Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Los Angeles I love you, but you're bringing me down this big?

Back somewhere in the middle of my high school career, I got my hands on some old school Calvin Klein jeans for three dollars and twenty five cents at this Goodwill on La Brea between Olympic and Wilshire. This was at the outset of my foray into vintage fashions, and the beginning of me actually crafting some sort of image for myself that didn't rely heavily on adorning myself in whatever was popular with all the black kids at the time. These pants fit pefrectly in both the waste and leg area, and as is the case with any article of clothing you buy that you can't get enough of, these pants became my go to pair of jeans quite often during the school year, and got me some street cred with the kids who adorned themselves in designer fashions of the time. [Avirex (remember how big those jumpsuits were?), Tommy Hilfiger, Coach, Gucci, etc. What, we were in high school and just trying to wear as many brands as humanly possible.]

As time wore on and the pants came with me to college, said jeans took a backseat to the new, better fitting, better finds from thrift stores that began to fill out my wardrobe. And once the legs began to flood [oh hell no. guess I got taller?], I hardly ever wore them again.

And then I grabbed a pair a scissors...

Cut to Winter 2006. Old school Calvin Klein jeans become old school Calvin Klein cutoffs. [Not in a Tobias never nude fashion, but uh, um,...maybe I should have gone with the words jean shorts.]And just like that said shorts have become one of my favorite pairs of "pants." I wore them all Friday. I wore them to work on Sunday. I put em on again Monday, and I decided to put them on again yesterday evening for a night out on the town with some hipsters.

Guess I should have second guessed wearing those never nude jeans to Cinespace.

If you allow yourself to succumb to it, the anxiety that can hang over one's head in preparation for a night out with Los Angeles hipsters is out of control and quite dangerous. I was already dressed in something decent all day and then at the last minute I changed out of it. I went through about two pairs of pants before deciding on the "cutoffs" and then proceeded to go through about four or five shirts before I decided to go with the sleeveless track shirt [a little bigger than it needs to be, of course], wife beater placed underneath, calvin klein shorts [back pocket ripped, hole on right thigh for authenticity], thrift store Nike hi-tops slightly dirty, and a winter cap courtesy of my old roommate Evan, cocked to the side. That was it. I had my night out with the hipsters look down son.

And then we got to the door at Cinespace, which could have easily been confused for an entrance to a secret white house function, or a taping of a scene from Entourage, what with the young geled hair guy checking the crumpled Din Mak list, the bald, buff, black suit wearing security guy[with a matching muscle shirt up under of course], and the pony-tailed fillipino looking dude in the fedora all deciding who gets in and yelling for IDs. We were here. We made it. Yes! Scanners, Patrick Wolf, Them Jeans, here we come.

But not so fast.

"Sorry bro, but you're wearing shorts. Can't let you in. You park/live nearby? If you go grab some pants and come back, I'll let you back in. You don't have to wait in line."

Fuck that.

It's 10:50. No way were we going to find me some pants on Hollywood Blvd. So we did what any other young twentysomethings would do, we got some Popeye's and Arby's and headed to Rite Aid for some brewskis. Yes, we returned to that same Rite Aid that plays all the ridiculous easy listening hits that you, for some strange reason can't help but tap/sing along to, and where if you aren't looking, someone will throw a shoe over an aisle, and hit you in the head. [It has happened, trust me] It's also another one of those 24 hr establishments that likes to have only one register open resulting in a long line of drunks, young couples actually shopping, queer entourages, and of course, us. Oh and Joey Fatone of N'Sync.

Yep. That's right.

I turn around to scope the length of the line and there he is, alone and chilling like the rest of us, patiently waiting to be rung up. At first we weren't sure if it was him, but when they finally opened a new line and he jumped in it, we were assured that it was him by the word Fat on the left cheek, and One on the right cheek of his sweatpants. Yes. I kid you not. Looking again, cause that's how we roll, we noticed he had three items in his hand and it went something like this, something, something, a box of 12 magnum condoms. Yes. I kid you not. Yeah, so another attempt to catch the scanners, and get in Cinespace was foiled, but who needs Cinespace when you got Popeye's, a 12 pack of Molson's, and an Nsync sighting, [buying magnum condoms no less] in the always entertaining Rite Aid on Sunset and Fairfax?

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