Pedro with no traffic. Well, there were cars on the freeway, but I got to cruise a nice 80 the whole way down. What would usually take about an hour took me only 30 minutes.

So now here is my old bedroom that I grew up in which became my guest room:

Here is my new place:

I can’t wait until this is over so I can get more furniture. But wishes, dreams and wonder: I guess that is life during pandemic.

Since Wednesday I’ve seen a bunch of different apartments and lofts in eight different buildings. I’ve been in the South Park area by Staples Center, the Historic Core, the Jewelry District, the Toy District, the Fashion District.

Of course since I hate driving, I’ve been hoofing it and using the Metro system to get around which has been wonderful. It’s been enlightening to walk around the prospective neighborhoods I want to live in.

I’ve pretty much found the place I want to live in — I just have one more appointment tomorrow night that will need to knock my socks off. Actually at this point, I’m regretting that I have that appointment on the books. I want to put in my application and get this part of the move over.

I’m only going to post one picture because in all of the excitement about the place I forgot to take photos. But here is this:

The One?
Some of you who are observant would say, “Hey, Jimmy. That island was installed backwards. The drawers should be on the other side.”

I respond, “The island moves!”

I can theoretically be getting fucked on top of the island and be rolled around the entire apartment!

This is a 824 square-foot place at $2,095 per month. Rooftop swimming pool and hot tub. Nice fitness room. A library area. Mentally I’m already moved in.

So it starts.

I settled with the building owners the relocation payment I am due once I move out of here. And the fact that I can use part of it when I need a security deposit and what not.

I also reviewed my credit report which is… Well, it exists. There’s nothing bad on it which is a good thing.

With all of that done, I started looking at places in Downtown LA for around $2,000. One thing that been driving me nuts is getting distract by looking at places in other neighborhoods. Like, oooh, wow, wouldn’t it be nice to have this view of the ocean down in San Pedro?

But no, no, no! Must focus on DTLA!

So today, was the start of looking at places. I went to two different buildings around where the Standard Hotel is and saw five different units. I liked one unit from each building but neither were perfect.

View from the entrance

Looking towards the sleeping area
Pros: Simple rectangular layout. Good water pressure.

Cons: Second floor (aka lots of street noise). Didn’t feel as big as I was expecting. Shitty closets.

Looking in from the entrance

Kitchen

Bedroom
Pros: Perfect size. Sixth floor so it’s not too noisy. The rooftop pool and lounge areas were really nice.

Cons: Water pressure sucked. I don’t know if the water was turned off, but that was a concern. Also the washer/dryer unit wasn’t hooked up. And as I was leaving I heard a child crying.

So this was the first set of viewings. I have viewings scheduled for Friday, Sunday and Tuesday. I’m looking forward to getting this part taken care of so I can just start purging and selling shit.

I’m going to get palpitations.

I’ve known this was coming for a while now, but I have officially received my 90-day notice to vacate my apartment.

Pros: I get to get the fuck out of here. I hate living in San Pedro. I hate my three-, four-hour daily commute. I hate being far away from things. I hate being in the apartment I grew up in with relics of my childhood, adolescence, adulthood.

Cons: There is no fall-back. There is no parent’s house to store my old shit. It’s either take it or trash it.

I’ve been looking at places in Downtown LA. And thanks to rent control, I get a pretty hefty relocation payout. But unfortunately I don’t get it until after I have moved. So ugh.

“I can’t believe it,” my coworker messaged me on Instagram late Sunday morning along with the link of the TMZ story of Kobe dying in a helicopter crash.

I was in Vegas with my cousin Gina, a late celebration for her birthday. We were getting ready to head out for the Goldwell Open Air Museum out in the ghost town of Rhyolite just miles from Death Valley National Park late Sunday morning. We were eating our chicken we picked up fron Hattie B’s Nashville Chicken.

I automatically googled Kobe Bryant since I really don’t trust the scumbag Harvey Levin and saw to my dismay that it was true. I didn’t know how to react. I told Gina about it and continued to eat.

Throughout the two-hour ride to the ghost town, I tried to keep the news away. Gina would give me updates as she saw them, but that was about it. I was not inundated with the 24-7 coverage assault which made not thinking about it okay.

But after dinner when we got back to the room, I turned on ESPN on the tv and KCAL9 on my laptop and it hit me. I did start to tear up while watching the moving impromptu tributes Angelenos made.

Why am I affected by this so much?

Kobe was not an easy guy to like throughout his career. Most infamously of course was his sexual assault of a 19-year old woman in Colorado. Despite knowing this, how am I having so much feelz for this man?

I then remembered the statement he made after his criminal case was dismissed but before his civil case was settled. It really was unlike anything we have ever seen.

First, I want to apologize directly to the young woman involved in this incident. I want to apologize to her for my behavior that night and for the consequences she has suffered in the past year. Although this year has been incredibly difficult for me personally, I can only imagine the pain she has had to endure. I also want to apologize to her parents and family members, and to my family and friends and supporters, and to the citizens of Eagle, Colorado. I also want to make it clear that I do not question the motives of this young woman. No money has been paid to this woman. She has agreed that this statement will not be used against me in the civil case. Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual, I recognize now that she did not and does not view this incident the same way I did. After months of reviewing discovery, listening to her attorney, and even her testimony in person, I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to this encounter. I issue this statement today fully aware that while one part of this case ends today, another remains. I understand that the civil case against me will go forward. That part of this case will be decided by and between the parties directly involved in the incident and will no longer be a financial or emotional drain on the citizens of the state of Colorado.

Here we have Kobe basically admitting what he did. We get none of this from Harvey Weinstein, from Ben Roethlisberger, from the Steubenville football team. But Kobe realized how wrong he was — that always stuck with me. He was able to see past his ego, his masculinity that taught him a woman’s body is not her own.

I think what LA, and what I, identified with Kobe so much is all of his flaws. That despite that, he did try to be the best person he could be. That is all we can do.

We witnessed this for 20 years while he entertained us on the hardwood, winning championships, enduring losing seasons, saying he’d rather play on Pluto than with the Lakers during those turbulent post-Shaq years. We watched the 81 points, the 60 in his final game, him willing the team through Game 7 of the 2010 Finals against Boston despite having a horrible shooting night.

He made us feel great, feel shitty, feel angry, feel in awe of his majesty, whatever. He made us feel something.

Excuse the horniness of the last post. There is something to be said about the threat of utter annihilation and having your prostate battered within an inch of its life.

It seems that war talk has simmered back down, so we’re back to our regularly scheduled program, whatever that means. After the holidays, we’re back to the five-day work weeks and everything that entails. Well until this weekend with the three-day weekend, and then I’m off to Vegas this weekend for my cousin Gina’s birthday weekend — a four-day weekend.

I don’t feel regular.

So we have an illegitimate president breaking the War Powers Act of 1973 and assassinating folks halfway across the world, and it’s hard not to regress to childhood and the threat of nuclear annihilation. It’s how I grew up, and old habits die hard.

All day Friday at work with the end of the world looming in my mind, there was one thing that I kept thinking of: I need to fuck like crazy.

SOCguy and I had been messaging to one another the last few months on various platforms: Scruff, Recon, Asspig. Since we’re a little far apart as he lives in South Orange County, we’ve kept missing each other. We finally made it work Friday night and he came over around 9 pm.

SOC walked in and immediately started kissing me knocking me onto my couch. I love a man with initiative, and fuck he tasted good, like he sucked down on an Altoid about half an hour ago. Each time his tongue snaked past my lips made me moan.

He shucked his shoes off, and I pulled him by his hoodie towards my bedroom in the back of my apartment, bumping into everything down my narrow hallway as we exchanged saliva. There was a desperation in our intimacy, and it seemed like we were of one organism with no time left in this worlf. Off went his hoodie. Then my tshirt. Then his tank. Then my pants. This his shorts.

We made it to my bedroom and my bed — the centerpiece of the room. He pushed me back onto it all the while continuing to maul me. Next thing I’m acutely aware of is him fucking me hard without abandon. I’m moaning up a storm and realizing that for the first time since I’ve come back from Europe I am sweating.

I cum first — I usually do because my prostate really loves dick. All over my comforter. Fuck, I guess someone is doing laundry tomorrow. It’s at this point I want things to be over, but I’m sure Emily Post would frown upon sending a suitor home without allowing him to cum. I am a gentleman after all.

So I pull him out of me and suck him off. I instantly remember a joke I’ve been telling this holiday season: that gay guys will eat ass but we refuse to touch the bathroom door knob. Here I am putting a dick that had been in my ass into my mouth. I stifle a laugh and get on with it.

He finally pulls out, strokes his dick a couple of times and cums all over my chest.

We kiss slowing getting our heartbeats back to normal. “That was wild,” he said making conversation.

“Indeed it was.”

We showered together, and he took off. I sat on my couch, my asshole buzzing from the pounding and thought about war. Guess it didn’t work.

After the demise of Big Black, Steve Albini decided to mock his friends in Sonic Youth by ripping off the riff of their 1987 song “Schizophrenia” and entitling it “Kim Gordon’s Panties” with his new band Rapeman. I don’t know why I thought of this when I first listened to Kim Gordon’s first solo album No Home Record.

Kim Gordon has always been a hero of mine, so it’s really aspiring that here she is releasing her first solo album at the age of 66.

A meditation of pop, rock and electronics given the expected experimental twist you would expect of someone who was in Sonic Youth for 30-some odd years, it is happy, confusing and forlorn.

My biggest complaint is that it is not longer. Clocking in at just over 39 minutes, it opens with a very Björkish “Sketch Artist.” It’s the complete standout of the record. I expected to hear Bjork’s bluesy wails set against the wall of electronics, but instead there are Kim’s hip breathy attitude which is just as appropriate as Icelandic scatting.