My first few days back in L.A have been rocky to say the least. I was getting body blows from all angles. Firstly, I had to pay rent, blow to the stomach. Secondly, I now had to pay for the gym, that bastard, blow to the kidneys. All of this and still no job on the horizon. I was then told by someone in the know to check out if I could even act or audition here while not having a long term visa, cheap blow to the mid-section.
Finally, I was hit with some really hard news to take. While I was gone, I missed out on a big game of poker in Robbie Williams’ house, which was fine, until I was told Slash was playing! Slash, how many times would I get a chance to play poker with a Guns & Roses dude?! Upper cut to the chin, I was reeling and only back a day or two!!! I’ll ignore the fact that they were probably not all playing for the usual $10 a man pot I play, so not sure if my budget would’ve allowed me to take up the offer anyways. I’ll ignore that though.
I decided I would sleep the body blows off, it’ll all be rosy in the morning. However, it was then that I realized I need new sheets and pillows, the ones I had been using were no longer there. Using my great improvisation skills, I used a slightly wet hand towel as my pillow the first night, and my very damp bath towel as my sheet, almost covering me down to my waist, I was sorted! Although sheets and pillows were luxury items on my new budget, after that great sleep, I felt they would be a good investment. It was only when I got to the shop, saw the prices, and checked my budget, that the FEAR showed up and started to win the fight. I could afford one pillow, and a sheet. Maybe I’ll try to rob a homeless guy’s blanket on the way home.
Second night back in L.A, depleted of money (I bought food as well – a loaf of bread, 2 eggs, 1 can of tuna, a banana, handful of nuts, and a yoghurt, hopefully all of that will last me a week or two) and fighting the FEAR, I decided I would start being smarter with my money, start to economize, focus on what I could afford and needed. So, when my roommates asked me to join them in going to a jazz night at a club, I played my smart card, and declined. I was looking forward to trying out my new sheet and pillow anyways.
Woke up the next day, and I am informed I missed a great night, jazz was really good, place was cool, do I know Prince? Not personally, but yes, why so? Oh, he was there as well, jazzing it up. I prefer Michael Jackson anyways. For some reason, it was at this point when I decided to give up worrying. Funk the FEAR, I will beat you off (not in the West Hollywood way, but you know what I mean). I had missed out on poker with Slash, and now a night of jazz with Prince. I was resisting L.A, trying to be smart, use my head, think things through, economize, plan ahead. Thats not what L.A was about for me, I had to get back to basics, back to being dumb and going with the flow, stick to what you know!!!
Rent was paid for the month, I had bought time at least. I was in hobo heaven, a poor man’s paradise! So what if E.T was calling me to go home, I must plough on! Acting might not be the immediate route, but writing is free to do wherever. Looks like its back to getting free acting classes too, I could still do it! Who cares if the sheets I bought are actually meant for a single bed and my bed is a king size, so what if they don’t fit, it all be alright! The minute I stopped worrying about the funds, if I was goosed, how could I afford the acting classes, should I buy new sheets, etc., bits and pieces started to fall my way. Kind of.
While in the gym, after talking about music to the gay dude and how crap it is in the gym at times, there is now a chance I could get a job there as D.J during the day, ha, funking hilarious. I have to drop a demo in tomorrow. I also have a meeting with a guy about potentially running a night or DJ’ing in his bar/restaurant. I need to brush up on my mixing skills fairly lively. There is also now another possibility of selling Shamwows on the weekends, my career options are on the up!
More good news today. My roommate told me, if it ever came to it, I could act away as well without a visa, start off in non-union stuff, I should put up a resume on L.A Casting to get the ball rolling. Wuu huu, my acting career was rising up from the flames, Phoenix style! Seems I just have to remember to try not to be too smart and over-think things. I should have no problem with that so. L.A seems to have made me dumber anyways, or else I just get into more dumb scenarios when I go with the flow, or it could be a combination of all three. Wahey!
Song of this glorious, sunny day is I Feel It All by Feist, pump it up!!!
Now I was back in L.A, it was time to get back in the groove and be productive. With this in mind, I decided I’d head up to the gym and see if my buddy will hook me with free membership again. I was feeling confident about getting hooked up for free again, after all, I did watch Milk, in San Francisco, how could he say no now??!!!! I was ready to give my gayest high five and pump the air Milk style when I saw him.
Alas, this was not the case. I must have caught him on an off day. Either that or he had remembered what I had been telling him. It is time I reveal my dark secret – I had been leading the gay gym manager on all along. I felt so dirty hiding it, ha. When he tried to get me to sign up initially, I told him I would, definitely, 100%, for the two year plan as well, sign up and join, I love this gym, best gym around buddy, high five, but it will have to be when I find out how long I was able to stay in L.A. Which would always be next week when I find out, and then the week after, and so on, so he kept giving me free gym. Finally, when I told him I had to leave the country for a while, he must have presumed I would join up when I got back.
As I was saying, unfortunately he must have remembered, as I was getting the vibe it would no longer be free this time around. So, he offered me a cheaper month to month rate than usual but I was not happy with this still. I told him I must go home and mull it over. So, home I went, had a quick shower, shave, combed my hair, put on my best shirt, put on some cologne, time to get the free gym. Once again, however, I was told I would have to pay for the gym. The cheek of him, I had watched MILK! How could he do this to me?! Wait until I tell my brothers on Castro!!!
Anyways, today was the first day I went back to the gym, and it was great being back! I have a new gym buddy, Common will be freaked. Although I was really only sharing the machine with my new buddy, while I hummed his song. I was procrastinating away on some cable machine, still struggling to text quickly on my new crap phone, texting Twitter at the time of all people, ha. This guy asks can he jump in and use the machine while I text away. Work away buddy, and I recognize his face straight away, a lot less hair but its one of the dudes from Bros! Their classic 80’s song begins to play in the jukebox in my head! I text Twitter quickly to tell it this, I could do with a few more texting buddies it is true, ha. He finished his set, and jokes “I hope she’s worth all the texts whoever she is mate”. I mull over saying “I’m actually texting Twitter about you, would you believe” but decide not to.
I do a set, he then does another one. While he is doing his, I notice I am humming a song, but not the one on my iPod. I’m humming/whistling to myself ” Umh, umh umh, umh umh be ummmmhumh?! Umh umh umhum umh, umh umh umhum umh – When, will I, will I be famous?! I can’t answer that, I can’t answer that” (It’s hard enough to spell out a good humming noise for lyrics, that effort took me a while I must admit!). As he probably would, he notices I am humming his song, and the alert is on. He quickly finished and moves on. No more sets to do Bros? I could do with a hand on my final one? Bros? No? Common is way sounder than you!!!
As I was saying, it was great to be back in the gym, the magic of random L.A was back!!! However, I forgot about the lesson I learnt on the plane back from Mexico, I am a foolish man at times. The lesson about my blue Nike Jordan shorts. Being like blue bicycle shorts at times. Most of the time. Giving the world a good indication of what you bring to the table. If it will reach down as far as the table, that is!
So the gym shorts I wear the majority of the time are these blue Nike Jordan ones. Read back about the flight from Mexico post to see what their major flaw is if you couldn’t gather from above. Wearing these shorts to a gym, where its mostly gay dudes in there, is not the best idea, unless of course you’re gay yourself and looking. It’s like I am throwing it out there, seeing what I get offered more or less, teasing. No wonder I had been getting stares and looks in the gym all along. I shudder now thinking about the times I did stuff like bench press or sit-ups, anything lying down. They can be very deceiving or flattering shorts! And don’t think I’m saying it like “Oh, it’s like a third leg, hung like a horse, the blue bicycle shorts don’t do it enough justice!” kind of thing. I’m not. At all.
Think of it like this. If you were a guy like me in a gym, and you saw a girl who was, for example, showing side nipple. No matter what size breasts she has, big or small, you will still look. It’s out there, it would be rude not to really. It is kind of like that, in a completely different way. From now on, I think I will have to wear my shorts with the big pink flowers on them to the gym instead. Far less gay. Although, thinking about it more, maybe side nipple might have got me free gym again as well, too late now though!
Song of the day is this tremendous song… Skeletons by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
I have come a long way my friends, a long, long way. First time I ever flew into LAX, I got a dodgy bus to my destination. Second time, I got taken on a tour of the city in a taxi. The last time I flew in, I rented a car and got nicely lost. However, this time around, I had a buddy pick me up. Yes, you read that correctly, a buddy. I have friends this time around in L.A. And not the kind of friends here that I’ve met once ever in my life (if at all!) and then tell me – Don’t leave L.A! I’ll miss you too much!!! We must hang out when you’re back!!! Sure we will, sure.
On the way back to my house with my buddy, also now my roommate, but who’s splitting hairs, we decide to come up with ways of getting our roommates for April Fools’. Stuck in traffic, surprising for L.A, we have plenty of time. However, I do not have plenty of ideas. No good ones really. And all of mine seem to revolve around me, I am that involved with myself. How about we pretend I got deported? How about we pretend I was mugged? How about, after living in West Hollywood for so long, I’ll tell them I am actually thinking of going gay? I get the same response over and over… “Eh, no, they’ll just say oh right, and not care too much.” Oh right, I tell him, keep thinking.
In the end we decide he will take the keys of our roommate’s car, move her car, pretend like we know nothing, it must be stolen or towed. What a great, original, inspiring idea! We had nothing else. However, when we get home, there is no sign of her or her car. We sit and wait, still nothing. My other roommate has to go to an appointment, can’t wait around much longer. In the end, he gets an elastic band, ties it around the hose part they have in sinks here, plan J is in motion. Basically, whenever you turn on the tap like normal, the hose part was set to spray you all over, and you would be fooled, a great plan!!! I watched him do all of this, this should be noted.
My roommate has to leave, I’m at home on my own, decide to chill and watch t.v for a while, I’ll make a cup of tea first. So, I go back into the kitchen, look for a cup, find the tea bags, fill up the kettle, and soak myself. Ha ha, I thought to myself, I’m quite the ape for forgetting, lucky no one was here, I’ll say nothing, I’m no fool. Strike one.
After chilling for a while, I decide to clean up the house a bit. I dump the rubbish, clean the tables, round up dirty plates, cups, cutlery and all that. I carefully let enough water out of the tap so the spray doesn’t reach me, and do the washing up. When I finish, I notice I forgot to rinse one plate off. I’ll give it a quick, short rinse and I’ll be done. One quick burst of water later, and I am soaked again. Once again, thankfully, no one was there to witness my stupidity. I tell myself, thats it, I won’t be caught again. Surely.
Three soaks and two changes of clothes later, and I feel like a complete and utter fool. I have to mop the floor after the fifth time, the 5th time, of soaking myself. Once while washing a potato, once while cleaning my hands before cutting chicken, and the final time refilling the kettle to make a coffee, ha. I don’t really count the little squirts I got while filling up a bottle of water, twice, they only got me a bit wet so they don’t count. At this stage, I was determined to stay away from the sink, leave the elastic band on, and catch one of my roommates, any of my roommates, anyone, it had to be done.
Eventually a roommate comes home, and she heads into the kitchen with food. I shout in, asking her to get me a glass of water please, make sure its really cold, run the tap, I was so clever, the set-up was in place. She shouts back straight away “Why is there an elastic band around the spray part?” Balls. Around this time my other roommate comes in, gives me a hug to welcome me back, and asks why my t-shirt and jeans are so wet. Balls. I spill the beans, except in my version I pretend that I didn’t know about the elastic band all along. They give me a knowing nod, sure you didn’t, you idiot, and ruffle my hair. I fooled them well!!!
Later that night, my third roommate, my partner in crime earlier in the day, rings asking where his car is, where was it moved to, ha ha, very funny, good April Fools. I got a text actually saying “Dude, where’s my car?”. The girls straight away think its a wind-up, and ignore the cries of wolf, he just wants us to drive out to him for no reason. I have my doubts, but the manner of the text makes me think perhaps they are right. He is told by one the girls, we’re on the way, sit tight, we’ll be straight there, and we all go back to watching American Idol. About an hour later, and many ignored calls and texts, I call him back. Apparently he was not lying, the car is gone. The girl, whose car he was going to move earlier that day, collects him and brings him home. His car was parked in an unused driveway but still got towed. Ha, April Fools!!!
I hope this will teach fellow fools out there, do not leave your room next April Fools’ day, it’s just too dangerous out there for us!
Song of the day is this little mash-up, first person to name all the songs used gets one shiny gold Mexican dollar coin I have left from my trip… In Step by Girl Talk.
And here’s another one I stumbled upon earlier, bohemian on!!! Dance, Dance, Dance by Lykke Li and Bon Iver.
Not much really happened today. Well as in there were no movie offers put in front of me, no celebrities hounding me, no producer offering me to make my sitcom, none of that usual stuff. I flew back to L.A, went food shopping, unpacked my bags, had a shower and that was about it. However, in between all that daily stuff, a good few funny incidents occurred. Most of the incidents were down to me being a fool, although I obviously did that on purpose, the day that was in it and all. As I’ve claimed many times before, I’m usually far smarter than it would appear, I swear.
I must say I was sad to leave San Fran in the end. Like any good ex who wanted you back would do, she slowly reminded me of the good times, wore me down and I ended up liking her a bit again in the end. I must thank my cousin and soon to be cousin-in-law for being immense hosts. However, seeing as I was going back to the passionate lover which is L.A, my sadness soon left once I was up in the air and on my way. If only I had fallen asleep for the flight. If only.
For some reason, I was fairly restless on this flight. I was very bored, in fact, and was looking for a distraction. My iPod wasn’t doing it for me, neither was my book. However, the lady in the seat one up and one across from me was, ha, so to speak. From the acute angle I had – mostly back of her head and slightly the side of her face, and body – she looked quite hot, even wearing a dodgy baseball hat. It was then when I noticed something which would annoy me enough to start the ball rolling. The tag of her hat was hanging down out of the hat, by mistake I presume. Not only this, but the tag in her t-shirt was sticking up, poking out of the top and almost touching the tag from the hat. Her hair was parted to each side as well, so it all looked a bit odd and stupid, to me at least. I had too much time and was too restless to bother to think all of this.
So, I let it go a few minutes. It soon got to me though, it was annoying me too much for some stupid, bizarre reason. Plus it would be a good ice-breaker to kill my boredom, me being so nice and all to tell her. I tap her on the shoulder, she pulls her earphones out of her ears, turns around with a ‘what does this idiot want’ look on her face, and I inform her “Sorry, your tags are out, they’re dangling out, ha, just thought I’d tell you.” I lean back into my chair, wait for her to check the tags, fix them, thank me ever so much, and the conversation was flowing. Instead, I get a look of excuse me?! and her asking me “Excuse me?!” She must not have heard me, or understood my accent, so I just say it louder, not clearer, just louder “Your tags…” pointing to my neck in the front first for some reason, then pointing to the back of my neck, then just pointing at her “… they’re out, looks funny enough, I thought you might want to fix them”. Again, no gratitude, but more dirty looks and questioning comments. I decide to let that horrendous attempt at starting conversation go, her loss and all that, she must be one of those who think I speak Russia when I speak normally.
I throw back on my iPod, put on my sunglasses and try to fall asleep. Half a song in, I get poked in the shoulder. Thinking someone has brushed off me down the aisle, I take no notice. When I get kind of pushed in the shoulder, it dawns someone wants my attention. I take off my sunglasses, and see a guy who looks like a lumber jack standing over me. “What the f**k did you say to my wife a minute ago? What the f**k are you talking to her about her body for? Stand up. Why are you looking at her tattoo?” Oh Jesus. Wife? Is this the husband from Mexico?!!! Oh Jesus.
It’s not, instead he seems to be the husband of the women with the tags dangling out, up and down. I never saw him a minute ago. “Stand up, answer me”. Oh Jesus. Do I stand up so he can knock me back down or what is the protocol here? I splutter out a “Eh, ah, ehhh, ahhh, what, what, what are you on about?” He points to his wife, restates his case, asks me stand up again. I start to stand up, he steps back to give me room, he is slightly smaller than me but he is built like a block of granite. A big block that is. I am trying to tell him “Tags, tags, TAGS!!!” as I stand, pointing to her neck, my neck, his elephant neck “TAAAAGSSS”, not tassive mits, tattoos or whatever else I’m trying to think he might have thought I said.
My final “tag” effort was unknowingly said in my best American accent, and it seems to sink in with him that, yes indeed, I have been speaking English all this time. His anger dies down a little as he recognizes an accent. “Where are you from?” Ireland. “Really, what part?” Cork. “Do you know Tipperary?” I do, Cork is near there (I don’t bother telling him one side of my family being from Tipperary, might you know them sort of thing, it didn’t seem to be the best time really). “My ex wife is from Tipperary, I couldn’t understand her either”.
Thank funk for that, this little nugget of unexpected information has cleared the air. I re-tell him about the tags, big misunderstanding, apologies, I’ll leave them dangling next time, oh I see your wife actually has a tattoo on her… that’s a lovely dolphin she has swimming through the two mountains, I couldn’t see that from my angle. Apologies, sorry, apologies, did you see Ireland got a draw against the Italians? No? Soccer? No? Doesn’t matter, up Tipp!!! He sees the funny side of it in the end, she still doesn’t but I was only trying to be nice all along. Nothing to do with her looking hot from the side, obviously.
I’ll have to finish off this post in the morning. I’m too wrecked now and half falling asleep. I’m not used to the early 10 o’clock starts. Song of the day is a song for what almost happened… Lights Out by Santigold.
This morning I was woken up thinking the earthquake had come back for seconds. However, only one wall was shaking this time, and it didn’t last quite as long. It must have only been just a tremor, ha, go on the rabbits in the apartment below! Anyways, today was a big, big, big day. After my brief, yet exhilarating, fling with the earthquake yesterday, I was nay so productive. How could I concentrate or focus after the earthquake swept me off my feet like that, it was like something out of a movie! I had planned that today would be my mighty day of work. Included in my plan was to first watch the Ireland – Italy soccer match. This was before I was reminded today that the match was, in fact, on tomorrow, and not today.
After finding out I now had a two hour gap in my meticulously planned out day, I was left with a conundrum – finish (ahem, start) the writing assignments off two hours earlier than planned, or, get a few small things on my to-do list out of the way. To-do on!!!
While having breakfast, I couldn’t find the remote, so sat through an episode of General Hospital. It was pretty horrendous, who was I to judge though, it was only my first episode. So, I watched another 2 episodes to make sure. Still pretty horrendous but at least Chad got out of the coma in the end, wuu huu! After that, I moved on to my laundry. I washed dirty clothes, clean clothes, other peoples clothes, everything and anything. I ironed clothes, folded the washed clothes, refolded t-shirts that were already folded, got some stubborn stains out, I was highly productive! This was going swimmingly well so far.
Next, I decided to head down to the Polish shop and check out the sale they were having on fish today. I bought myself a nice bit of swordfish, first time really trying it I think, thought it was odd that it tasted a bit like licorice and mustard but maybe thats what all swordfish taste like? It was after lunch when I remembered I had forgot to clean my runners, I had better wash the laces by hand, to-do on!!!
Obviously I then moved on to doing some good writing research online, on Spacebook, checking Craigslist for any spoof jobs or new Buckets, downloading music, doing jigs to a few songs, all that productive stuff. I exhausted every possible avenue that I could to avoid doing my homework. For some reason, I felt like I was being punished. For God’s sake, do I have to do the writing? What will happen if I don’t? I’ll be grounded? Fine, ground me. I killed off some more time by thinking of an episode for the Office, and an episode for my new sitcom. I have the outline of them good to go, wuu huu, so at least that was semi-productive. Plus I half thought of a name for my sitcom. If you have any suggestions feel free to horse them on!! All I need to do now for them is type them out, along with the easy task of doing the witty and funny dialogue, era shur isn’t that the easy part! Ha.
Eventually, after kicking my bedroom door a few times and stomping up the stairs, I sat down and started the writing assignments (spoof). Once I started (spoof), obviously, they were grand. I got them done fairly quickly (spoof), covered all I needed to as well, happy enough with them. All of that avoidance for that? I am an ape. At least I got to see Chad wake up.
My next post will be when I am back in L to the Heeeeeeeey. I just got off the phone with her actually. She told me how the Bucket had called around a few times, drunk, with her new man, made a big scene, thank God I wasn’t there for that. It was very emotional. Here’s a song I played to cheer her up… Dance Tonight by Paul McCartney
My last day in Mexico was just a series of me failing miserably at trying to be clever. I am blaming my hangover and calling it an off-day. Usually, I am way smarter, I swear.
After I got wrestled out of my room far too early in the morning, I had the whole day to kill, with my suitcase and man-bag. I decided I’d ask the bell boys to look after the bags, while I swanned around by the pool curing my hangover. After all, we had become such good friends, they always called me amigo, offered me tequila, laughed at my jokes that weren’t meant to be jokes at all, I was great buddies with Miguel, Raul, and the other Miguel. Stupidly, I let them know why my suitcase was with me, I had just checked out, could they look after my bags, cheers amigos! The words “checked out” transformed them. I must have said a secret code as they immediately lost grasp of their usually good English. Now all I was getting was “Que” and “No”. Come on Raul, we are amigos, you said it yourself everyday! “No”. Miguel, my old buddy, Miguel… he just walked away from me. Miguel 2, the Miguel who always offers me tequila, hook me up. He offered me tequila again, sure Senor, but now its 50 pesos a shot, what the funk?!
I ended up not being allowed back into the hotel or the grounds, seeing as I no longer had the special wristband. Great, about 7 hours to kill waiting for my shuttle to the airport. I had a brain wave and headed to Subway, I’d get a few rolls for the wait, free food and all after my bathroom incident. It wasn’t until I got to the till to pay for the 3 rolls – 7 hours is a long and hungry wait – that I noticed none of the people who were working the night I got locked into the bathroom were on. Balls. So, I tried to explain to the guy serving me about my free food set-up, the manager gave the all clear. The word “free” drained him of his English and all I got now was “Que?”, whereas two seconds earlier he could reel off in English the 39 different dressings I wouldn’t want on my rolls. Its fine, Ill just pay for the 3 rolls, oh thats right, no money in my wallet, I have the fear over my credit card, Ill go down the road to the ATM, with my suitcase, get some money and be right back. My clever plans were all working to a tee so far.
Shuttle never arrives for the airport, ended up getting a taxi, a good waste of money, Orbitz would be getting a call about that. So I eventually get to the airport that evening, and I have come prepared this time. I am not wearing shorts which require a belt, I am too clever for that. Instead I am wearing my blue Nike Jordan basketball shorts, which I always wear to the gym. They are loose, hang down like curtains, shapeless, comfortable, only two pockets but perfect for the flight home. I get on the flight, delighted to see I got the emergency row again, no sign of an old Mexican dude who looks like he will release his bowels next to me this time, sandwiched in between two women. I throw my man-bag into the overhead, making sure first to get all the essentials I need for the flight. My pockets are over-laden – iPod, earphones, tic-tacs, mints, chewing gum, watch, notepad, pen, phone, bottle of water – all the essentials so I wouldn’t have to be getting up every two seconds to get stuff.
The flight starts off with the woman on my right commenting on how my hair looks like its had a good spring break at least. And starts to rub it, more pet it really. She then also notices the different bracelets and bands on my arm, plus my lack of tan (in her opinion, I thought I was bronze! ha), and starts to rub my arm. Well, more pet my arm really. So she’s petting my hair and arm like I’m her cat, the job, good start to the flight. I should say as well that she wasn’t really my cup of tea. I’m not sure she would be most people’s cup of tea, but if you like the female looking version of Rosie O’ Donnell perhaps, then maybe she might be. I’m more of a fan of Ellen myself.
She’s having small talk, mostly to herself, she’s going to San Fran for a few days or so now too, but she lives in Tahoe, was I single, what was I doing for the next few days in San Fran, we should all go out!!! Oh right. I stop her petting by reaching for the air conditioning overhead, sneakily rob hers too. I needed it though, between her and the hangover, the sweats were coming. She whips out her phone, asks me my name, cant understand what I tell her (surprising to say the least), so tells me she’ll just call me “Hot Stuff”. Oh Jesus. She gives me her phone, put in your number hot stuff, we’ll all go out for drinks, it’ll be so much fun! This is where I put on my clever hat. I can’t work her Blackberry, so I hand it back but tell her, sure you can have my number, here you go, and rattle a spoof number off to her, an American equivalent of my Irish 088 number. What’s that, I didn’t give you enough digits, tack another, eh, lets say a 1, throw another 1 on at the end.
I am happy enough with myself at this stage. At least I was smart enough to give her a spoof number, I can fall asleep in peace now. Sleep on. However, it is when I wake up, that I realize I have made a grave mistake about something else. I should not have worn those shorts. In fact, I might as well be wearing nothing, or else blue body paint at the most. Between my pockets being weighed down, so they are pulling the shorts down on the sides, a lot, plus all the streams of cold air I have aimed at me, and my lap, more or less the shape of everything is there to see. Every nook, hole and cranny. Plus it was cold, with the a/c and all, so it wasn’t looking its May West, ha.
I was woken up by the air hostess asking me to straighten my seat for the landing, so she had a good look, if she wanted that is. I’m sure most people walking by saw what was on offer, through my magnificent shorts that have now, more or less, morphed into blue bicycle shorts. Less I would say. I looked to my right, to see my new buddy just looking at my lap. I motion to my eyes – I’m up here love!!! I’m still hungover, just woke up and starving, so a bit numb and dumb, rearrange myself and pretend not to notice. Nothing here to see, move on folks. Start off a bit of small talk with Rosie next to me to take her mind off it, what do you do? She informs me she owns (or runs, I couldn’t understand her for once) two ski resorts in Tahoe. I should come up! Bring friends. Free skiing and free accommodation. Not too shabby, I think, this flight has come good after all.
The plane lands, hop, skip and a jump style. We’re waiting around for it to park, Rosie tells me she’s just texted her daughter, who is my age, and who lives in San Fran. She told her about “Hot Stuff” and she is interested in going for drinks as well, I was wondering why she kept saying we can all go out! She then shows me a photo of her daughter on her phone as the screensaver, I’m not expecting too much. However, my first thought is that there is no way that they are related! The daughter has to be adopted, she looks hot enough! I casually ask to see some more photos of the daughter, any closer ones, any face ones perhaps, ha. She shows me a few more on her phone, my first impression was right, her daughter is tasty!
Who cares about my shorts, the hangover, or any of that, this has been a good flight, free skiing, free hotel, and her daughter is hot, wuu! As I get up from my seat to leave the plane, I turn on my own phone. This is when I remember that I have given Rosie a complete and utter spoof phone number. I doubt there is even one digit the same as my real American number. Balls. How the funk will I get out of this. I walk off the plane, trying as hard as I could to muster any bit of cleverness left in my hungover brain. There is nada left, nothing, zilch. The numbers are completely alien to each other. I gave her a number where the first 2 digits were 31. The first 2 digits of my real number are 80. I can feel the free skiing with her hot daughter slipping away.
Worse still, when we’re queuing up for immigration, we’re in different lines, she’s in U.S citizens, I’m in the Johnny Foreigners line. I decide I’ll cut her off after the line, hopefully, tell her I want to make sure I gave her the right number, take her phone and change numbers quickly, what a plan. I get through immigration, wuu huu, and manage to catch her before she leaves. Sorry Rosie, I just want to make sure I gave you the right number – “Ok” – Ha, you better give me the phone, I’ll double check myself. However, instead of giving me the phone, she shows me the number quickly, then calls it out. It is a great spoof number, but nowhere near like mine. Eh, I think the end is wrong, give me your phone a second and I’ll fix it. At this stage it feels like I’m trying to rob the phone. “I’ll do it, you couldn’t use my phone, remember earlier” – Balls – “just call out the right one to me now”. I give up at this stage, tell her it was a 2 at the end, not a 1. Out the airport exit she goes, gone, good duck to free skiing and hot daughter. I just realized after writing all this I should have simply asked Rosie for her or her daughter’s number. I am quite the idiot.
I’m back to being annoyed and feeling like an ape at this stage. While waiting for my lift from the airport, I decide to vent my anger at Orbitz, I’ll ring them and complain about the shuttle never showing up. I get their freephone number, and call them. For some reason, ringing a freephone number on my phone costs me double what it costs to make a normal call. This same phone let me make calls and texts in Mexico for free. It is the stupidest phone ever. Suits me down to the ground!
Song of the long, annoying, hungover, clever, stupid day is Scenic World by Beirut…
Enough Talk, More Writing! 