Saturday night at 2 a.m. in Hollywood.

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.

There's a certain uneasiness in the faces that surround me. Because at 2 a. m. in Hollywood, the brilliant hopes of the day turn into the harrowing reality of the night. Closed bars, cabs and lonely faces tell the story.

But at 2 a.m. in Hollywood I am oblivious to the desperation that surrounds this place. Because, I am not just watching the action. I am part of it. Because at 2 a.m. in Hollywood, I am basking in this neon wasteland with a women clearly 30-years my senior. Yes, I finally had a cougar in my grasp. And yes, I was lonely too.

I connected with her in spite of myself. You see, this wasn't really a planned outing, sort of like a last minute thing. I didn't have time to make myself nervous. I just happened to be at 7-11 with a cold six-pack in my hand. And then it hit me. I couldn't bear going home to a night of HBO and Heinekin. Not tonight.

I popped over to this bar, and there she was. Her name was Kelly or Kellen (I just called her Kel), and she was a talent agent. It's funny how your outlook changes when you set an off-beat demographic for your lustful conquest. I barely even noticed the oogles of other hotties at this place until about 10 minutes into the conversation. Hot and young was off the menu for me Saturday night in Hollywood. I was in the mood for something a bit more aged.

Drinks led to flirting. Flirting led to dancing. Dancing led to strolling. And strolling led to 2 a.m. in Hollywood. We left our cars, hailed a cab and went back to her place in Laurel Canyon. Our exit strategy was so clean, our progess so well-paced I couldn't help to think I wasn't the first drink/flirt/dance/stroll boy she had ever picked up. But I didn't give a shit. She was using me for pleasure. I was using her for something else.

At her door, she fumbled for her keys, but I think that was more to put me at ease. To show that she wasn't as methodical as her eyes absently revealed. We weren't inside for a minute before I had a glass of whiskey in hand. It was on.

Drinks/flirt/dance/stroll/cab/house/whiskey. Now we arrived at the main attraction of the night--heavy petting. And believe it or not, I actually enjoyed it. Sure, I had my eyes on the prize and knew this task wasn't about feeling good. But who was I to complain.

Which brings me to the bad news part of the night. Yea, there was some. No, she wasn't missing a limb or had an extra one between "her" legs. That I could have overlooked with the help of whiskey. No, seems there was a picture of her and another guy on a shelf, and I asked who it was. The conversation went something like this:
K-My husband.
R-Your ex-husband?
K-Nope.
R-Separated
K-Oh, no.
R-Uh, ok well--
K-He's ok with this-- (HAND TOUCHES MY WRIST)
R-Huh?
K-We have an open marriage. He's probably out doing the same thing now. It's no big deal.
R-(Something drunk and unintelligible)

So I left. I left her lair in Laurel Canyon. I left my prized cougar. And I walked back to Hollywood. Back to my car and a warm 6-pack of Heinekin. Back to Sunday. Back to the L.A. Times and frisbee and burnt toast. Back to green grass and water after water. And as the sun hit me, I realized last night was not a total bust. I did learn something more than my reticence to perform adultry.

Remember that super lame sunscreen song that talked about troubles that "blindside you at 4 pm on some idle Tuesday." For some reason that came into my head. I fucking hate that song, and couldn't get it out of my head for the rest of the day, but I digress.

Then I realized, Life's troubles don't have the corner on the random act of nature. Shit, I just proved you can be on the road to success that way too. And when you don't plan, you don't primp and you take a step in a different direction, doors open. And Saturday night at 2 a.m. in Hollywood, a door did open for me. But I slammed it shut a few hours later. Whatever, there are other cougars in Hollywood. That's for damn sure.