Studio City. Never seen a hooker walking the street in The Valley. Goes without saying I’ve never seen a transgender hooker in The Valley.

Suddenly, there was one in the 7-11 two nights ago buying condoms. They always have the most impossible faces. Distended in the strangest directions. Cheek implants and lips like sausages. Eyebrows drawn on over bald, or plucked into a clown arch. Femininity exaggerated into the realm of caricature.

This one was black and had the longest face I’d ever seen. Her chin was enormous yet came to a point. First glimpse was confusing but not unpleasant. The second glimpse bought me a little more than confusion. You just never see trannies in The Valley. She ambled out expertly in five inch stilletos and climbed into the passenger side of a Mercedes SUV parked just around the corner. She was soiled. Dirty. She was doing her best but she looked like she’d been sleeping outside. As neat as she could manage, but not clean under the Kelvin temperature of a convenience store glare.

Tonight I’m coming around the corner and there are four of them, including the one from two nights ago.

My first thought is they’re like animals driven from the forest of Hollywood, much less to be had there these days. Like wolves or raccoons searching for sustenance. It’s a sad thought.

None of this really bothers me. It’s more color in my life. Entertaining. I lived in Hollywood for over a decade and transexual prostitutes were just a part of the scenery. The Fish and I had a game called “Spot The Dude”, upon catching sight of one dude looks like lady, one simply uttered that phrase and it was up to the other to clock the shemale in question. The grocery store, Rock and Roll Denny’s (RIP) or the mall. Good times.

I’ve always had what can best described as a morbid fascination for personal ads. When I first moved to Los Angeles, I discovered the LA Weekly, a full bowl of personal ads. Didn’t take long for me to notice the hooker paper, “The LA Express”. It was full of personal ads with a special section in the middle for hookers and trannies in full color.

I swear I’m going to wrap presents in it someday. It’s awesome. The shemales can’t seem to spell the word ‘functional’ and the publication doesn’t give a mad fuck. The straight ones not any better. Babey, breats, mines…………. I leave it on the back of the toilet because there’s spectacularly bad articles too.

They’re enigmatic to me. Chicks with dicks. I’m not sure why. I want to talk to them but I have no idea what to say. What is their ideal? Where exactly do they expect to land? I want to tell them that as a kid growing up in a small town, I never would have imagined they existed. I also want to tell them that sometimes they try too hard. Tell them that they end up looking like 80’s vampires or aliens. Can’t they see that? Do their customers like that?

Halloween everyday.

What’s the deal? Do you want to look like that or do you have to?

I’ve seen some pretty ones but they aren’t nearly as interesting. The pretty ones are always clean. I can’t discount the idea that females are born in a male body

To this day I still peruse the personals on craigslist. I can’t help it. “I’m a intelegent women”. Sheezus. I love it.

Seems to me that those ‘Lunchable’ jobbers from Oscar Mayer used to come with some lube.
Honey mustard or some goddamn thing.

Drinks for my friends.

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