country, skrimp, my gut

alright, kids. time for an update!

i was surprised at how many people were perturbed and genuinely angered by 'darlene, popo, and porn'. let me start out by saying that despite my four eyes, i can read perfectly fine. i was just using that as a (not so?) thinly veiled excuse for performing my illegal activity. in response to the concerned emails, the envelope has been safely returned to DARLENE POPS AND PAM. under the cloak of night i put on my darkest hoodie, crept amongst the shadows, and let the brutally ravaged envelope descend from my cold grip; leaving it nestled amongst the palm fronds on their front lawn. now everyone can sleep at night.

next topic: wildfires. i took this picture outside my house at noon that day. just wanted to give you a sense of what the sky looked like for 48 hours.

next topic up to bat - i'm leaving california. permanently. allow me to explain. over the past year, i have slowly developed a festering distaste for everything in the general vicinity lying roughly south of oregon and west of nevada. my list of grievances are as follows...

ITEM 1: WORKING AT A RED LOBSTER 8 MILES AWAY FROM COMPTON

when you turn the corner and see this guy sitting in your section, you know you're in for a whirlwind ride.

he was wearing an XXL T-shirt with an 18 inch portrait of obama proudly splayed across the front. through his three solitary teeth he proudly proclaimed it to be his birthday. as per red lobster policy, we are obligated to sing 'happy birthday' to our guests.

i call a couple of reluctant servers over to assist me in the merriment. i blandly ask the man his name and he lets out a loud chuckle before literally shouting, "call me 'cun-tray'!"

it should be noted that at our location, we rarely sing to a "bill" or a "susan". it's always a "laquisha" or "dantelle" or "niketha". so there's usually a need for clarification before the singing can begin.

i lean in closer. "i'm sorry, what was that?"
this time, for the entire restaurant he bellows, "CUN'TRAY! CALL ME CUN'TRAY!"

the other servers look to me for guidance. was he saying 'country'? i whisper to them, "i don't know, just sing." we knock out a quick rendition of the birthday song to "country" as he tosses his massive head back and roars with laughter; reminding me of an urban, toothless jabba the hut.

the people who frequent our establishment also frequently mispronounce words. the same words. over and over.

"shrimp" is pronounced "skrimp". with no 'H' sound whatsoever. as in, "i'm gunna get me somma' that garlic grilled skrimp." the first time i heard this, i was dumbfounded. maybe they had a speech impediment. just let it go. but the 18th time i heard a customer order 'skrimp' i couldn't help myself.

"i'm sorry, we don't have skrimp. did you mean...SHrimp?" the guy looks at me puzzled. "yeah, that's what i ordered, skrimp."
"skrimp? no, we don't have skrimp on the menu." it quickly turned into a laurel and hardy sketch and i eventually entered his skrimp order into the krunkputer for the kritchen to cook.

i would say upwards of 75% of our customers actually pronounce the L in 'salmon', so that it's mutated into 'sal-min'. not everyone can be a seafood expert and know how to correctly say 'mahi-mahi' or 'barramundi' or one of the other exotic varieties of fish available. but we're talking about salmon here. which makes me wonder if an aneurysm would develop in their brains if they ever tried to pronounce the last name of our 16th president.

ITEM 2: LIVING IN THE GHETTO

it's an everyday occurrence to hear about random shootings on the local freeways, at the mall, on my own street. just yesterday i was driving behind a car and read their license plate frame. i thought to myself, "i must have misread that." i stepped on the gas for a closer view. yep. it did say that.

"I'd Rather Be Shooting Cops"

what a lovely city.

ITEM 3: MY SELF-ESTEEM IS MARINATING IN RAW SEWAGE

once again trying to utilize my health insurance, i decided to find a doctor in town to see if i have any serious ailments i need to know about. after twenty frustrating phone calls, i finally located someone who would accept my top-notch insurance. on the day of the appointment i am finally called into the back room, weighed by a nurse who doesn't say one word to me, and am ushered into a tiny room to once again wait for the doctor. he finally arrives, shakes my hand, briefly introduces himself, and glares at my chart. he glances at me over the rim of his glasses and sharply inhales. "you know..." he starts. "i'm sure you'd have a better time with the ladies if you lost some weight."

how do you respond to that? i scramble to think of something to say but finally give up and simple offer him an "okay". i've just met this man ten seconds ago and he's already come to the conclusion that i'm obese and therefore must be struggling in the love department.

as i walk to my car, i repetedly tug on the bottom of my shirt, wishing i had worn a sweatshirt which could hide all my hideous bulge.

i arrive at home and sit on my bed to watch some (granted, sedentary) TV. my bed jolts and i quickly brace myself, thinking we're having another earthquake. nope. it's my bed. it's broken under my weight. the metal leg supporting my massive girth buckled and snapped in two. maybe the doc was onto something. so this puts me into a state of depression; which i attempt to stave off with a maple bar and some Häagen-Dazs.

several months ago i sent out a slurry of query letters in hopes of snagging a screenwriting agent and last month i got a response! the agent wrote to me and asked if i could send my script because he wanted to read it. very exciting! so i fed-ex the thing overnight at a cost of nearly $30 and sit back to i play the waiting game. finally, after two weeks i leave him a voicemail politely asking if he has had a chance to read my masterpiece. i understand he's extremely busy and was kind to even give me a chance. i painfully wait several more days. finally, he leaves me a voicemail. "you had a lovely premise with a lot of promise."

i get a little giddy in my stomach. someone in hollywood actually likes my writing! he continues, "but...you have extremely lame dialogue and the entire concept didn't pay off. you have such a great premise and you completely killed it. you lost me after 10 pages - it was awful and unreadable. it's...it's not for me." click.

he's probably just biased against fat people.

so. that's it. those are some of my reasons for leaving. i don't feel like i've given up on 'the dream'. i've tried it out for over a year and it's left a sour taste in my mouth. i came down here so as not to not be stuck with a 'what if' in the future. so i'm moving home in january and ready to start another chapter. one that hopefully doesn't involve any skrimp.