Dating in LA: Pros

11 Jun

Here is the real problem with “dating in LA.”  I hate even typing that phrase.  “dating in LA.”  Which, everyone says it over and over again that “it’s hard to meet someone in LA.”  Yes, it is hard to meet someone in LA if you are stupid, ugly, annoying, old and fat.  It is perhaps not as hard to meet someone in Mobile, Alabama even if you have one or more of these qualities because once you find someone and they find you, you are sticking together because what the fuck else can you get.

But it is “hard to meet someone in LA” even if you are a six foot one employed white male with 9 per cent body fat and a decent tan and a full head of hair that even has some cool, like, the perfect very slight amount of graying going on, and a reasonably strong jawline, and an IQ three and one half standard deviations above the norm, which is supposedly valued, and a sense of humor probably also three and one half standard deviations above the norm, and good skills and knowledge w/r/t art, and music, and other disciplines that chicks are supposedly interested in and want to discuss.  And a face that, while, no, you are not George Clooney, is litotically “not unattractive,” which is all that everyone except a vanishingly small percentage of the population can hope for. Continue reading →

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Article Review: Cat Fancy: The Cat That Changed Debbie Gibson’s Life

10 Jun

CAT FANCY: THE CAT THAT CHANGED DEBBIE GIBSON’S LIFE
From CAT FANCY, August 2010. Print Edition found in the waiting room of Angelus Pet Hospital of Glendale, CA., as your correspondent waited to get his male Domestic Medium Hair “Bud” his annual vaccinations.

Summary:

“Deborah” Gibson, which she insists on being called, and is thusly referred to in the actual article even though the cover says “Debbie,”* found a newborn kitten outside of a Miami concert hall. The beast was ill and badly injured. Years later “Gleason” and “Deborah” are inseparable, thanks in part to the mothering done early on by Gibson’s cocker spaniel.

Now Gleason enjoys laying on the piano as Gibson plays whatever musical ideas she is pursuing in a misguided attempt to reattain cultural relevance. Aside from his tendency to lay directly in front of her sheet music, this habit is a pleasure to both Gibson and her furry friend.

Analysis: Continue reading →

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Protected: If You Fat Chicks

10 Jun

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Girls

10 Jun

Her: So whatever happened with that girl?

Me: Which one?

Her: …

Me: I mean, whoever it is, I can tell you: nothing.

Me: I fucked her, or I didn’t fuck her, and now I don’t speak to her anymore.

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Eulogy for a Lizard

9 Jun

A couple weeks ago I came home and there was a lizard in the hallway.  Little one– one of the brown lizards that are always crawling on the walls of my apartment building.  I tried to catch him; scoop him up with a pizza delivery menu, because I figured my cat would get him and torture him to death.  But he was too quick.  He scampered under my dresser.  Which, OK.  If he’s fast enough to get away from me, maybe he’s fast enough to get away from the cat.  Now I have a lizard in my house.

I saw him a couple times after that– he’d come out into the bathroom where there are spiders and silverfish and moths and stuff, presumably to hunt. I liked this idea, of having a lizard in my house.  I liked that there were adequate insects in the place to feed him.  He was part of the household. You know.  Doing an important task.  Taking care of harmful pests. Continue reading →

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Protected: Hey Kids: You Should Make Your Own Crack to Smoke at Home! It’s Easy and Fun

8 Jun

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I Live Alone

7 Jun

I live alone.  It’s great if you like shitting with the door open, which I do.  It’s great if you like jerking off.  I can jerk off anywhere, any time, for any reason.  It’s great if you like making food with strong-smelling sauces that you then fail to refrigerate because you’re drunk and instead let sit on top of the stove at room temperature for several days. It’s great if you like leaving your brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear scattered in various corners instead of the readily available laundry basket, and the clean laundry is also in an unsorted pile next to this laundry basket, and you forget which brightly colored American Apparel® “mantie” underwear you have worn and which you have not, and you can’t tell by smelling them, even the clean ones still smell slightly like taint, the way your mouth still tastes a little bit like puke even after you brush your teeth– but who cares, because no one’s going to be smelling your balls today anyway.  Maybe just turn them inside out to be safe. Continue reading →

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Jury Duty

6 Jun

Jury duty.  I have fucking jury duty.  Which I would LOVE, I would LOVE to be on a jury, if I didn’t actually have responsibilities at work.  Go in, see a slice of life, you know, a cross section of all of Los Angeles.  Watch a video about our founding fathers.  Jury of your peers, because the British practiced Roman law where you were guilty until proven innocent and your fate was decided by some aristocratic judge, some fifth cousin of a baronet with a powdered wig on who always sided with whoever owned property.  I would love to be on a jury– because whoever walked in, whoever was accused, there is no WAY I am sending that motherfucker to jail.  No matter what the crime, no matter how strong the evidence.  Sorry.  We throw too many people in jail over too much bullshit and some nineteen year old black kid who did something stupid is neither going to be deterred nor rehabilitated by getting thrown in a piss-smelling concrete warehouse with a bunch of dudes covered in tattoos made with sharpened paper clips. You are walking, sir.  I don’t give a fuck if it’s the trial of the guy who robbed me. Continue reading →

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Kenny Rogers, the Dog Part 3: Today is Kenny Day

5 Jun

Today is the day.  Today is the day that YOU adopt Kenny Rogers, the dog.  You, with your generous backyard and one or more persons on the premises at all times, with your adequate energy to get out to the park and toss the beast a tennis ball.  You who are not the kind of douchebag that has a steroidal pit bull struggling on a length of Home Depot chain so you can look like a badass in your powder blue track suit, but who does secretly relish that your totalitarian secret police dog could probably kick that dog’s ass.  You who has kids and/ or valuable possessions and is in need of a guard dog who looks really scary and mean but would probably just lick the intruders, but is effective as a deterrent because the sign that says “Warning: Attack Dog” has a picture of your actual dog on it.  Today is the day.  Today is the day you go to the East Valley Animal Shelter on Vanowen Avenue in Van Nuys and ask to check out an intact male  German Shepherd officially known as “Baby G.”  But that is his slave name.  His real name is of course Kenneth Donald “Kenny” Rogers, because he picked a fine time to leave his abusive former home.  Because he knew when to walk away, and knew when to run.  Because baby when you met him there was peace unknown; you set out to groom his burr-laden undercoat with a fine toothed comb.  Because don’t take your love to town.
Continue reading →

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Monday Part 2

4 Jun

Why do I feel, on Monday morning, every Monday morning, like I’m headed in to see my fucking oncologist and there is a ninety nine point nine per cent chance that he is going to give me bad news?  That it’s cancer of the dick, cancer of the ass, cancer of the face, that it’s too late, if you had come in earlier- that’s always a big part of it- if YOU had come in earlier.  If YOU had done this and this and this, if you had read the fine print you would have seen that form 1052X is actually due three weeks prior to the main jury summons delay form and three weeks means we receive it three weeks prior, not that it’s merely postmarked three weeks prior, and by receive we mean it reaches the processing center, not merely that it’s entered the giant aluminum garage-door loading gate on a truck of undifferentiated mail- what good does it do us to have it then, sir? Continue reading →

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