Week Eight

I feel the need to update you. The blog is gaining traction. It seems each day I meet more people that, after I pitch the thing, say, “Oh. Cool.”

I don’t have any numbers to suggest they actually read it and I haven’t heard from anyone saying they particularly enjoy it. But it’s my understanding that, in matters of comedy writing, no news is good news. Right?

More recently, I’ve discovered a collection of stories that, on their own, don’t qualify an entire post. Maybe together, curated carefully, they’d make something satiable and, hopefully, entertaining to the baker’s dozen (we’re growing!) that read this.

This is one of those posts. Now, I know what you’re thinking. I should skip this one. Nothing of import, nothing riveting. But if you assume that, you’d be like me when I confidently greeted what I thought to be a pregnant lady and not a petite man with an extreme yet benign stomach boil, wrong.

Every moment of our lives contains irreplaceable lessons for us; every hot tub encounter, every gym confrontation, every screaming-match over the last few tater-tots in the lunch line. Please keep that in mind as you read what follows. That may be the only way to justify how much time I spent thinking of that boil joke.

Bros from Penn State

Me. At the hot tub. Again. 

I joined a group of gentlemen seated up outside of the jacuzzi with their feet dangling in. One was what I’d describe as husky. He had Rachael Ray voice, a strawberry-blond buzz cut and a thin, empty, gold chain around his neck. He spoke out of the bottom of his mouth; his chin moved side to side while the top of his head stayed stationary. It was all very Jeff Dunham.

I’m having trouble recollecting what his friend looked like. Brown hair…maybe. Eyes. He had all the features normally on a face, I’d assume. I think I’d remember if he was missing any or had any extras. I didn’t hear the beginning of their conversation, but I did notice the more than 20 empty cans of Bud-Lite, crushed in a pile beside them. They each had a fresh one in their hands.

I sat down and was instantly greeted by Husky. We exchanged pleasantries, which for them meant debating the normalcy of my nipple size. I realize I didn’t have to mention that detail, but, even at my expense, I find it an important point of illustration. These were two uninhibited gentlemen.

My nipples, I feel the need to assure you, are normal.

Somehow mastering the art of segues, I managed to get us on track to more orthodox small talk. They’re here for internships from Penn State. One at KABC and the other at a small production house responsible for trailers and music videos.

A word on this. The vast majority of people I meet (a similar majority never included in this blog) are situated at the Complex under these same circumstances. The Complex is famous for this. While I moved in with the understanding there’d be an intense number of child actors, musicians and models, I’ve come to discover that the Complex makes it’s primary revenue as out-of-state film programs send their eager students to LA for a few months for internships. These bright-eyed, industry inductees make the pilgrimage to media Mecca and simultaneously get access to the hottest and coolest apartment Complex in all of the valley.

So here we are with Husky and Whatshisname. And they’re about to start their internships tomorrow.

The conversation was light, so they offered me a beer. Not interested in partaking, I politely rejected. They opened the beer and handed it to me anyway. I think I made a joke along the lines of “No means no” which, to some, if you’ve seen the news recently, means “keep going” and they decided to make the conversation more personal.

It was time to talk about how we each lost our virginities. I made a joke about losing track of mine somewhere under the couch and the ball was rolling. Like I said, every moment of our lives contains irreplaceable lessons for us. Or should I have said “irreversible?”

So, Husky’s involved a used Buick Skylark and Whatshisname’s involved a bed and being “very very quiet because Grandma is in the next room after a routine cataract removal and she needs her rest.” But, despite my openness about my completely normal and healthy nipple size, I like to keep private things private, a fact to which both Husky and Whatshisname responded with a lesson in sexual education. Interpreting my disinterest in discussing personal matters as an admission that I needed instruction on how to make the magic happen (remember when I told you I was *engaged*), these two giving gentlemen decided they would teach me. Sans demonstrations, I hoped.

Not to cut the story off just when it gets juicy, a technique Husky and Whatshisname encouraged since it “teaches you to last longer”, but a lot of what they taught me was too uninteresting to report. Besides, none of it was new information for me. Yeah, I’ve seen Look Who’s Talking. I know how everything works.

I wished them luck at their internships in the morning. They could’ve drank all the water in the hot tub and still felt the incessant dinging bombarding them at every turn the next morning. Their attempt to put Bud-Lite out of business would follow them throughout the next day and I knew they’d really need to put their best foot forward.

White Russian

One Sunday afternoon, I decided to get some sun out by the pool. I’d brought a script a friend had sent for me to read and was met with, “What are you reading?”

I looked up from my lounge-chair and was greeted by two young and sunny faces. From every estimation, the two were refreshingly normal. They could tell by the print format that I was reading a script and thought I might be learning lines. They’re actors.

We introduced ourselves to each other and chatted for just a moment before I became distracted. Just as the conversation became really pleasant, a large, presumably European man, leathery and all the wrong shades of red and orange turned the corner into the pool area. Naked.

You might remember my last encounter with a naked man, in the laundry room. This moment was similar if it weren’t for his leisurely gait and disinterest in concealing *ahem* anything. He strolled to the side of the pool, bent over, and put on his swimsuit.

I am assuming the last part of this. As soon as his back was turned to us and his head started losing altitude, I was able to interrupt the broadcast and looked back at my friends.

“Sorry, is something happening?” one of them tried to turn around, clearly put off my my inability to hold eye contact.

“Don’t,” I said. “Naked Russian.”

“Ah,” said she, “I’ve seen him before.”

For Brevdik (a name I’ve chosen for our DGAF buddy) this was normal behavior, apparently. I never saw the Normals again. I feel bad about this one. Maybe they could have been my friends, but just like that time I sneezed blood at Trader Joe’s and was in the bathroom cleaning it up when Kendall Jenner came in the store, I missed my chance.

Fire Ball

My younger brother came to visit me. He’s 17 but with his beard and voice most assume him to be about 30. Comparatively I still look pretty young, a fact he parades. But he sings quite the different tune when I get crayons and a kid’s menu at Chili’s.

My brother’s visit was a refreshing treat for me and him. It’s not like my parents to let my brother travel on his own. He’s their gangly middle-aged looking baby. They’re protective. They knew he was in safe hands with me, though, since anything hardcore kind of bounces off me. I’m like Static-Guard for cool.

So he’s visiting and we decide to spend a little time soaking in the jacuzzi. It’s Saturday night and the hot tub is at capacity. We dip in and I immediately make friends with two young ladies from Texas. One is called Annie and the other we’ll call Hannah. Annie is a student at the American Academy for Dramatic Arts, I think. Hannah works at the Olive Garden but wants to be a musician in the vein of Good Charlotte. She sang me a few bars of Evanescence’s “Bring me to Life”. Given the last time I heard that song I was still convinced bootcut jeans and penny loafers were a winning combo, I’d say it was a faithful rendition.

While the ladies and I got acquainted, a phrase which here means I was playing the entirety of Muppet Treasure Island in my head, my brother sat quietly and observed the environment. When I came to (it’s not too long of a film), I noticed my brother had made friends of his own.

They’re our friends, Bridgette and Rick.

The two had joined the party at some point and were pouring FireBall shots for everyone in the hot tub. I entered their conversation with my brother at the right time.

“Fire ball?” they held out just about the cutest red solo shot cup I’ve ever seen. Do you ever see miniature things and imagine how ostracizing it would be to be a giant? We’ll have to ask that one Kardashian what it’s like.

My brother has no idea what Fire Ball is, but he’s a smart kid.

“No, thank you,” he said politely.

“He’s seventeen,” I told Bridgette with a laugh. She shrugged.

“Well,” she looked at me as if to say, “Can he have one?” I shook my head.

“Sorry buddy,” she patted him on the shoulder, “Mom says no.” He got a kick out of that one. I’ll admit, I am very motherly. Sometimes it takes whole minutes for me to unwrap lozenges at church.

“No, no thanks. We’re not looking to turn up.” My brother gets a kick out of me when I say these sorts of things, too. We eventually returned to the apartment and finished bingeing Making a Murderer. His visit to me and our visit to the hot tub was altogether uneventful. No turning up.

I’d like to remind you what I said at the beginning of this post. Each moment of our lives holds irreplaceable lessons for us.

Here’s what I learned from these encounters.

From Husky and his nameless pal: I learned multiple sex positions I didn’t know about described with the diction of that very convincing Sylvester Stallone impersonator I watched have a stroke. Wait. Did I watch Sylvester Stallone have a stroke?

From the Normals and the Naked Russian: I learned eye contact is important. It helps you make and keep friends, it keeps your eyes from wandering onto whatever is hanging off an over-tanned Russian and it reveals the emerging uni-brows on whomever you’re speaking with, which is always fun.

From the artsy Texans and Bridgette and Rick: I learned…I’m still thinking about that one. I guess I always learn generosity from Bridgette and Rick. They don’t consider who you are or where you’re from when they offer you something. They offer because of their own character, not yours. That’s something pretty special in the give and take culture of LA. Sure, what they’re offering you may eventually lead you to wake up giving and taking it in an alley Downtown somewhere, but the point is, they’re generous.

Coming up on WhoPeed: “Dirk, Radio Disney and Tall Skinny White Guys” or “My Unsolicited Blind Date”