L.A. Fakes

I had started a post about my first day at work (Saturday) and relaying all the details of my new semi-crush on my coworker and of the sceevy dudes who were scoping me out at the bus stop, but instead, I’m going to discuss something else.

L.A. Fakes.

I’ve been living in L.A. for almost three years now and was beginning to feel like I had a pretty good take on the place.  However, there was one thing people from here kept saying that I never understood.  Here’s how the discussion would go.

“Ah, you’re from NJ? How do you like LA?

“Meh, well I hated it at first, but now it’s alright.

“Why’d you hate it?”

“Well it’s just not that pretty – especially compared to other places in Cali.  And the people… I don’t know.”

“The people are fake.”

And I never understood this! In my head I said, well people can be fake everywhere.  But this conversation replayed itself over and over with numerous people and they all claimed people in L.A. were fake like no other people in the world.  It wasn’t until last night, on my second day of work, that I understood this.

During my first day I was there before 8 pm, before any servers come, so I was only around the bartenders.  Yesterday, it was a whole other story.  There were two other servers: The Vulture and The BBB (Bleached Blonde Bitch).  So I was about a half hour early for my shift because I have to take the bus, and the last time I tried to wait for the next bus I ended up being a couple minutes late.  I was standing on the side of the bar by the office, waiting for people who might want to sit at the table and eat/drink instead of at the bar. Since everyone was at the bar, I took the downtime to get to know some of the regulars, let them know who I was, and be friendly.  Here is a map so that placement doesn’t get confusing.

As soon as The Vulture clocked in she swooped over near the entrance and stood idly next to the kitchen.  I’ve never really been a server, mind you, so I was still learning how things work.  Everytime someone came in The Vulture would be at their ankles nipping for a bite while they ignored her and sat at the bar.  She came over to me for a little bit and introduced herself and seemed perfectly friendly and smiley.  When I asked her how she likes the place, she made a face and then shook her head playfully and said, “Oh no, it’s alright.  I mean there’s money to be made but it can be pretty slow.”

Clue #1 – Luke-warm feeling about the work situation.  As sarcastic as I am and as cyincal as I might seem, I actually tend to be reasonably trusting in what people say.  At least unless I have an informed reason to think they’re lying.  At this point, in my 15 minute relationship with The Vulture, I didn’t see any reason to peg her for a liar. 

So a couple of hours dragged on and the bar was still relatively dead.  At some point The Vulture made a sweep past me with her evil grin and said “Teehee, you bored yet?”  This, of course, in between attacking the customers.  But within the next hour, between about 9:30 and 10:30, a few people finally started coming in and sitting down.  Unforutnately for me,  The Vulture was right behind them (because they were ignoring her), standing on her toes to take their drink orders.  Then, when some people from the bar took their drinks to a table, The BBB was right on their tails to refill drinks and give them menus.  But I didn’t let this bother me too much.  I figured, this is my first real day, I’m just going to be patient, and I’m not going to fight with them.  I was still cordial with them and we chatted a little  and they were super-smiley and friendly.  It wasn’t until The BBB passed by me, patted me on the shoulder and said this that I knew. 

Clue # 2: “This is so bad.  They should just let you go home,”

What a manipulative fake.  That wasn’t even remotely covert – and at this point, their game had become so clear.

It probably wasn’t two minutes later that The Vulture flew in and said, “How are you doing? Let me know if you need anything!”

By now, I had only served one table, and it was the bouncers, but again, I stayed patient and just let things go.    I just kept talking to the regulars, letting them get to know me a little bit – the usual name, where I’m from, what I do.  Three people even requested my email and number at this point because they needed a tutor for their son/niece/cousin.  I wasn’t making the tips quite yet, but I wasn’t in a rush. And the other two servers talked about me on the other side of the bar.

I had been talking to these two men for a little and stepped on the patio for a just a moment and when I came back I saw his drink was getting low.  I asked him if he needed another, but of course, The Vulture, had already come in for the kill.  But he said, “Dang it! I didn’t even realize… she came so quick! Don’t worry, she won’t get any more of my drinks.” And you know what? For the rest of the night while The Vulture and the BBB were scheming together when they weren’t harassing tables for money, that table didn’t order another damn drink from them.  Then they ordered three dishes of food. 

Do you know how much money I got from that table that night?  Somewhere between 20 and 25 bucks.  This in addition to talking to other patrons around the bar and getting their orders out of it.  Maybe the two other servers did make more than me last night – I haven’t the slightest clue.  But now, I’ve got people who ask for me by name, and I’ve only been working their one night.  And around 11:30 it started to get busier and there was much more game to play. 

Later in the night, I was taking a bathroom break, and of course, the Vulture swooped in to… wash her hands?  I was about to leave and she asked me, with tinge of frantic worry, “So do you have another job?”  At this point I was suspicious of her every inhalation, and my face tends to be quite revealing of my thoughts, but I slowly replied, “Yeeessss.”  Then she started asking me inappropriate questions about how much I worked and whether or not it was fulltime and I was paid well/paid my tuition.  I lied and told her most of the hours I put in are volunteer, and my expression turned more into a “Why the hell are you asking me these questions” kind of look.  She then asked me if it bothered me that she was asking, but  I told her no, she could ask me whatever she wanted (that didn’t mean I was going to tell her the truth).  When I asked her if she also had another job, she proceeded to give me too much information about how she had three part-time jobs but was laid off and doesn’t think she’ll be able to pay her rent for next month.

Clue #3: Trying to make me feel sorry for your ass?

Everyday I grow less and less tolerant of people complaining about their shitty lives.  Clearly, in this case, I was supposed to feel sorry for her and understand that she needed the money oh-so-much more than me.  Then I was supposed to say, “Go ahead – take all the tables you need.”  She doesn’t know anything about me or my financial situation and doesn’t care, as she shouldn’t.  Likewise, she shouldn’t go trying to con me into caring about hers.  Just because I can be friendly to the customers and do my job with a smile doesn’t mean my bills are paid and my belly is full.  Sadly for her, I don’t think she realized how her telling me that made me feel just the opposite of what it was supposed to.  I feel so much less sorry for her than I did when she was just a vulture, instead of a “starving” one.

At the end of the night they sat around drinking beer and eating the artery-clogging food there.  “What, you don’t drink ?” they asked me, and made excuses of how one drink was “just a relaxer” when I said I didn’t want any.  I don’t need any of my judgment impaired around these nutcases.

So, this was my first realization of an interaction with a couple of  L.A. Fakes.  I can’t guarantee that this is something that would only happen in L.A. but I don’t think I’ve ever enountered people so completely manipulative.  I’ve worked in retail and in other food service jobs where it can be just as competitive,  but frankly, when I’m in NJ and a girl doesn’t like me, I know a girl doesn’t like me.  She’s either mean to me or she ignores me.  That’s how reasonable people do things.  But these L.A. fakes are a whole other breed. 

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

I’m Employed!… Again!

Had I written the post yesterday instead of this morning, there would have been much less enthusiasm in that title.  But as today is a new day, and the sun is shining, and I’m trying to enjoy my life much more fully than I normally do, I threw in some exclamation points. 

I went to this neighborhood bar and grill about three miles down the road from where I live a little over two weeks ago.  Sadly, the manager wasn’t there, but the dude working gave me his name and phone number and told me to call any day after 6 pm. 

Fully exercising my skills as a master procrastinator, I didn’t call him back until Monday this week (exactly two weeks later).  He told me to come in for an interview on Wednesday (yesterday), and as this was the first one-on-one interview I’d yet to be invited to, I was pretty ecstatic.  So I hopped on the bus, which took about fifteen minutes (and after one and a half hour long trips on buses/trains, fifteen minutes was a gift), walked into the bar and immediately loved it.  It had a nice smooth mix of blues and r&B playing, the crowd was super friendly, and as described by a review I read on line, it was basically like “the black version of Cheers.”  I had been nervous, due to the area I live in, that it would be a bunch of hoodlums who might shoot me if I give them the wrong look.  Turns out, that wasn’t the case.  I was early so I sat at the bar and chatted with this old man named Jerome who was convinced that I should do toothpaste commercials with my smile. 

The interview itself was INFINITELY more comfortable than the one I went to on Saturday, where I pretty much was so retardedly nervous and painfully desperate that the woman interviewing me probably thought I was on drugs.  But this was really laid back and I really felt in my element.  However, after a nice interview, the manager (K), informed me that he had JUST hired three new bartenders two weeks ago. 

Lesson: PROCRASTINATION KILLS OPPORTUNITIES!

So I road the brief ride home feeling quite dejected, and kicking myself, repeatedly, for not calling sooner.  Two glasses of wine later, K calls me and offers me a job as a server!  Alright, so server is not NEARLY as good as bartender, BUT it’s only one step below right?  I’m not sure if he has any intention on really moving me up to bartender, though I made it clear that’s what I was looking for, and yesterday I was in a really pissy mood about it.  Especially due to the fact that we haven’t discussed pay.  But after I had a nice long rest I got up this morning I realized - I have a job.  I have two jobs.  Even if I’m not making a bartender’s salary I should be able to make enough to pay my rent and still eat.  There are those who are very close to me for whom I definitely cannot say the same.  Not to mention I liked the place a lot and the people are chill.  So I feel good about it, and hopefully when I go in on Saturday to fill out the paperwork and whatnot, I’ll still feel the same.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Are you Swanky or Spanky?

Well, I’m sitting at my office and my supervisor isn’t here and left me no work to do.  So while to catching myself up on important current events (meh) I came across the new line of underwear from the U.K. company, Swanky or Spanky.  In addition to anti-drink spiking lids, the company produces a line of underwear that will not only protect your goodies, but totes a rubber for when its time to let loose.

Sassy, isn’t it?  While I understand the motivation for making a pocket for the condom right at the last obstacle – there will be no fumbling trying to find one at the last minute before saying fuck it and hoping he pulls out in time.  The condom hunt can ruin the mood, I’m sure.  But I can’t say that if I pulled down someone’s pants and saw just how prepared they were that I wouldn’t be just slightly turned off.

But I probably won’t have to worry about that anyway because there’s a good chance they don’t ship to the US.  Or do they?

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Stampede at ANTM NYC Audition

I’m re-posting an account from a girl who was at the audition. You can read it as a comment here.

I was there and I could not believe the chaos and the lack of order and care from the top model organization.I was there and I could not believe the chaos and the lack of order and care from the top model organization.

I stood outside in the freezing cold from 8:00am until 7:30 almost 8pm. I waited in a line that circled the entire block. It was the longest block I have and will ever walk. From the beginning there was no order, just thousands of other women with the same application that said to meet at an address that was not where it was said to be.

I hadn’t slept in 24hours preparing for the audition I hadn’t eaten a thing Thirsty, extremely in need of a bathroom and my energy running on the hopes that I could be “America’s next top model.”

Finally I am 3/4 of the way there and I can see the door but the line is only moving 3 inches every 45mins. I am in a place of anger yet knowing the other girls around me were suffering the same cold weather, the same dreams, and the same physical pain and endurance, I was given some comfort.

We even became Friends and worked as a unit to keep each other warm. I was thinking when did this become an episode of Survivor?
Now to the Chaos The line went from one wide side walk to a very wide city street in width around 12pm There was a car that had hit a barricade and was over heating there was smoke filling the air and then next thing we hear is ” it’s going to explosed, it’s on Fire! I am closest to the walk and was smashed into it. All of us on top of one another.

There was no way to get out or move so I tried to slip down so if it blew I would have a better change of not getting my hair mess up or my head blown off. Then the cops tried to calm us down saying its not going to blow, easier said then done especially with some random strangers hands on your behind and you can’t tell who’s legs are who’s.

as we are still crushed by the pressure from the thousand of girls in front and behind us, even more chaos broke out when a man runs into the crowd where he pulls out some young girl and starts to beat her, as the cops come to get him he charges back into the crowd saying he has a gun and we heard something that sound like gunshot but that could not be confirmed. that is where it got even worst everyone running in to each other trying to get away from danger.

I was now not being smashed against the wall but between people. It was like playing a game of life and death twister. I had moved a lot not even using my legs, my feet were no longer on the ground. I was being propel forward by force. my ribs and lungs were being crushed and I started to lose consciousness and could not breath. There was a girl on top of me who started to have a seizure and or was hyperventilating I had to pull myself together so I could help her.

When they say you want to be on top I had no idea this is what they meant. after we had finally broke free the police said it is over go home. I became furious. How could they do this to us!

*First we come out here with them not giving us any order or communication about whats going on

*Second we stand in the freezing cold on a Saturday for hours and for some days.

*Third those that were there waiting for these hours and days were cut in line from people that showed up late and formed their own line, not to mention they got in.

*fourth and most importantly our lives were in dangered and our dreams shattered.

Fifth we were treated like animals no food, no water, no bathroom, no order and no one to care.

After everything was said and done we could not even get an apology, a thank you for coming out, an explanation, a sorry you came wasted your time and almost died as well as your dreams being scattered on the streets of NYC along with your belongings.

It was another slap in the face. I Lauren Amaris was checked out by ambulance but chose not to go to hospital, due to I can not afford it. I am at home recovering with bruises, swelling, I am still walking with a limp due to the trauma my legs experience, I am having back pains and possible whiplash.

I will be ok, but what’s not ok is the lack of care that was shown for the people that came out to be apart of this great opportunity. I love Tyra Banks and what she stands for and the traumatizing experience that occurred this past Saturday March 14th 2009, I pray her and her team Right this wrong.

I had no idea those auditions were so out of control. People are crazy. And to think… I was considering trying to make it as America’s Next Midget Model (I’m 5′4″). P.S., what exactly is someone under 5′7″ going to do in modeling? Maybe thats why these riots are occurring at the auditions. It’s just not natural.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Update

I know – I’ve been neglecting this for about two weeks now but things have been super busy, super crazy, and super out of control.

I think the best place to begin is March 5th, at my school’s screening of the best animation submissions from USC graduate and undergraduate students. It’s a nice, big fancy event where the faculty and students and some important otusiders come and view the screening at the DGA Theatre Complex. It’s quite an event.

So I got all dolled up in my pretty cocktail dress and favorite strappy 4 inch stilettos – for those who know me, it was my senior prom outfit – and showed those animating fools how well I clean up. Four animation girlfriends and I were standing around waiting for the show to begin when here enters:

Mushy John.

Who is Mushy John, and why do I call him this? Well, this fine fellow is the TA (or rather SA) who I dedicated an entire entry to complaining about because I was just that pissed off.  He will be referred to as Mushy John because has the distinct look and somewhat arrogant demeanor of a boy I knew in high school (and had two uncomfortable makeout sessions with) only he’s not nearly as thin and scrawny.  

Well he immediately rushed over to me, gave me this big hug as if we were old friends, and then turned to the other girls who were in my class and said, “Oh – other people.” Since when I became his favorite little chickadee in that class, I have no idea, but apparently I left some favorable impression.  Then he proceeded to flirt with me until the show started and we went about our separate ways.

Bunny hop over to Saturday night to me buying a bottle of wine and a rotisserie chicken at Ralph’s, looking fantastically haggard after a four hour nap.  The man bagged my goods and as I was exiting the store, the wine tore a hole through its plastic bag and the bottle shattered at my feet.  I was, naturally, thoroughly annoyed with the inconvience and my wet feet, and walked back into the store waving the faulty bag in the air.  As I was turning away from the assistant manager to go get my new bottle of wine, I was, for no particular reason, inspired to examine my ankle.  When I checked, I saw it was bleeding and my level of annoyance elevated to a simmer.  I sat on the side near the door to take my shoe and wet sock off when the spanish-speaking security guard saw my struggles and motioned that he would get the assisstant manager.  I inspected the wound, which was bleeding enough for me to be concerned,  and then looked over to see what was taking the guard so long.  He was shifting his weight awkwardly, looking forlorn as the assistant manager continued working the register, ignoring the fact that a customer was just injured in his store.  Eventually the employee who was sweeping up the glass came inside, saw me, and said “Oh! You got hurt?!” and when I said yes, he went to get the first aid supplies. 

Now I don’t know much about stores and their procedures in these kinds of situations but when you’re talking about glass and cuts and blood and customers, I would think you would want to call an ambulance and not have your workers trying to practice first aid on customers.  For all anyone knew, there was a juicy shard of glass stuck in my ankle that their bandaging up.  I’m thankful that at least that one employee was concerned, since the manager couldn’t be bothered, but honestly. 

But before he came with the bandages and peroxide, Mushy John and his fellow graduate animator come waltzing from the checkout and see me, barefoot, by the door.  They were both really nice and stayed with me through the whole ordeal.  The friend was particularly nice, as she offered to drive me home and picked out other shards of glass that were stuck in my shoe.  All this, of course, was made even better by my ex-girlfriend seeing me in this bloody and pathetic state and oh-so-cheerfully saying hello. 

So, skip my peaking anger at the assistant manager for not writing down any kind of incident report (because apparently it was my fault for not holding the bottle by the neck… even though they put it in a bag?).  Mushy John’s friend put my bike in the backseat of her SUV and I sat on Mushy’s lap for the drive to my apartment.  He then walked me to my door and we said goodnight. 

The next day I went to the animation building where the grad students have their cubicles and left Thank You notes for both Mushy and his animator friend, on which I left my cell phone number (I’m just so thoughtful aren’t I…)  Since then there have been a series of suggestive texts and conversations, but  I doubt anything beyond that will happen unless I get very desperate.  He’s kind of lame and too assuming.  As if a warm look from him will make me melt.  That kind of assuming.  I’m just not into that.

As far as the Molasses Boy situation goes, it seems that he is continually discovering new ways to turn me off.  The most prevelant way is that he seems to only have the confidence to make advances towards me when he’s either text messaging me or when he knows I’m inebriated.  Both of which I find wonderfully unappealing.  On the night of the animation screening, a bunch of animation kids came over to my apartment and well all got pretty drunk (except for him of course – because he doesn’t do that) and then he proceeded to put his arm around my waist several times and give me long gazes, to which I stared back blankly.  It wouldn’t have been so irritating if he had been flirtatious all night but it wasn’t until I’d had 3 or 4 beers in me that I felt his hand creeping around me.  Had he also been under the influence of alcohol, that would also have changed things, as that kind of openness is expected with alcohol.  Me, being drunk by that point, was much quicker to dismiss him and his assumption that it’d be easier for him to get me to put out if I was drunk.

And now?  Well, perhaps I will hang out with Molasses Boy while I’m on spring break (which is all week baby…) but he has a significant number of points to earn before I can even consider him in the running.  Tomorrow (Monday) I am starting a fruits and vegetables fast!  Monday throught Friday for the next month I plan on eating nothing but fruits and vegetables.  Why?  Lately, I’ve been eating nothing but shit and it’s been making me feel like nothing but shit.  I’ve been so tired and cranky and I think that has a lot to do with my diet.  SO, it should be a nice cleanse.  If anyone has any tips for me to curb my insatiable carb cravings (to give you a hint at the extent of it: I enjoy eating sliced bread with nothing on it… yes) I would be much obliged.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Spoons Production Method

So, this is how I’m going to go about animating SPOONS! My beloved character.  I accidentally saved the file as a jpeg soooo it merged all the layers and I couldn’t finish.  I’m not too upset since I do that kind of annoying garbage all the time.  Anyway, you get the idea (the painting underneath was for reference so that wouldnt’ be included).

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Walk Cycle

http://www.geocities.com/burgundy_trefoil/zim_walk_cycle.swf

Walk Cycle done in about one hour in Flash.

Does it feel natural?

Molasses Boy Fails

So maybe I’m horribly judgmental.  Maybe I just have expectations that surpass the capabilities of young men everywhere.  Maybe I’m just a bitch.  But just listen to my story and hear me out before you jump on me for dismissing this boy.

Molasses Boy called me on Saturday and asked me if I wanted to go to lunch today at 1pm.  During our text messages last week, he said that we should get together to continue the rather suggestive conversation, so I assumed that would be the theme of this lunch.  I said sure, but that I would have to text him in the morning to confirm because I had a meeting that I may or may not have to go to.  He said that would be fine, and to just let him know.

So, sticking to my word, I texted him around eleven this morning, and confirmed that lunch was a go.  It wasn’t until 12:44 as I stepped fresh out of the shower that I get a text from him saying

Hey just woke up can we meet at 1:45

Are you serious?  You couldn’t set an alarm to wake your ass up at noon?  If I had taken this to be just a friendly lunch then I would only have been mildly irritated, simply for the fact that I DO have other things to do besides wait around for someone.  But if you’re into a girl, and this is the first meeting/potential date  after you’ve just told her you’re into her, don’t you think you could take the time to just wake up for it?  Just don’t be forty five minutes late?  Maybe I’m crazy.

So I said fine, finding no reason to hide my annoyance, and waited for him to come.  Once he arrived, I got into his car, and we headed over to this sushi place near where I live.  Low and behold, we got there only to find that the place is closed on Sunday’s.  So we sat, lost and forlorn, in his car until he asked me where else we could get good sushi.  I hadn’t the slightest clue and I told him I would be happy with anything (not to mention that I was really hungry).  I probably would have been fine with any place he thought of,  but he just would not suggest a place.  Why he couldn’t just throw out the name of a restaurant he liked, I don’t know, but finally I suggested Chipotle, and he concurred.

So we arrived at Chipotle, parked in the garage, and entered through the side door.  Naturally, during lunchtime, the place was pretty busy and the line was to the front door.  Me, thinking nothing of it, began walking towards where the line ended, but Molasses Boy just stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Oh no, look how long the line is – we’ll never get our food.”

Again, are you serious?  I feel like Chipotle, especially the one right by our campus, is usually pretty busy.  So it’ll take twenty minutes to get food – so what?  I stood there, somewhat impatiently, and asked him what he wanted to do and he asked me, “What do you mean?”  because suddenly he no longer spoke plain English. 

“Do you want to get in line?”

“I don’t understand”

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I’m not following what you’re saying.”

“I’m asking you! Do you want to just get in line or do you want to go?”

“You mean like – cut?”

“NO WE CAN’T CUT”

“Oh then what should we do?”

“So lets just get in line!”

“Well  lets go.”

Now, at this point, my sailor’s mouth was having a really difficult time trying to find words that were not explitives, because seriously.  What the fucking hell?  I’m hungry.  Can we just get on line?  It will probably take the same amount of time for us to get in the car, drive somewhere else, and wait on another line as it would to just stay at Chipotle!

So we were walking to the car, and I was just so annoyed at this point and told him to just go wherever he wanted to go.   I think he was considering how absurd it was that he was making us go somewhere else because he stood at the car door for about a minute jingling his keys trying to tell me how long it would take to get food – until of course I told him to just open the door and drive wherever his little heart desired.  He suggested Panda Express, which was right down the road, and I said fine.  It was around quarter after two, and I hadn’t eaten yet today, and everything he was doing was getting on my nerves.

Finally we got to Panda, and ordered, and I reached the cashier – ahead of him – wondering what the deal was.  Was this a date?  Were we just two friends out to lunch?  The woman told me the price of my food, and I took out my wallet, listening for protests from him, “Oh no no, I got it.” 

But, nothing.  I pulled out my cash and paid.

So here’s where I figured any remotely romantic pursuit on his part had ended.  And that’s fine.  But why did he spend the whole week winking at me and trying to gaze into my eyes if he wasn’t going to back it up.  I don’t need to be wined and dined, but I can’t feel like I’m just out with one of my buddies. 

After he drove me home, he pulled into my driveway and asked me if he could come in and see what I had done on my animation for a class we have together.  I told him, No.  My roommate thinks I’m mean because I didn’t think of a more creative way to say no than just saying no, but I find it difficult to skirt around my ultimate message when I feel so strongly about it.  I didn’t really feel like spending any more time with him and when someone’s in you’re home, it can be a pain getting them out.

I realize towards the end of that lunch I was a little bitchy.  Maybe a lot bitchy.  But I don’t think it was completely unreasonable for me to feel that way.  He tells me he’s kind of into me, proceeds to flirt with me shamelessly, and then fools me into thinking we’re going on a date.  That clearly was not a date and he showed no remote interest in making it one.  He didn’t even mention anything that he so boldly stated over text message. 

So, I’m over him.  I’m not really sure if he feels the same about me, but I guess only the coming days will tell. 

Now, after hearing all that, was I so wrong?

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

I Am Back on Myspace And…

If you’re a business man trying to get classy women to do something sleazy – don’t let the first words out of your mouth be “you look good enough to eat.”

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

I’m a Certified Bartender!/Another Actor/Lamar the Busdriver

I passed my speed test for bartending! So on Monday I officially became a certified bartender.  I was so ridiculously nervous I was going to fail.  But now all thats left to do is get a job!

Meh.

So on the day I took the text, the class was pretty packed with people, one of whom was this curiously jolly man who had just joined the class a few days ago.  We had taken one class together, during which we talked a little bit, and I did notice a twinge of a spark, but nothing major.  Besides, he was big, blonde, and hunky, and that type’s just not my bag.

A couple of days after I took the test, I went back to the school to pick up my certificate.  He was there to take the the next class, so as I was waiting for it to be made I talked to him and another dude I had taken the course with.  We were discussing things I, perhaps, should study before I go on interviews in case I’m quizzed when Jolly Man says, “Oh you don’t have to worry.  You’re so gorgeous they’re just going to hire you.”  Then he kept telling me I was gorgeous and I just stood there smiling awkwardly, not really knowing how to react properly.  Then he gave me his card and told me to keep in contact and check out his website.  Well I did check it out, and then I checked out his myspace, and was completely turned off by the whole actor-musician thing.  For some reason that lifestyle just really doesn’t do it for me.  Maybe I’ll call him or something, but maybe I won’t.

Now for Lamar the Bus Driver.  One late night, about a week and a half ago, I was going home from the bartending class.  I have to take a bus, a train, and another bus to get home, so as you can imagine, it’s not a fun trip.  I got on the last bus, thankful that the trip was almost done, as it was around 11:30 pm, and sat in the front near the bus driver.  I’ve always considered that the safest place to be.  Then, of course, the bus driver starts talking to me, asking me inane questions about my life, and trying to engage me in a flirtatious conversation. 

This is why I took that long hiatus from men to date girls.  It’s so vexing when they just don’t get it.

I shouted answers over the buses obnoxiously loud engine, hoping that with each “WHAT’D YOU SAY?” he would just give up.  But he’s a persistent man.  I think he thought I might stand up and get closer to hear him so I could hear better, but that was just not in my plans.  Finally, we got to my stop, I stepped off the bus, and I thought “I’m free”, until he says, “So can I give you my number?” 

Before I go further, let me give you a brief description of Lamar.  He’s a hefty man.  He’s red-boned with mangled-looking teeth, and thin dreads the length of a bob.  Though the bus driver’s uniform isn’t the most flattering thing in the world, something tells me high fashion would not make him much more aesthetically pleasing.  He is an ugly man.

So I said, Yes, you can give me your number.  This is my response whenever anyone asks me if they can give me their number.  I don’t have to use it, so there’s not harm in just letting them give it to me.  So I take it, and ask him his name, and he tells me, Lamar. The End.

Until. There’s always a goddamn until in every part of my life.

Until the night I got my certificate, and I was coming out of the train station, prepared to take the last bus home, when I see the bus already at the stop.  I briefly consider waiting for the next one, recall how I once waited over a half hour for that bus, and think about how much I love standing next the homeless at MacArthur Park after the sun has gone down.  I make a run for it, jumping into the middle of the street and dodging death by impatient drivers on the way, and reach the bus before it drives away.  I knock on the door, hoping it’s not an asshole driver who won’t open it, the doors open, and low and behold.

It’s Lamar.

Sometimes I wonder.  How did I get all the luck?

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes