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Journal
In order for any of this to make sense it is strongly recomended
that you read the journal entries in order starting with February.
Past months are listed at the bottom.
Friday December 5th, 2003
Nearing the end of my hour commute home from work, I pulled on
to the Highland exit thinking of what I should do tonight. As
I was debating whether or not I should go to a bar or call up
Dan and see what he wants to do, it hit me. A white Honda civic
to be exact. I was hit from behind and suddenly found myself being
thrust even faster into the car in front of me, which also seemed
to have slammed on its breaks. Driving a soda can on wheels I
expected the worst. I'd like to say something cliché happened,
like my life flashing before my eyes, but something tells me that
if that happened and I some how survived the impending accident
I'd end up killing myself anyway. Instead, I immediately thought
about all the things I had left undone. I never found those last
four secret packages on grand theft auto 3. I never got that comedic
tattoo of the deathstar on my ass. I never tried the domino's
Philly cheese steak pizza, and I never went on a date with a suicide
girl (let alone saw one in person). Somewhere between comedic
pizza commercials and naked goth chicks I hit a Toyota corolla
at about 20 miles an hour. My car came to a screeching halt. I
took off my seat belt and opened my car door in just enough time
to see the white Honda Civic that hit me speed off from the scene
of the accident.
I went to check on the other motorist to make sure they were
alright. Great, would it be a grandmother with shot nerves and
a broken collar bone or a nymphomaniac underwear model who really
wants to make sure I'm feeling my best. Turns out it was neither.
The gentleman I hit seemed to be in his late forties and dressed
like a Ross ad. From his behavior I wouldn't be surprised if he
had just finished a bad day of work at no particular store in
a local mall. We exchanged insurance information and went our
separate ways.
My car seemed to be in working order so I drove home wondering
if I should chance the Wendy's drive thru. I decided it'd be better
to walk to Wendy's since I knew I could use the exercise and I
wouldn't be making it to the gym with my busted car. (Here's a
high school math problem for you: If the amount of motivation
I have is slightly less than the distance between my apartment
and the gym, how long will it be before my fat ass gets off the
couch and goes to the gym? Answer: When my car gets fixed.)
Monday December 8th, 2003
I got a call from "Jeff" the claims investigator for
my accident. Apparently every accident that involves a phantom
driver (Footnote #1) must be investigated to establish the validity
of the claim. Great. My car had very little, if any, damage to
the back bumper and I have to prove to an investigator that I'm
not making the whole thing up. Much like Star Wars Episode 1 my
"Phantom Menace" found a way to reach into my life and
suck away my time and money and give me nothing in return but
regret. (Footnote#2)
Footnote #1
Apparently if you are hit by someone who takes off, it is assumed
they are not only an asshole but also non-corporeal and thus given
the title of "Phantom driver."
Footnote #2
I won't say anything bad of the holy trilogy, Lucas did some good...
Yeah, in the 1970's. Thirty years later George Lucas is a doddering
old fool who wields his creative influence like a chimp with a
gun and sold a generations' childhood memories for merchandizing
rights. Metaclorians? Death sticks? Suck a dick George; give me
my eight bucks back.
Thursday December 13th, 2003
I dropped off my car at a place around the corner that I've never
heard of but my claims agent assures me, "does good work."
That aside I had a hard time knowing who to give my keys to because
no one spoke any English. Next on my little list of things to
do, (right between "drop off car" and "alphabetize
porn") was getting a rental car. Now here's where things
get interesting. My insurance is willing to pay 90% of the rental
up to $500 or until my car is done being fixed. The estimate on
my car is only four days. Since a normal rental car is about twenty
bucks a day I figured I could rent a nice car and pay almost nothing
for it. I decided on the Cadillac Deville that runs almost $80
a day, but I only had to pay $8 a day because of my insurance.
Of course knowing the maniac I'd be behind the wheel of this luxury
automobile I got the optional insurance. According to the rental
agent I could smash into another car before I even left the lot
and not have to pay a dime. I think my questions about the insurance
and the various horrible situations I could end up in with this
precision automobile made him a little uncomfortable but I like
to have my bases covered.
Like any twenty four year old who's spent his life driving various
bulky shit boxes to shitty jobs his entire life I had to see just
how fast this thing could go. At the first red light I felt like
I was at the Indianapolis five hundred. The light turned green
and I floored it. I felt like I was thrown back in my seat and
had to lean forward to get a better grip on the steering wheel.
I had spent the majority of my lunch break in the car rental office
so I went to a Jack in the Box drive thru on my way back to work.
A woman about my age handed me my bag and gave me an odd smile.
I'm no stranger to this place and I've seen her before but she's
never taken notice of me in the past. As I drove away I felt some
how higher class just being in this car. I was really enjoying
it until I realized I had this wondrous machine for three days
before taking back my old Honda civic with the blown speakers
and no air conditioning. (Which is a lot of fun during the summer
months in LA.) Like anything else I guess I'll just try to enjoy
it while it lasts, looks like I'm taking the long road home today.
Friday December 14th, 2003
This morning I was reminded by Dan that I originally had a plan
to take the money donated to the site and get good cloths, rent
a nice car, and try to go to a really posh club and pick up chicks.
Unfortunately the donations haven't even covered the cost of the
site, let alone hair brained schemes to get chicks. Now that I
have the car I just have to try to scrounge together an outfit
and see if I can go to a decent club by Sunday. I don't have much
time to plan so I gotta bolt for now and look at some porn. I
don't know exactly how it's going to help, just that I need to
do it.
Saturday December 15th 2003
Today is the day. Thanks to MasterCard and a nameless asshole
in a civic, I have the opportunity to put a social theory to work.
The common perception is that Los Angeles is filled with lying
assholes and attention whores. Having lived here for several years
I have found that this holds a lot of truth. On more than one
occasion I've been asked what kind of car I drive by a woman in
a bar. The way I see it is if a woman is so shallow that she considers
my car a prerequisite to sex than I feel no guilt for misleading
her. Yesterday I bought one nice set of cloths thanks to a now
maxed out credit card. Tonight I hope to end my long dry spell.
Saturday December 15th 2003 (Late night)
We picked a club that wasn't too posh but had a good mix of well
off and up scale. Dan and I drove by the line slowly at about
10:45 making sure everyone saw us. "Big Pimpin'" thumped
from the brand new Cadillac attesting to both our wealth and status
for all the ladies in a three block radius. Dan even joked that
he saw one of the girls panties spontaneously fall to the ground
when she saw us roll up on the crowd. Of course over confidence
has always been his domain.
Admittedly the status of this particular club wasn't the only
reason we chose it. A long time friend of Dan's is also one of
the bouncers of this fine establishment. We walked right past
an hour wait in line and into a world I was never meant to enter.
This particular club was home to a host of walking stereotypes
and wolves in sheep's clothing. Dan told me about a guy who hangs
out here who used Kinko's to make up fake business cards that
said he was a casting agent. No doubt he's looking for some corn
fed mid-west pageant girl whose only accomplishment was that years
earlier she was crowned princess Kay of the Milky Way and had
her head carved out of butter. She may have been the hottest thing
to ever come out of some dinky two thousand person town in Nebraska,
but now she's one bounced check away from staring in a second
rate porn in Canoga Park. Tonight, it's my job to find her before
fake business card boy.
Usually I don't result to deception but when no one wants the
person you really are your only option is to become someone else.
There are uglier guys than me in here with super models on their
arms. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think it had more to do
with the bulge in their wallet than their sense of humor, personality,
or any other bullshit traits that women say they want while they're
jumping into convertibles with assholes who won't call. I've had
literally hundreds of e-mails telling me that if I want to get
a woman I have to be an asshole and in the past I've said I just
couldn't do it. Well tonight's my big attempt.
Two extremely attractive women we passed on our way in were now
standing by the bar. Since the average drink in this place costs
about twelve bucks, we decided to wait until they each had a drink
before approaching them. (I might as well be economical about
my rejection.) I suddenly find the English language strikingly
inadequate when I attempt to describe how beautiful these two
women were. I had no business being this close to them, let alone
trying to talk to them. As we were debating what sounded like
a better name for our fake production company, "Pork Sword
Productions" or "Zero boy productions" someone
tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned around to find a young woman who looked like a cover
girl for Maxim. She was dressed way too nice to be a waitress
so I was a little confused as to why she was talking to me. "Excuse
me, but did I see you at the premier for (Insert name of movie
title I didn't recognize and have since forgotten here)?"
Decision time.
Option A: I could say yes, seem to have something in common with
her, and try to work from there without her finding out I have
no idea what the hell she's talking about.
Option B: I could be honest and say no, try to keep the conversation
going and see if I can keep things going.
Wow this was going to be a tough one. With little time to spare
I chose option C, defer to Dan.
I tried to look like I was attempting to remember something and
then turned my attention to Dan. I repeated the name of the movie
she said and asked Dan if we went to the premier. The pressure
was now off my shoulders and on Dan's. A crappy move I know, but
I panicked. It was now all up to Dan. What ingenious statement
was to come out of his mouth and save the day? "Dude like
I fuckin' know, I don't know where we're at now." I just
stood there a second, not the pearl of wisdom I was looking for.
With that he set his drink down on a ledge next to me. "Watch
my drink I'll be back." With that Dan walked off. Maybe to
the bathroom, maybe to get a gun from the car to finish me off.
At that point I don't know which I would prefer.
So here's the situation. I'm in a posh bar, well dressed, nursing
a twelve dollar Tom Collins with an underwear model in front of
me waiting for some sign of life. My wing man has just abandoned
me and I'm trying to think of what I can say to someone who is
so clearly out of my league. "It doesn't ring a bell but
I'm not completely sure. Have we met before?" Hey it's the
best I could do at the time. If I had an hour to come up with
what to say, like when I'm typing out a journal entry, maybe I
could be funnier or seem cooler but the fact was I was on the
spot and trying to keep my head above water. "I think I've
seen you around but we've never been formally introduced, I'm
Rachel." with that she extended her hand. Usually at this
point the fire alarm and sprinklers goes off and I wake up to
my alarm clock only to find I've wet the bed. Since that hasn't
happened yet, I decided to proceed to introduce myself.
We talked for about the next hour, she's an actress from Boston,
and I made some vague references to working in the entertainment
industry. Later I made even more vague references to writing and
the internet.
(I'm still getting used to the whole asshole dishonesty thing.
I basically just told the truth and left out key things about
me, like my crappy day job, crappy car, and having a website dedicated
to getting laid.
I'm no actor, but I should get an Oscar for my performance tonight.
To her I'm sure I appeared the pinnacle of a confident well off
man. As I made amusing references to the film industry I'm sure
she wasn't aware of the abnormal amount of sweat running down
my inner thigh. The night ended in a way that it has never ended
before. I had a girl's number, and Dan didn't.
Monday December 17th, 2003
I picked up my car from the repair shop and returned the pimp
mobile to the rental place. I was fully ready to pay the forty
bucks for the five days I had rented the car but I was handed
a bill for nearly two hundred dollars. I figured they must have
made a mistake since my insurance is supposed to cover 90% of
the cost. I looked over the receipt and saw the problem. They
didn't discount the zero liability insurance I took out on the
car for an extra thirty bucks a day. I pointed out the error to
the rental agent and he proceeded to show me some fine print about
my insurance and how it doesn't cover extra insurance, like the
zero liability I had taken out. Turns out the nearly two hundred
dollar bill was right.
I've never believed in karma. During my twenty four years on
this earth, life has taught me that that there is no rhyme or
reason to anything and bad things regularly happen to good people.
Still, I kinda felt like this sudden two hundred dollar bill was
somehow a cosmic tax on me for my deceptions with Rachel.
I'll admit, I've lied on résumé's, cheated on tests,
and told my mom that the porn she found on the home computer was
my brothers, but in general I've been honest all my life. Admittedly
seeing the assholes get the girl and the most willing person to
stab his friend in the back get the promotion, I've thought my
honesty might be a hindrance. Saturday was actually my first major
deliberate attempt to deceive someone. (Not counting minor incidents
like the time I blamed the dog for eating a box of Girl Scout
cookies.) Now I get this two hundred dollar bill and can't help
but think I deserve it for misleading Rachel.
Tuesday December 18th, 2003
I called Rachel today. Things went better than expected and we're
going to go see some independent film I've never heard of on Thursday.
I'm hoping this doesn't become a theme. Living in L.A. it's nearly
impossible not to see at least one or two independent films and
in truth there are some really good ones out there. The problem
is that in the film capitol of the world there's a ton of crappy
ones that get released in random art houses every day. When watching
these films it becomes overly apparent that the decision to have
this film actually get made, among the sea of hopeful film makers,
had more to do with some rich USC student willing to put down
his/her parents money than it did a decent plot, story line, or
any semblance of artistic value. In any case I've been to my share
of crappy independents but honestly Rachel could have asked me
to watch a seventh heaven marathon and I would have gladly accepted.
As far as the whole honesty thing goes I think things will come
out a little more when I see her Thursday. You figure I don't
have the pimp mobile any more and I'm sure we'll get into a little
more than standard bar talk. Looking back I didn't really lie
but I definitely deceived. She seemed really cool and I don't
think any permanent damage has been done. I guess I'll see Thursday.
Thursday December 20th, 2003
I arrived at Rachel's apartment a little early and she invited
me up to her apartment while she was getting ready. When I got
into her apartment she kissed me out of no where as if it was
completely natural between us. She then made a comment about wanting
to kiss me before she put on lipstick, I just smiled. She could
have told me that she was a cyborg and I would have just smiled.
We walked out of the apartment and toward my Honda Civic. When
I took out my keys she looked confused. When I put the key in
the door she said, "Wait this isn't the car you drove to
the club on Saturday." I explained how my car was in the
shop and I had that as a rental. I didn't even know she saw me
drive to the club and I know she didn't see me drive away because
I saw her leave before I even got to my car. She looked a little
disappointed and said she had a headache and didn't feel like
going. I took the hint.
Looking back on Saturday I figured she must have seen me, a stranger,
drive by the club in a fifty thousand dollar car. (Let me say
that again, I was driving a fifty thousand dollar car. I was driving
a car that costs more than I make in a year.) Twenty minutes later
she taps me on the shoulder and starts a conversation. She's friendly
on the phone, kisses me when I walk through the door on what was
to be our first date, and suddenly falls ill when she finds out
I drive a used civic and not a new Cadillac. I'm not an idiot,
I can figure things out. From the very beginning she wanted one
thing and one thing alone. To drive my Cadillac.
I went back to the rental place and, OK yea I was joking she didn't
want to drive my car she wanted a guy to pay her bills. It's nice
to know that if I ever win the lottery beautiful women will throw
themselves at me but as long as I'm poor I can't even get the
fry girl from Mc Donald's to go see the latest Adam Sandler movie
with me. Lesson learned.
Saturday December 22nd, 2003
My family lives on the east coast and every year I use all my
vacation and sick days from work to fly back and be with them
over the holidays. I can only afford to see them once a year so
I try to stay as long as I can. Last year I was screwed over by
priceline.com (don't use them) and ended up having only a few
days to stay, so this year I decided I'd make up for it by going
for nearly two weeks. I found that too long can be just as bad
as too short. During the time of my visit my mom's computer was
in the shop so I wasn't able to update my site, and what's worse,
I had no porn to keep me company for two whole weeks. (Reflect
on that a moment) I scribbled down a few notes every day to remind
me of the experiences of going home and only now is my lazy punk
ass actually updating them. (Cue crappy flash back music)
As I packed my bags I thought about how nice it was going to
be to get out of Los Angeles. Don't get me wrong there's a lot
of things I love about LA or I wouldn't still be here. Still there
was a major appeal to spending two weeks in a place where I don't
have to walk over homeless people to get to my apartment, I mean
hell in my parents neighborhood they don't even lock their doors.
In LA I wouldn't leave my doors unlocked over night on a bet.
We arrived at LAX two hours early. Locally it's common knowledge
that LAX is a terrorist target and the security is about ten times
normal, especially for the holiday season. I know we're in a time
of crisis but if you're going to pay an illegal immigrant three
dollars an hour to look in my stinky shoes for plastic explosives
then the terrorists have already won.
Cheap guy that I am I get my tickets for as little money as possible
which means lay overs and traveling at all hours of the night.
Lucky for me I only had one lay over on the way there, Las Vegas.
I haven't been to Vegas in almost two years, and after what my
friends refer to as the "Beer ball incident" I swore
I'd never go back. Now I figured I was only here for forty five
minutes between flights and I doubt anyone who was working at
the Tropicanna that day was at the airport so I sat down and played
the slots in the airport for about twenty bucks, or more accurately,
eight minutes.
Aboard my second plane I was forced to wonder if my bags made
it with me. This was the second year in a row I was flying an
airline no one's ever heard of and I was hoping it wouldn't be
the second year in a row that I had a bag lost. I now found myself
in a middle seat between the world's oldest man and Rosie O'Donnal's
twin sister. As we took off the woman's bag started barking. Apparently
you're allowed to take small dogs on the airplane, good to know.
After about twenty minutes of sporadic yapping the mut pissed
itself while in a bag on the floor. The woman next to me tried
to clean it up but needless to say I spent the next six hours
smelling dog piss and listening to it bark. The flight attendant
walked around and asked if I wanted headphones for the movie.
I figured anything was better than listening to this dog so I
paid my three bucks and waited for "Keeping the faith"
to start. An hour into it I decided a yapping urine soaked dog
was less painful than watching Cuba Gooding Jr. flush what little
career he had left after making "Snow Dogs" down the
drain.
Sunday December 23rd 2003
As we de-boarded the plane I was reminded of the true meaning
of "Cold." I have been in Los Angeles just long enough
to properly acclimate to the environment and now anything under
70 is cold for me so you can imagine how the sub artic, ten below
zero with the wind chill, hit me as I walked through the tunnel
into the airport.
I met my mom at baggage claim. At first I was forced to wonder
if she had shrunk or if I bought these shoes in Los Angeles to
make me look taller. As I was debating my mom caught site of me
and looked at me like I was an alien. On the car ride home she
made several comments about how much weight I've lost. I've been
yo-yoing since I visited last year and I thought I weighted about
the same now as I did when I left but apparently I'm a few pounds
lighter. On the hour car ride home we talked about who was dying,
who was pregnant, who snuck out of his house, got drunk, and flipped
his jeep twelve times in a residential area, catch up stuff. I'm
sure there was more but between Cuba's acting and the piss mut
I didn't sleep at all on the plane and it was now eight am. I
got home and went into my room. Check that, what used to be my
room and now had floral wallpaper, lace curtains, and electric
candles in the windows. (The new guest room I was later told)
I passed out without even taking off my jacket.
For reasons I can not go into all entries from December 24th to
present have been taken off the site and will not go back up until
further notice. Thanks for reading.
Past Journal Entries:
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
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