unemployment, license plates and whoopi goldberg

i called the bank today to update my information. jerome went through the usual questions before asking me the name of my employer. i paused.

i was actually embarrassed to answer the question honestly.

i muttered: i don't have one.
jerome: i'm sorry? i didn't catch that.
under my breath: i'm unemployed.
jerome: ...oh.

i felt the compulsion to justify my employment situation with some sort of gutwrenching story. something about how i got laid off at the steel mill, have three kids to feed, my kidney's acting up again, and how this is just a temporary thing because my brother's gonna hook me up with some construction work this summer. without some back story to explain myself i knew the word 'unemployed' would conjure an image in jerome's head of me sitting on my couch in a wife-beater, with a six pack of bud light at my feet, a half-empty bag of cheetos on my chest, and jerry springer on the TV. i uttered the word and immediately felt dirty.

as i was on the road today, i got a tingle of excitement because i was fairly certain that whoopi goldberg was driving in the car ahead of me. i sped up to get alongside her and came to the disappointing reality of a black man with dreadlocks. a commoner. if i was thinking clearly, i would have realized that whoopi goldberg probably doesn't cruise around LA in a brown 1984 honda civic with rust covering the entire rear bumper.

speaking of cars. the license plates are crazy here! you're legally allowed to put symbols on your plates. you can insert a star, heart, cross, or child's handprint (creepy) anywhere on the plate. it's as if the state of california decided to model their licensing format after the souvenir shops in LAX. i took the liberty of creating my own dream plates:







the last two days my friend michelle was in town visiting. ehem. that's right. she came down to visit me. we were driving around because she insisted on seeing Rodeo Drive. we got lost and ended up at the ocean. that was actually the first time i saw the pacific ocean since my arrival. this may take you by surprise, but i'm not exactly what you would call a 'beach bum'. so we pulled up to this seafood restaurant. (side note: i was watching Entourage tonight and Turtle and Drama were at this exact same seafood place!) the place was packed and the only booth available was all the way in the back, facing the kitchen. it was extremely noisy; the wait staff was scampering around, yelling at the cooks, silverware clanking in the dishwasher, etc. Then I glanced up and noticed this lovely sign above our booth:

as if I needed the written confirmation. the waiter cheerfully bounced over to our table and informed us that because we were seated at this particular booth, we would get 30% off our meal.

you may be thinking, "thirty percent? big whoop." that is, until you see the prices on the menu. We're lookin' at $30-$50 dishes; swordfish, ahi tuna steaks, lobster, a half-rack of humpback whale, etc. Afterwards we decided to order dessert.


the picture doesn't do it justice. lacking an actual tape measure, i estimated it as being at least 28 inches across. i'm no lumberjack, but it looked to me like redwood; enormous. this also happend to be one of those fancy-smancy places that wraps your to-go items in tin foil shaped like a swan or harpoon or whatever. our waiter decided to show off a bit and fashioned our mashed potatoes into an exact replica of E.T. All the neighboring tables were staring as he peeled off sheet after sheet of foil. Once he was finished, he actually took a bow and the restaurant broke into applause. I was going to do a little song and dance number to out-do him, but I simply ate too much cake and sourdough bread to partake in that kind of nonsense.

cockroaches, visas, and charles

so last night i'm watching tv in my room and i see something out of the corner of my eye. curious, i get up and turn the light on. sprawled across my wall is the largest cockroach i have seen in my life. it was easily the size of a stapler; unholy. i panicked. our eyes locked.

in a split second decision i raced into the kitchen and grabbed a can of RAID. there was a picture of a spider on the front. would it work? i had to try, this was an emergency situation.

as i run to my bedroom, i'm recalling 'cockroach week' or some nonsense on the discovery channel. they could withstand a nuclear blast, live three weeks without their head, shoot lasers out of their antennae, etc. As I entered the room, RAID in hand, i heard a faint chuckle come from the wall. cocky roach. this mist of deadly toxin would probably just make him drunk for a couple hours.

i proceeded to unload the entire can on his outer shell. he eventually fell down behind my dresser. probably to take a nap and sleep it off.

that night i couldn't sleep for fear that he was going to crawl into my esophagus and cut off my air supply out of revenge. i was defenseless.

luckily, i made through through till morning. i crept into the bathroom to brush my teeth and i was presented with a little treat.

who's chuckling now. i win.

to change the subject, i'd like to take a moment to rant. not necessarily funny, just things on my mind.

i'm really bothered by VISA commercials and have been for quite some time. there's always that one shot of the person sliding their VISA card through the machine at the checkout stand. as they slide it through, the card is upright so we can clearly see its VISA logo gliding past. the problem? if i can read the logo, that means the card is being slid through UPSIDE-DOWN! it's absurd! there is no magnetic strip on the bottom of the card.

i understand this may not make sense to you right now, but i implore you...watch for it. you'll see exactly what i'm talking about. (wink)

rant number two:

it irritates me when i meet a complete stranger and introduce myself as 'matthew' and then they take it upon themselves to refer to me as 'matt' in all future conversation. like we're casual all of the sudden.
they don't get to make that call! when i meet a 'charles' i don't say to myself, "you know, i don't really care for that name, i think i'll call you Larry". no! we're not friends.

you're charles, i'm matthew. have a nice day.

air conditioners, weathermen, and umbrellas

since my arrival in town it's been in the mid 70's everyday. not quite within my comfort level of precisely 54 degrees, but I was coping reasonably well. that is...until this week.

i watched the evening news as the smarmy weatherman joked, "it's gonna be a hot one this week". i rolled my eyes. southern california - hot - not exactly a news flash. then three days ago I came to the realization that he was not kidding around. i stepped outside to retrieve the mail and the air was instantly ripped from my lungs; it was as if i had stepped out onto the surface of mars. and it was only 9am.

all the locals were actually walking around the streets with umbrellas. men and women. there would be like this hardcore gang member with a wife-beater, tats running down his arms, bullet scars on his face, daintily holding a yellow umbrella over his head as he strolled to the market. it was like i had traveled back to 1854 and everyone should be wearing petticoats.

i finally buckled. i reached my breaking point. it brought me to my knees and i tried to cry, but the tears just evaporated the moment they left my tear duct.

so i set out to purchase an air conditioner from my local Wal-Mart. i found the one nearest to my house and literally ran towards the front entrance, passed out after several paces, and crawled the rest. once inside, i was informed that they just sold their last two. i might as well have been told I have two days to live. complete. devastation.

the guy laughed. like it was a joke to him. i lifted off my sunglasses and it took one look into my eyes for him to quickly realize that joke time was now over. i told him to get cozy with the phone because he was about to call every Wal-Mart in southern california (and southwestern nevada if need be) to locate an AC unit.

he found one. the corner of carson and paramount. he didn't even see me leave, all he was left with was the faint aroma of burned rubber somewhere in the distance.

i bought one (on sale, thank you very much) and put it in my trunk. i actually found myself humming on the way home. no radio, just hummin', lovin' the day, lovin' life. it was like being a child on christmas eve...and in reality i was going to have actual snow and frost come nighttime. should i buy tinsel? no, too extravagant. just keep going, you're almost home.

i breeze in the door and head straight to my room. I rip the cord on the venetian blinds and the sun is blaring directly into my retina. not for long, sir, not for long. i'll soon be rid of you forever. remembering to lift with my legs, i hoist the 800 lb. unit up and onto the window ledge. i pause. my heart actually stopped beating for six solid seconds. the window was too small. by one inch.

by God, nothing was going to stop this me from putting this piece of shit into the window. if i have to get a hammer and smash out every piece of glass, then so be it. the sun continued to relentlessly pulsate on my face, i've now broken into a sweat. in one swoop of rage, i clutch both sides of the sliding glass, white knuckled, and physically wretch it up and out of it's tracks. the surrounding aluminum siding is all mangled and bent. don't care.

one more window pane to go. i try the Hulk maneuver again. doesn't budge. i laugh aloud. not because i found the situation humorous, but because i was slowly slipping into insanity. this one has screws. i rummage through the junk drawer in the kitchen and stomp back into my room for round two. half of my body is hanging out the window with my toes clinging to my bed so i don't fall out. my palms are drenched in sweat and i'm having a hard time holding the screwdriver.

since the windows were installed during the Eisenhower administration, as I loosened the window sill and unscrewed the bolts, i'm getting flecks of asbestos and dead fire ants showering on and clinging to my red sweaty face. after twenty minutes of dropping the screwdriver, wiping my face and keeping my balance, i finally have a small pile of screws next to me. i pull on the window. nothing. at this point i'm so furious i'm beginning to see double. i take a seat. i just...I just need to breathe.

my roomate peeks his head around the corner and asks how it's coming along. i want to punch him in the mouth just for looking at me.

he then has the audacity to suggest i call the guy who installed the air conditioner in his room.

he's coming on Tuesday.