UPDATE!!

Hey, friends. I know, I know, I'm a terrible blogger. It's been over a month since my last post. Basically, the internet I have available to me has reduced to just the public library, so I have to get my ass out of the apartment with my computer (which is what I've done today so that you could read this lovely post). Anyway, here's a quick update on what's happened, in no chronological order:

-I got a new laptop for Xmas (yay!), so I no longer have to haul around my monitor!

-My aunt's movie, "The D-Monster," in which I was an extra and a Production Assistant, had a Tupperware Party as a fundraiser. However, this wasn't your grandma's Tupperware Party. The hostess was a good friend of my aunt's, and she's been the top seller of Tupperware products in America for three years in a row. Her name is Dee, and she's a drag queen. Her shtick is that she's from Tennessee and is delightfully coarse in language. She goes to Orange County and sells tons. For those of you who don't know, Orange County is rich, white, and conservative (pretty much the only place in all of California where this happens) and is one of the strongholds of douchebaggery that made Proposition 8 possible. I dunno how she does it, but Dee just charms the heck out of those cross-wielding, SUV-driving housewives.

Anyway, the event was on Sunday afternoon. There was tons of food and booze to loosen up people's wallets, and I was the one in charge of the booze. However, since this was a special occasion, it called for a special bartender. I was Dee's "reindeer boy." It's about as bad as it sounds. I wore a tan, furry vest; a set of reindeer horns; and a giant, shiny, pink bow around my neck. Suzy owes me big.

-I got to work on Xmas! Yay! Clay, Matt, and Emily all abandoned me, as did my aunt. And by "abandoned me," I meant "went home and spent time with their families, so I'm just jealous." I spent Xmas at home watching DVDs and eating fast food. Never again.

-Thanks to Matt, I now have a second job. Woo! I'll be working at the same pizza place he does, which is exciting because it's much better pay and more hours than the movie theatre.

-I finally found enough money to buy a video game: Dragon Age Origins. Buy it, play it, love it. There's even gay sex in it! Of course that's not the only reason I bought the game, but you can be sure I got to that scene in the game as fast as I could.



K, this is long enough. Next time, I'll write about some of the movies I've seen in the last while, including "Invictus," "Avatar," and hopefully "Sherlock Holmes" (mmm, Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law). Until then, BYEEEE!

Night of the Living Tweens

Oh god, they were everywhere.

Last weekend "New Moon" opened. I haven't been in a building with that much bottled-up estrogen since the last drag king show I saw. The theater was practically dripping with rampant teenage hormones.

Receiving a whopping 38% from Rotten Tomatoes' top critics section, "New Moon" definitely won't be seen as a pinnacle of film-making. I give you for consideration the closing thought from Roger Ebert's review:

...sitting through this experience is like driving a tractor in low gear though a sullen sea of Brylcreem.

(Read the entire review at
"http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20091118/REVIEWS/911199998/1001")


In spite of the film's being being a crapscapade on ice, it made some $140 million dollars opening weekend in the US alone. Clearly someone is watching it. Enter: millions of squealing "Twihards" and "Twimoms." I kid you not, that's what they call themselves. I couldn't make that shit up, even if I were that steaming double-shot of crazy Stephenie Meyer, "author" of the series.

Apparently some Twihards were camping out for five days waiting in line to see the movie. It wasn't that bad at my theater in Santa Monica, but we got our fair share of the crazy tweens.

There was a girl of perhaps 16 years who came to see "New Moon" on Friday. Several of our staff members (including myself) were wearing promotional buttons advertising the movie. The girl approached at least 6 different employees, asking if she could bribe them in exchange for one of the buttons. I was almost afraid to refuse her offer out of fear that she would leap on my back and bite me. I wouldn't have put it past her.

Another girl was about 20 people away from the front of the line. She and her friends wanted to move to the front, so she was sent to try to get some form of "VIP pass" that would just let her jump ahead. This girl also attempted to bribe several of the employees. She actually told the security guard that she was my cousin in an attempt to win him over. He approached me about the girl in question, and I honestly told him I had never seen her in my life. So she stooped to both bribery and lying in order to move ahead about ten feet.

When the theater was finally clean for the 6:30 show, we allowed the line to enter the theater. I was on break in the break room, minding my own business and eating a sandwich, when I heard what I can only describe as a stampede. I opened the door and looked out onto the stairs below the break room and saw hundreds upon hundreds of girls hurling themselves up the stairs at full tilt and screaming at the top of their lungs. At least two girls actually fell down on the stairs in the rush to get seats. We had to post several employees on the stairs to make people stop running.

I could go on and on (and in fact already have), but I'll leave it for now. The craziness hasn't ended, but at least opening weekend is over. There are many more stories, so stay tuned!

I'm Made of Magic

I wanted to feel a little classy after spending the evening cleaning up people's detritus at the movie theater, so I made a rum drink with Cherry Pepsi (which I get free at the theater). Now that may sound to you like the opposite of classy, and you'd be right. To class this drink up, I busted out one of the tumblers I got when my dad's father downgraded apartments and gave me a bunch of servingware. So now I'm sipping a delicious beverage and letting out stress by writing about it.

For some reason, everyone must have come to the movies today thinking "I know, I'll throw shit around and give the guy more work than he already has!" My theory is that their lives suck, and they want to feel better by treating me, a worthless movie theater employee, like scum. Either that or they're just rude. In any event, every theater tonight was trashed. Even the ones that only had 5 people in them. In two different theaters I found sunflower seed shells all over the place. What kind of jerk deliberately scatters shells all over the place? I mean, someone has to clean it up. You're making someone else's day that much worse. We give away small cups for water. Just ask for one of those and keep your mess contained. Jesus.

On a lighter note, I found 83 cents while cleaning up!

Now to the aforementioned magic of which I am composed. At the beginning of my shift, someone out front dropped their ATM card into the metal box that surrounds the ATM machine. No one could see it. Along I came with my handy-dandy usher's flashlight and got stopped to help. I got to the floor and saw the card a few inches away under the metal. My brilliant mind came up with a solution immediately and I went in search of a paper clip. I came back, straightened the paper clip, and fished out the errant card. I made that woman's day. I'm fucking MacGuyver.

Later on, as I was waiting to clean a theater that was letting out, one of the patrons came to me and asked me to help find her daughter's cell phone cover. Twenty seconds later, another woman from the same movie came up and asked me in a Spanish accent if I had a "light-flash." Her daughter had apparently lost her shoe. Tonight must have been "lose your shit and have Michael find it" night. And being made of magic like I am, I found both the shoe and the cell phone cover. I'm MagiGuyver.

My rum and Cherry Pepsi is almost gone, and I feel the siren call of "Six Feet Under," so I'm done writing for the night. Peace to you all!





PS: Next time you go see a movie, please take your trash out with you. If you do, the recent college graduate with a useless degree who cleans up the theater will have less of a shitty day. Please, think of the ushers.

Another Crazy Evening at Work

I usually collect ridiculous stories from work, waiting several days at least before sharing them with you all on this marvelous blog. But tonight was definitely crazy enough to warrant a post of its own. Never a dull day at work, but today takes the cake.

The first story is about a man named Zeb Atlas. For those of you who don't know Zeb:




This is him. A gay-for-pay pornstar. A freakily muscled ex-body builder. Has a girlfriend named Devon Michaels (also a pornstar). So what do these two people have to do with me, you ask? Well, my friends, I shall tell you.

He and his lady-friend came to the theater tonight to watch "Michael Jackson's This is It." And guess who happened to take their tickets? Moi. I of course immediately recognized him but not his girlfriend. She's not exactly in high demand in gay porn. Anyway, Zeb is even more gigantic in person than he seems on TV. Rather frighteningly so, actually. So I didn't say anything, especially since he was with his girlfriend. And that was my first porn star sighting.



The second story from tonight also involves teh gays. A young, 20-something couple of the non-caucasian persuasion came to see MJ tonight, but at a different time than Zeb. About thirty minutes into the film, I heard a commotion in the downstairs theater lobby and looked to see what was up. The two young (and extremely attractive, I might add) men were arguing with an older man and my manager between them. Apparently, the younger men had been somewhat noisy in the theater, although the details are uncorroborated. The old white guy asked them to keep it down. Somehow from that point it escalated to him leaving the movie and asking the nearest employee to call the cops. Luckily, we're not stupid so no one called the cops. All three left the premises at my manager's request. As the couple came by, I played the "family" card and asked if everything was OK. They just responded that some old white guy was being a jerk. A few minutes later, the aforementioned jerk came and stood near me, waiting for the couple to leave so he didn't have to see them. He just stood there, huffing and puffing angrily and texting someone on his phone. Dramatic.



My final story for tonight is about balls. Well, one ball really. A glass sphere ( hah, see what I did there?). Some guy walked into the theater with a glass sphere on his head, just chilling there. I asked him what's with the balancing act, and he replied by saying he was a contact juggler. If you don't know what contact juggling is, google it. Really cool stuff. You take a large-ish glass ball and roll it around your hands, arms, chest, etc. in fluid motions without letting it lose contact with your body (thus the name).

The man was Australian (I'm a total sucker for accents) and very attractive. I'm not sure how reciprocal it was, but I definitely turned on the charm and flirted. We talked for a few minutes about juggling and balls, but only after he left did it occur to me to say "can you show me how to handle your balls?" or some other equally lame line. Damn. What a waste.

Long time no post.....

Hey, folks! Sorry again for the extremely slow updating of the blog. I finally found a way to access the internet from my apartment, so now I have no excuse for my lack of updates. I will do my best from now on.

So as you know, I work part-time at a movie theatre on the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica. I can't even begin to tell you all of the weird things that happen to me there, so I'll just give you the highlights. There are four basic positions at the theatre, and everyone is trained in each position: ticket-taker, usher, concessions, and box office. Since I just started, I usually get placed as ticket-taker and usher. The front door is always open, and I stand just inside it, so I get to people-watch all day. Most of the ridiculous things I'll describe happened to me while I was at the door.



-A customer walks in, and as he walks by I notice the back of his shirt, which states "While you were reading this, I farted!" (exclamation point included)

-An older gentleman walks past, and I nod to him and he nods back. Suddenly he stops and walks up to me. He says, and I qoute: "Hey, Junior. How's it going? You know, there are two types of men in the world: attractive men and normal men. Attractive men can pretty much do what they want. They have no restraints. But us normal men don't get that luxury. We wallow. You're lucky enough to be an attractive man. Enjoy it." And then he walks off.

-Some crazy guy runs up to me, stops suddenly and shouts "erp!" like a bicycle hitting its breaks, and runs away backwards.

-A gray-haired, pudgy, middle-aged man wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt is talking to the employee out front who is changing the marquis. I thought his shirt was emblazoned with orange and yellow fire until I get closer and realize the design is actually the Dragonball-Z characters in their Super-sayan forms. He tells me that I have the "hair" for comedy and suggests I work at the comedy club down the street.

-A quadriplegic man approaches in his breath-controlled wheelchair wearing intricate Halloween makeup. He rolls right past me into the theatre lobby and starts talking to me. I feel horrible because I can't understand what he's saying, but I think I have the gist. I want to make sure, though, so I ask him to repeat himself a few times. He gets frustrated and starts to smack his head against the control in front of him. This gesture finally confirms it: he's asking me to help him remove his makeup. There's nothing I can do, though, so I tell him that I can't because I'm working. He gets really pissed and asks me again to help him. This just makes me feel even guiltier when I again tell him I can't help. He finally leaves, but not until I'm certain I'm going to hell for just doing my job.



So the above events all occurred while I was at door. Tonight I was usher, who cleans out the theatres and bathrooms. Ten minutes before my shift ends, I start to check the bathrooms. I finally get to the men's bathroom downstairs, and when I push open the door, a powerful wave of nausea hits me. The stench of feces smacks me square in the face, and a sense of dark foreboding overcomes me. I think desperately think "someone just forgot to flush, that's it, they just forgot to flush," hoping beyond hope that it's nothing worse. Again, this is ten minutes before I get to leave. Like the token black guy in a horror movie, I slowly push open the first stall, and, seeing nothing, I step nervously to the second stall. Again, nothing. I go down the row until I reach the final stall. Here I pause and take a deep breath, realizing that a terrifying monster is waiting just beyond the door to rip me limb from limb.

As the door swings open, I stagger back and nearly puke. Someone has literally shit all over the toilet and floor. Soiled toilet paper dangles down from the full bowl like entrails spilling out. Whoever did it gave a 20% effort of cleaning up the mess, but instead of helping simply spread the mess further over the floor. The bastard didn't even flush the toilet.

So here's the situation: human excrement is all over the floor as well as the toilet. My OCD is whirling at full tilt. I'm frozen in place with my breath coming almost as fast as my heart is beating. And the only thing in my head is "FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK" repeating over and over again. I finally regain control of my body and tiptoe around the mess, flush the toilet with my foot, and run like hell out of the bathroom before I have to see if the toilet is clogged.

I approach a friend and co-worker and whisper to him what happened. He suggests I wait it out, since the janitor comes every night to clean up. Long story short, I feel bad about it but leave the mess for someone else. I can't handle that kind of horribleness. I clock out and leave as fast as possible to avoid getting called by my manager to clean it up. God. I still feel nauseous.

Seeking Salvation

Clay and I need furniture for the apartment. Right now, I’m sleeping on cushions, and Clay is on an air mattress that deflates halfway through the night, so he has to refill it at about 4 AM. Our clothes, dishes, and pretty much everything else are basically still in boxes or scattered around the room. We need beds, shelves, and some way to cook food. The microwave just isn’t cutting it.

We decided to check out the Salvation Army store but didn’t know the location of the nearest one. I entered “Salvation Army” into my GPS (whom I’ve named “Laura,” major bonus points for those who get the reference; hint: my car’s name is the Colonial One). The nearest entry was about five miles away. I thought my aunt had said there was one closer, but I figured she must have been mistaken. There was a strange abbreviation to the entry, something like “Bessmr Chdn.” I had no clue what it stood for, but figured it didn’t really matter.

It was about 3:30 when we took off, which marks the beginning of rush hour in LA. BTW, “rush hour” is a misleading term, since it lasts until about 9 at night. After about 30 minutes, we turned onto the street Laura indicated was the address. It was oddly barren except for a few industrial-looking buildings. When we pulled up to the address that was listed, what was there was in no way what we expected. Apparently we had stumbled upon the Children’s Support Center of the Salvation Army, not a discount store. That was what “Chdn” stood for.

Luckily, Clay has a very odd sense of humor and laughed heartily upon understanding the situation. We looked up “Salvation Army” again on the GPS, and this time I made sure there were no bizarre, abbreviated words in the entry. We set off again into the teeming LA traffic.

Still in the height of rush hour, it took us at least another 30 minutes to get to the address Laura so happily supplied. This neighborhood was equally inappropriate for a store as the first one was: mostly apartments and smaller residential buildings. This time, we had found the Salvation Army’s housing center. The repeated ridiculous situation must have pushed Clay over the edge, because his laugh took on a slightly hysterical tone.

We ultimately called it a day without reaching our original destination. By this time, we were all the way in Hollywood. Clay suggested we stop for coffee, and I heartily agreed. I got a green tea latte with soy milk (mmm…), and about halfway through I decided it was a good idea to flip the cup over and cover my cell phone in hot, sticky tea. I desperately tried to get all the tea off as fast as I could. I’ve lost two phones due to liquid damage before, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it happen again.

In my panic, my brain came up with a great idea: get the tea off the phony by licking it! So I did. I licked my phone in the middle of Starbucks. This, I think, marked a new low in my life. I never imagined myself licking my cell phone, but here I was in Hollywood licking electronics. I’ve always called myself a technophile, but this seemed borderline fetishist. I assure you, I would have bought the phone dinner if it were capable of eating. Maybe it was karma, or maybe the licking really did help, but my phone came out of the disaster no worse for the wear, albeit slightly stickier.

Backlogged

Hi folks. I've been writing stuff in a journal since I don't have access to the internet. So I have several stories that are old, but I'll post them anyway.

Also, I mentioned that my dog was sick. Sadly, my parents had to put him down a few days ago. I wasn't able to get back to Memphis to be with him, and I feel terrible about it. Anyway, my sister held the phone up to his ear and I got to say good-bye. I'm pretty upset about the whole thing, since he and I were like Lassie and Timmy.

Silence...

Hello, all. Sorry I haven't been posting at all lately. I got moved into my new apartment, and since I'm still unemployed and running low on cash, I can't even afford a bed yet, let alone the intarwebs. I've been writing using paper and pen (how old-school!), so I have several things to post in the near future. Unfortunately, my time on the computer here at the library in Santa Monica is restricted to one hour, and I don't think I have enough time to write out a full post.

Anyway, my dog is in really bad shape. I hope he'll pull through, but things aren't looking good. I may get my parents to lend me money to buy a last minute plane ticket home so I can be with him if things take a turn for the worse. Make sure to send out happy feelings into the universe. Maybe Zeus will pick up on them and get better.

It's official!

I am now a resident of Venice! Clay and I woke up super early this morning to get our application in for the apartment in Venice, then spent all day running back and forth to his job, the post office for money orders, etc.

On the way to sign the lease this afternoon, we stopped at a gas station. In order to get ourselves out of a very awkward angle due to another car being too close, I swiped the curb and managed to puncture not one but TWO tires. From the front tire came the high-pitched sound of air and money escaping.

I felt totally butch changing the tire. Using Clay's superior upper body strength and my knowledge of tire-changing, we got the mo-fo replaced in about five minutes. We miraculously got to the office on time and signed the lease.

So our place is basically a glorified closet. The building was originally a hotel built at the turn of the 20th Century, so its architecture is totally wacky. Our place consists of two (very small) studio rooms. One is a kitchen area, and the other is more bedroomish. There is no bathroom in the apartment, so we have two communal ones on each floor. It's going to be an adventure.

The great thing about our apartment, though, is that it is literally one block from Venice Beach. Seriously. Walk a few hundred yards and you're on the beach. I'm going to get so tan! Good-bye, Ohio pastiness, hello skin cancer! Woo!

Anyway, that is why I haven't been posting much lately. Tomorrow we're going to the apartment to get the keys and meet the manager. We're going to paint it ourselves, so we can pick the color. I'll make sure to post photos to show all 2 of you guys reading this.

PS: Still no job, but I have a few lines out that have gotten nibbles, so we'll see where things go.

Holy balls!

OK, so I'm in the Altadena area, and there's a huge fire on the mountains literally two miles away. The flames are reaching up over the edge. There's ash falling everywhere. It's like Silent Hill, just with less monsters. This is pretty intense. We may have to evacuate at some point soon. The only problem is that we have to fit me, my aunt, her two giant dogs, and what little valuables we can into my car. God I hope it doesn't come to that...

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/first_openly_gay_racehorse_to

lol

An intervention

I've begun an intervention program to help my aunt's dogs. Her golden retriever, Sophie, is an addict. She can't go more than one day without a fix. Drugs are a comfort that help her escape the reality she faces every day. Of course, addiction doesn't impact just the addict, but also those around her. Sohpie's addiction has spread to Misha, her younger and more impressionable Newfoundland counterpart. Now both are totally hooked and may never escape.

The drug they cannot do without is that nefarious plant, the C. limon, commonly known as "lemon." Addiction to lemon is very rarely reported. It is common to simply squeeze a bit of the extract into a beverage, or cook slivers of the skin into baked goods. Many people take lemon not for the high they get, but for the flavor itself. However, these seemingly innocuous ingestations of the lemon may eventually turn sour. This is the case with Sophie and Misha.

The physical consequences of lemon addiction vary, and may include unconscious facial spasms, gaseous discharge, and in Sophie's case, vomitus. Because of the long growing season, the several lemon trees in the back yard provide the dogs with a constant supply of the drug nearly year-round. Therefore, intervention will be difficult. It is my hope, however, that Sophie and Misha can finally acknowledge their addiction and begin the difficult path to recovery and freedom from dependence.

Gay Iraqis

I just started reading this report on the torture and murder of gay men in Iraq. I couldn't make it through the whole thing. It's terrifying that there's no way to truly know the total number of deaths, but the guess is somewhere in the "hundreds." That means that there are so many more unreported deaths out there.

The sheer joy the murderers seem to take in torturing their victims before leaving the bodies in their neighborhood is just disgusting.

http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2009/08/16/they-want-us-exterminated

The Hunt Begins (Again)

So I'm starting to search for jobs, again. There are plenty of jobs, the only problem is that there are so many people trying to get those jobs. I've probably sent in 25 different applications so far.

I'm crashing at my aunt's house for now, but I don't want to be a burden, so I'm also hoping to find an apartment soon. But of course, I need a job first. Quite the conundrum.

Games I'm Playing

I've been playing "The Legendary Starfy" for the DS lately, and I'm totally hooked. It's an adorable little game, and yes it is kind of similar to Kirby. Basically, you're a starfish/prince who must go on a quest to help a friend. Mayhem and cuteness ensue.

One great feature of this game are the treasures. You find and buy various costumes and accessories and can equip them to Starfy (only in the pause menu). The ability to mix and match such incongruous items as "Galactic Hero's Outfit" and "Viking Flair" makes for some very amusing combinations.

I think my obsession with customizable outfits started in "Ocarina of Time," when I would have adult Link wear the red tunic along with the mirror shield, because they matched. *Sigh*


I also started playing inFAMOUS for the third time. I'm going the evil route (much more satisfying than going good).

Welcome!

Hello, and welcome to my blog. I decided to jump on the blogwagon a little late, obviously, so bear with me if things are a little rocky. So I just got to Los Angeles after driving for three days from Memphis. Here are a few stats from my trip:



Total Miles Driven: 1766.2

Number of Butterflies That Met an Untimely End on My Windshield: 13

Texas Lesbians Sighted: 14 (OK, actually just one, but she was so gay she totally counted as 14)

Places of Interest: the town of Ash Fork (natives are known as Ash Forkers, I hope)
Jesus Christ is Lord Travel Complex
Shinarump Rd.
I ate French fries and a fried chicken sandwich in a town called Atkins. Oh, delicious irony.
Alma: The Spinach Capital of the World
A 200-foot tall cross that looked like it could double as a water tower
The Catfish Hole Restaurant, which doesn't strike me as all that appealing
Stuff It Taxidermy






I don't actually know yet how I'm going to organize this whole shindig, so I think I'll end the first post here. Stay tuned!