It looked to be a good weekend. Saturday I was to drive 280 miles to have breakfast with a friend and pick up a fashion model who was going to stay with me for the following week. And I'd been invited to a Goth party at a house near L.A.. I think I'd invited another local model along for the ride before I decided to do the party. Not sure... I did ask her if she wanted to do the party too, and she assented, so the plan was to pick up model "X", drive to the party, party with the Goth kids, leave the party around 3AM, drive to another 150 miles, to meet with my friend and model "Y" and return to San Diego.

So "X" and I left S.D. around 8PM Saturday evening and found the house about two hours later. I changed into my leather pants and boots in a parking lot. We went and tried to find the hostess, but she was apparently hiding somewhere. (My first contact with her was actually when she asked me something like, "Who the fuck are you?") The party was lame. Goth kids talking about piercings, tattoos and death around candles, drinking beer.

We'd dropped a 10-pack of Guinness in the fridge, but it disappeared about three beers later. "X" was getting hit on a lot. No surprise there. One major hitter was this L.A. kid with the phoniest Brit accent imaginable. Some friends (and a respectable enemy) from S.D. showed up and we spent some time discussing the lameness of the whole thing. Four of us stripped to our undies and went into the pool. "X", two of the S.D. girls and me (like a whale among dolphins). "X" decided it was too cold and whined a lot - someone turned on a video camera spooking the topless girls and the swimming was pretty much done. Now I was faced with the idea of dripping photoblack cotton boxer shorts under black leather pants. Didn't seem like a good idea, so I dropped them and shook like a dog and climbed back into the leathers.

"X" admitted that she liked to be carried around, and I found I kinda liked one hundred and four pounds of girlflesh in my arms, so I carried her around, drinking more beer until the terminal dullness got unbearable and we left. Sometime around 3 as planned, I think. We didn't really have to pick up the other model until 9AM, so we drove through downtown L.A. and Hollywood, so she could say she'd been there. She wasn't impressed.

At our destination we found the pier deserted so we drove the Bronco out onto it and parked so I could catch some sleep. "X" had forgotten her contact lens kit and didn't want to sleep, so she insisted I stay awake to keep her company. By whining "Nelson" in an endearing accent, then stomping her foot on the floorboards and finally by kicking the dashboard. Three hours later, without any rest yet, we went to the cafe and met my friend, another photographer. I think he came up to the car while I was having another attempt to sleep through the three-year-old act, so we joined him for breakfast. It seems that "Y" had called explaining that she wouldn't be ready at the agreed on 9AM, but would be ready at 3:30PM. I left it up to "X" to decide if we should stay or go, as it was her eyes that were going to take the brunt of it, and as she wasn't able to sleep anywhere other than her own bed (another three-year-old thing, I think).

"X" allowed that we should stay, so we went to the friend's studio where he tried to impress (successfully, I think) "X" with his prowess as a photographer of naked chicks. During that effort I found a cozy single layer of canvas on the concrete floor and laid down to sleep. "X" didn't like that and came walking just out of arm's reach taunting "Nelson." About the third time I got up, found a chair, sat, wrestled her over my lap, hiked up her skirt and spanked the nicest pair of cheeks I've ever seen. It worked, and I had fun in the process. ("X" did too. ) She did let me sleep for two hours.

"Y" showed up and we crossloaded 2.4 tonnes of clothes to the Bronco, bid adieu to the photographer who was still trying to set a shoot up with "X" and hit the road. This was Sunday afternoon traffic into L.A. mind you."X" and "Y" wanted beer. I wanted coffee. We got both in sufficient quantities (though restocking was necessary) and drove to S.D. Along the way somewhere I lost interest in life. My concentrating on the drive was too much for them. Now they were trying to regain my attention. "Y" was flapping her smock skirt all over, exposing what would have been the interesting parts at any other time. They offered to make out for my amusement. Probably other stuff, but I was too tired to remember it.

We rolled into S.D. at a reasonable time and dropped "X" off perfunctorily and "Y" and I drove to the studio, tired and hungry. Tired beats hungry for me, but the guys down at the garage (same building) were on the final throws of a low-rider show they'd been doing all weekend. They were making fish tacos and drinking Coronas, so we decided to visit. "Y" smoked a bit, drank even more and we both ate the tacos and some huge radishes. A guy with a shiny custom Harley found out I was a photographer. Not sure what gave me away - the tall skinny gorgeous model or the camera. He suggested I photograph the bike, so I got some lights and rolled the bike around trying to look professional. I sent "Y" over to the studio to put on the smallest bikini she had and she came back all legs and hair to straddle the bike for some last pix. Made a few friends at the garage in the process.

Tired now. Back to the studio. I think sometime around 2AM I heard "Y" whining something about wanting a pizza. I put the pillow over my head and slept.

-Don

ADDENDUM - Last Thursday Night

So now model "Y" is staying with me for a week or so, shooting with other photographers around here, and hanging out the rest of the time. The week before my Last Weekend" post, model "X" had gone to a club with me where I was shooting for Strobe Light Diaries. The deal is she gets into the club and a few drinks in exchange for sorta hanging on me, boosting my acceptability with the club kids. Always nice to have a pretty girl around anyway.

Now "Y" was down, and she'd done the "arm candy" thing a few months back. Having a simple mind, I figured it would be just fine to have two (2) models along to a club. Double the noteriety of yours truly. What could be bad about that?

We met my writer and her boss at the jazz thing out front and pretty quicky went back to the "underground" club. The girls were hungry. I bought them food. The girls wanted to smoke and this being California, they had to go outside. Twenty minutes later, thinking they couldn't get back inside I went out to find "X" either hitting on a young stud or being hit on, and "Y" had found another photographer. I went back in and sat down. They came back and wanted drinks. I bought them drinks.

The promoter came over to talk to me and I found that there weren't going to be much as far as lights go. I was starting to get nervous. The girls wanted another drink. I bought them drinks and drank water myself. The food came. They didn't want it. I ate it.

The music started and all 5 dancers tried to fill the floor. In the dark. One was outstanding. This was House music and he was voguing all over the place. Had to be a professional. I was out trying to shoot, braced with my legs apart and he danced right through them. Glad he didn't stop. The girls wanted another drink, but instead of asking me, they ordered them from the bartender and told him to bill me. About this time, the writer told me we'd skip this club and shoot two more on Friday. She and her boss left - holding hands. I sulked.

"X" and "Y" had gone to smoke, come back, etc. etc. I was depressed, so somewhere along the line they came up with the idea to climb in front of me and make out. With each other. Shit!

I didn't need the huge food and drink bill, a lost money shoot AND two girls swapping tongues in front of me. Did I mention that "X" spilled an entire bottle of beer on my writer's boss's lap? I blew up. Took "X" home. "Y" came back to the studio and fell asleep. Asking for pickles.

Moral - Two women is four times as much trouble as one; and one is too much trouble. And don't mix business with pleasure. I'm not too old to learn. A few more like this and maybe I'll figure it out.

-Don