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Lair #2

Moving zig for great justice since 2004

The Tale of the Ghost in da Hood

My friend Trixie lives in a house in Montecito Heights.  Half of the house sits atop stilts:  a structural feature that frightens most non-Californians who like to make a big deal out of earthquakes.  To reach the house, one must drive up a long, winding street where parking is scarce, but the views are spectacular.  

On Monday, I was on my way to Trixie's house, and she sent me a text to let me know I could park in the driveway; her roommate was out of town for the week.  We were enjoying some Thai food and watching the tube when someone came in the front door.  


At least, they tried to come in.  The door was locked so we heard the knob and the push.  We both stopped talking and stared at one another for a moment.  

"Who is that?" I asked.  

"I don't know!" she replied.  

Her eyes told me she was scared.  

In a scene straight out of a horror movie, we decided to investigate the strange noise.  As the denizen male, I went first.  Armed with a broomstick, I cautiously stepped outside and looked around.  

All was quiet. 

I crept around my car in the driveway, making sure it wasn't vandalized.  I looked to see if anyone was hiding around it.  When i got to the end of the driveway, I looked both ways, but nobody was around.  I turned back to Trixie, who stared at me with saucer-eyes from the doorway.  

I shrugged and smiled.  Just then, a rustling came from the bushes on the side of the neighbor's house.  I rushed to the side of the driveway and peered down at the bushes.  The shrubs led down the hill toward the side of the house on stilts.  It was too dark to see anything, but the rustling continued.  

"I can't see," I whispered.  

"Should we call the cops?" Trixie asked me.  

I didn't have time to answer before she yelled out, "WE'RE CALLING THE COPS!"  

I laughed and ran into the house.  Trixie screamed and then closed the door behind me.   

She didn't call the police, but she did call her boyfriend.  He could be over in 20 minutes, and I wasn't allowed to leave until then.  

The whole experience was a little bit scary, a little bit weird, but also… a little bit fun.  I hadn't been feeling very festive, but it was certainly starting to feel like Halloween.  


(no subject)

I like my new life in Silver Lake very much.  The best times of my life are when I liked the people I am living with.  One of my roommates, whom we shall call The Chef loves to cook and entertain guests with drinks and smoke and food.  The Chef is gay so I've met a lot of cool homosexuals through him.  

One Saturday afternoon, while I relaxed in the backyard with a westie in my lap and an iced water pipe in my hand, The Chef asked me, "Do you practice witchcraft?"  

Say whaaaa?Collapse )

The question caught me off guard, and I sat frozen with the pipe just about to touch my mouth, my other hand poised to flick the lighter.  

"No.  Why do you ask?"

"Because you seem like the type who would," he said.  

I acted offended, but I was totally flattered.  

"You know why S and I broke up, right?"  

"No," I said.  I knew that they had been together for five months, and that the boyfriend was a taciturn mid-30s guy who made good money.  That's about it.  Turns out, the boyfriend practices santeria.  

Please refrain from humming Sublime.  Thanks.  

Well, the priest (or whatever word equivalent there is for those who practice santeria) came to visit S and told him that S was under the influence of a love spell!  Clearly, the #1 suspect for the spell-caster would be my roommate The Chef.  He had recently redecorated his bedroom with a butt-load of stuff from Restoration Hardware.  $600 curtain rods.  Things like that.  And guess who paid for it all?  That's right:  S!   

Well my roommate denied the charges of witchcraft, but S said he needed some time to think about things because something didn't seem right.  Unnatural.  Supernatural.  

He needed a break.  

After the Chef was done telling me this story, I was pretty amazed.  Then I was like, "Wait…so you think I put a love spell on you and your boyfriend?!?!"  




Hey F!

What up? How you been? Long time no talk!

Ok wait... I have a story for you.

So the other night, we had a bunch of people over at the house. We were playing a game called "Celebrity" or "Celebrity Heads." Translation: that game they were playing on Inglorious Basterds.

Someone gave me Whoopi Goldberg (which I could not deduce until some very heavy clues were dropped), and when I got it, everyone was cracking up. Someone chimed in that Whoopi has big gums, and everyone exploded into schoolgirl giggles once again.

I found it a bit odd at the time, but benign.  

That is, until just now when I was brushing my teeth and smiled at myself in the mirror after I had rinsed.

I have a gummy smile.

And now these two questions will haunt me in my sleep tonight:

1. Was somebody cracking wise?
2. Was someone saying that I look like an ugly black woman when I smile?


Dating Lesson #17: On Impotence
I’ve been dating a lot lately. Not unlike a trip to the zoo, mass dating can be both fun and educational. It helps hone flirting skills and identify which characteristics are attractive in a potential mate and which characteristics are better left to fester and die in the gene pool.

Today, we will talk about the Unattractive quality of impotence. I’m not talking about erectile dysfunction, I’m talking about guys who don’t know how to seal the deal. Gather 'round, kiddies, while I tell you the tale of a man named Santiago.

Standing at 6’4”, Santiago was definitely the tallest man I’d ever dated. He had dark hair and olive skin. He was half Portuguese and half Irish. Or German. Maybe it was Dutch… the other half of his ethnicity is not of import; all you need know is that Santiago was undoubtedly a feast for the eyes. For Doppleganger week on Facebook, Santiago’s celebrity look-alike was probably Penn Badgeley or James Franco. Fortunately for him (and me), Santiago was very attractive. Unfortunately, he was also impotent.

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I have a global positioning system (GPS) in my car. Generally, my GPS works fine, but sometimes he tells me to do some very silly things. Like to continue down a street and making an elaborate dance of right turns when a simple U-turn would have done the trick. That is how my GPS got his nickname. He is called "Glitch."

Sometimes, I like to think that Glitch is a trickster. He likes to throw me off track to important things like job interviews or important meetings. Today, for example, Glitch led me from the 110 North to the 5 North and then on the 110 South to the 101. I knew he was up to his prankish ways so I turned him off for a while. Eventually, he got me where I needed to be going.

Glitch is funny like that. Sometimes, I swear I can hear him laughing at me. But he's always there when I need him to be. Today, my friend was also running late so Glitch's shenanigans were harmless.


Taking Nana to the Movies

So James Cameron has this little movie out. Perhaps you have heard of Avatar? It's really underrated [/sarcasm]

I saw it when it first came out in IMAX 3D and liked it. I really had no interest in seeing it again, but when my 75 year old grandmother told me she would like to see it, I jumped at the chance. I asked if she would be interested in a 3D experience, and she said that she had seen a 3D movie years and years ago, and that "It was neat!"

I picked her up at 10:30 AM so that we could catch the matinee showing. I could tell that she was excited. She got all dressed up, had her walking cane ready, and when I came through the front door, she yelled, "There he is! My hot date! I can't wait to get out of this house!"

My grandma is 60% deaf in one ear, and 40% deaf in the other. Add a cataract to her left eye, and it makes for one unqualified driver. Her prized BMW dubbed "Gretchen Marie" now spends day after day sitting in the garage under a blanket, waiting for the day when my grandma finally has the heart to sell her; although just between you and me, I think my grandma would sooner die than part with Gretchen Marie.

"Your chariot awaits," I said as I held the door open. As we made our way to Del Amo mall, I asked, "So when's the last time you went out to the movies, Nana?"
"Not since Titanic," she said.
"Nana! That was twelve years ago!"
"I know. Can you believe it?"

I told her Avatar had the same director as Titanic, and she said that she knew. That was part of the reason why she wanted to see it. She also wanted to see the people in the blue make-up. I told her it was computer-generated special effects. She said that was fine too.
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Groundhog Day
I heard that if the groundhog sees his shadow, it means that there is only more season of "LOST."

PS -- I'm on Day 2 of the Lemon Master Cleanse, and this time around is pretty rough! I was in Panorama City and an ice cream truck was tempting me with all kinds of sweet, delectable thoughts. Also, the ice cream truck's song was "La Cucaracha." Not something you might want to think about when eating, but I loved it nonetheless.


Bud Bum
brian&mikey smoke

One of the coolest things about my jobs is that I run into some very interesting people on the streets. Today, for example, I was walking around downtown when I saw a crazy homeless person (as opposed to the non-crazy ones) sitting at a table at an outdoor cafe. He was having a very loud conversation with himself that I couldn't quite follow while he rolled a joint.

Wait I told myself Is he really doing what I think he's doing? No, he's probably just rolling a cigarette. People do that, you know.

As I got closer, however, I saw the bag. That was no ordinary tobacco. It was indeed a plant of the cannibus variety. Only then did I notice the large marijuana leaf bejeweled on his black beanie. This was one cool bum.

As I walked past him, I heard part of his self conversation that made me laugh: "If that tampon had wings, it would fly."

It made me wish I could understand how his train of thought ended up there. It also made me wish I could have some of what he was smoking. Can you imagine? "Hey, can I bum a hit off that?"


The Ginger
brian&mikey smoke
So this story actually took place a month ago. You know, back in 2009. It was a couple of days before Christmas, and one of my oldest friends was in town from Michigan. We had serendipitously run into each other at an IMAX screening of “Avatar” and promised that we MUST get together again while she was still in town. After all, I hadn’t seen her in years.

When she texted me a few days later to go out for a drink, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that we would not be alone: three other old-school friends would be joining us. And when I say “old-school friends,” I’m talking kindergarten. Preschool for a couple of them! We all met in Long Beach, and fun ensued. We started at an Irish pub, buzzed our way into a dueling piano bar, and finally decided to take it to the next level by hitting up the gay part of town.

I was feeling good when we entered The Brit and was only a little sloppy when we made our way into The Mineshaft. The Mineshaft was dead, save a few trolls who might as well have been deceased so we were in and out and on our way to The Falcon. This place was decked out like a winter wonderland, complete with faux snow covering the ground. The music was lively, and I had quite a bit of Jack in me so naturally, I was ready to beat up the beat. My dance moves earned me the hateful sneer of one overweight hipster-queen but also garnered me some attention from a sexy, young thing who wasn’t shy at all about giving me a smile and then giving me his name.

“Hi,” he said, “I’m Patrick.”

Or Jeremy. Something like that. Unimportant. We shook our groove thangs together, and though he lacked fluidity in his movement, I must say the white boy could dance. He was very white, in fact. Definitely more pale than your average Californian, but that was all right with me. But then I noticed something else about him. As Mariah Carey blasted on the speakers and our heels kicked up cotton-polymer snow, I got the distinct impression that Patrick...had no soul. Pale. Sexy. Soulless. No, friends, I wasn’t dancing with a vampire. It’s much worse than that. I’m afraid I found myself grinding my crotch against a ginger.

DUN DUN DUN!Collapse )

Downtown B*tch

So yesterday I get off work, and I’m stuck in downtown congestion. It had been raining all day, and well, you know how Los Angelinos drive in adverse weather conditions.
The rain has subsided for a little while, and I’m waiting at an intersection when the car behind me honks. Sure, the light was green, but there is nowhere to go because we’re stuck in gridlock traffic. The light turns yellow, then red, and eventually green again. I go forward when the bitch behind me speeds out to the side of the intersection and plows forward to cut me off.
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