Fur and Pleather

Last week I almost bought a baby bunny on the corner of Sunset and La Brea.

A man wearing camouflage and about a month's layer of dirt was selling them as I walked out of a theater with my friend. Now by “selling” I don’t mean he had a booth and a sign that said “Bunnies For Sale” or “Buy Two Bunnies And Get A Bushel of Carrots Free.”

No.

Although if you are reading this homeless, bunny peddling man, that might be a good business plan.

By “selling” I mean he was sitting on some steps cupping his hands close to his chest. As we passed he didn’t say a word, just opened his hands so that a small bunny head peaked out and almost brushed my leg (and broke my heart.)

Now, I have to give it to this guy. He definitely knows how to pull at heartstrings. He made sure I could see how cute the bunny was while simultaneously making me horrified at the thought of what he might do if the bunny didn’t sell tonight.

I tried to stare straight ahead and keep walking as my bleeding heart screamed:

Buy it, buy it! Save the innocent bunny from the scary homeless man! Remember, you’ve always wanted a bunny? It would go so well in your apartment. No matter that you have no time and no money to buy lettuce and carrots. BUY IT!!

I glanced back at the man but thought that along with the cute white ball of fur he might also give me Hepatitis and decided not to risk it.

Sorry bunny.

I went to drink my sorrows away at the bar, Happy Endings. You may remember Happy Endings from this post.

This bar always misleads me into thinking it’s something that it's not. As we walked in country music blared in my ears and the beer pong tournament was reaching a fever pitch. This may sound like a normal bar but I knew better. Every time I go here my blog just writes itself.

Tonight was no different.

I was sipping a beer (an abnormal drink choice but my desperation to fit in outweighed my desperation for a dirty martini) when I saw them. I gasped and tugged on my friend’s shirt.

Looooook.

It was KISS.

Okay, not really. But it was a man and a woman dressed as KISS. We are talking full-out, no holds barred, black puffy hair, pleather pants, and black and white make-up.

I took another sip of my beer as the one with the widow’s peak prepared to play beer pong.

As is the case most times, I was less amazed by the duo themselves and more amazed by everyone’s reaction.

Which was to not react.

Not even to acknowledge that a couple, dressed as KISS was playing beer pong at a bar called Happy Endings.

Anyone?

ANYONE??

When they started dancing to “Don’t Stop Believn’” no one even took time out of their conversations to notice that two members of KISS were grinding to Journey.

And I started to think about that damn little bunny again.

How people in LA can walk right by something so desperately and heart breakingly (yes that’s a word!) cute and have no reaction. How KISS can walk into a bar, kick ass at beer pong, and grind on the dance floor and no one gets out their cell phone to snap a picture.

If I walked up to Santa Monica Blvd right now wearing only whipped cream (don't worry, Dad just hypothetically speaking) I can guarantee NO ONE would blink an eye unless they were to ask me where I got it and if it was low-calorie.

There is something so lonely and so incredibly liberating to know that here in Los Angeles you can be anything and do anything. This creates a city that is beautiful and diverse, where creative things are allowed to happen.

But it can also be lonely. Like the bunny no one really wants you can go unnoticed – even if you are incredibly cute, furry and white. Or incredibly scary, shiny, and black and white.

As I walked to my car later that night, I passed the steps where the man had been. He and the bunny were gone.

I bet the KISS couple bought it.

They know what it’s like to have no one notice them.