santas and shrimping

i kill time with a few stories

So, it’s just about ten in the morning in LA… we haven’t heard anything.

Not yet.

Still waiting.

Christ, this sucks. Just the waiting.

I had a small breakdown last night (ask Eric and the adjective he uses would probably be a little different). What does it mean if we go? What does it mean if we don’t go? How hard will the next show be? I’m just trying to keep all of those thoughts out of my head until we get the call.

Or we don’t get the call.

I don’t even know if they’ll call regardless.

Okay, that’s it.. no more talking about it until I know. I’m only driving myself nuts.

But I’ll update as soon as I know, you know I will. Lemon, Slappy and Kimme will go nuts if I don’t let them start making reservations soon.

Last night I was driving home listening to the radio:

[scripty]
SANTA
Ho! Ho! Ho!

MAN’S VOICE
Hey, Santa… I forgot to do all my Christmas shopping and here it is Christmas Eve! What do I do?

SANTA
Well, hop on! I’ll help you find a gift all of your loved ones will enjoy!

MAN’S VOICE
Oh, thanks, Santa. Hey, where are we?

SANTA
Why, Hooters, of course!

MAN’S VOICE
Hooters? I can’t just give them wings!

SANTA
Well, besides great food, Hooters offers gift certificates, t-shirts, hats and calendars!

MAN’S VOICE
Wow! Hooters! I never would have thought of it!

SANTA
I make sure I always stop here!

MAN’S VOICE
I found something for everyone in my family!
[/scripty]

I imagined a six year old girl unwrapping some orange shorts and crying fiercely. Her father puts down his Scotch long enough to pick her up and put them on her. “You’ll grow into them, Cindy,” he says. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

Santa shops at titty restaurants to bring children all over the world gifts. What kind of marketing scheme is that?

Another radio ad:

[scripty]
MAN’S VOICE
Oh, this Christmas thing is just too much.

WOMAN’S SEXY VOICE
You don’t even know too much.

MAN’S VOICE
What am I going to do with all of these gifts?

WOMAN’S SEXY VOICE
Just let us take care of it.

VOICEOVER
Yes, here at (local titty bar) you just sit back and let us do all the work, with daily drink specials, great food, and free gift wrapping! Yes, you hand us your gifts when you come in, and our girls will wrap your gifts for free!
[/scripty]

So, when his wife gets her gift she can say, “Honey, this looks so beautiful!” And he can put down his Scotch long enough to say, “Yes, sweetheart, Genesis did a wonderful job on that bow, didn’t she? I told her red was your favorite color. You know, you too have a lot in common. You both like walks on the beach, and you both have little scars on your waist!”

Thank God that gentlemen’s clubs throughout the land are making holiday shopping easier and more special each and every year. The family that tips together, stays together. You can’t write sketches like this. No one would believe them.

I went to cash in my lottery tickets this morning. “This one isn’t a winner,” he said to me.

“Yes it is!” I snapped back, shaking the Frappucino in my hand.

“It says, ‘Not a Winner.'”

I looked at the ticket. Apparently in my wine/egg nog haze I had thought I had won five dollars. I hadn’t. Not even close. So the grand total of my ten dollars of lottery tickets was four dollars. I won four dollars.

That’s a Frappucino, a pack of cigarettes, and thirty-four cents, baby. Deck the halls.

Okay, so ten minutes more has passed. Still no word. No phone calls. Nothing.

Just filling you in.

Phone rings! Is it the answer to the burning question?

No, it’s the travel agent. Our tickets have arrived for our trip to Vegas next month. Well, that’s one thing we know for sure is happening. I am spending two nights/three days in Vegas with eight of my closest friends. Make that seven, one had to cancel.

This is interesting, the feeling I have in my stomach. This is the first winter holiday of mine that doesn’t have any exams or finals for me to study for. I don’t have to stay up all night cramming, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, reading over notes I took in my sleep and trying to decipher my handwriting. Reading other’s notes and trying to decipher their handwriting… and yet, right now, I feel exactly as if I have a Biology final in two hours that I totally didn’t study for and never went to class all semester. I know a bit about Biology, but enough for the test? I won’t know until I show up with my pencil in hand.

And I also feel a bit like when it’s the first day of school, and you have all these new classes and instructors, and you don’t know what’s going to happen to you. I remember the first day of my senior year acting class… we all had to lie in a circle in the middle of the room (Acting is big about being in a circle at all times). Now, we had all been going to class together for two years at least, so we had some familiarity among us. We all were on our backs, heads toward the center, when the instructor turned off the lights. Small beams of light were coming in through the curtains in the corner of the room, and we thought we were going to have to do more yoga, as we had been warming up with yoga for a number of years now.

“Close your eyes,” the instructor said. “We are going to get in touch with our feelings today.”

Oh, sense memory. Been there, done that. Method acting, blah, blah, blah. This king is actually my father and when I’m asking him if I could have the crown it’s the same way that I felt when I got grounded for talking on the phone after nine.

“Imagine you are on a field. You look to your left. Your lover is there, on a blanket with you on a field. You have love in each other’s eyes. You can smell your lover.”

Okay…

“Your lover puts his arm around you, and pulls you in for a kiss. Your lover is kissing your lips, your forehead, your nose, your ears… make the sound of what you are feeling.”

people began to sigh.

“Your lover is now feeling a little more amorous, and your lover is now kissing your neck, nibbling just so– make the sound of what you are feeling.”

Someone in the class let out a moan. Everyone else stopped making noise for a second as they tried to not laugh.

“Your lover is feeling rather frisky, and now is touching your chest, your stomach, the small of your back– make the sound of what you are feeling.”

At this point our more method actors were rocking back and forth and moaning. I was beginning to giggle… which is I guess what I would be doing if my lover was touching my stomach and the small of my back at the same time. I mean, what kind of swayback do I have in this fantasy?

“Your lover has moved down to your legs and has taken off your shoes. Your lover is sucking on your toes. Make the sound of what you are feeling.”

That one was easy, I always giggle.

“Your lover has moved up to your thigh. Your lover is nibbling on the inside of your thigh… make the sound of what you are feeling.”

More moans and groans from the peanut gallery. At this point, everyone was pretty much just doing it, since it may be for a grade. You cannot see anything, but right next to your head is someone else’s head, so while you are trying to be involved in your own fantasy, two other fantasies are quite audibly in your head.

“Your lover has found your special place. Your lover is caressing and fondling your special place– make the sound.”

Moans and groans.

“Yes. Your lover knows your special place well. Very well. Your lover takes you closer–”

Moans.

“Closer–”

More moans.

“and even closer… right…to–”

Screams.

“The…edge!”

One very loud scream rose above all others. Complete silence in the room as we all wondered who Joel was thinking of to become so animated with his sense memory.

“Okay, and you start to relax, and fall into that afterglow. Your lover falls asleep by your side. Make the sound.”

Seventeen sighs.

“I’ll see you all Thursday. Bring in two classical monologues ready to perform.”

And he switched on the light and left the room. We all sort of started at each other for a while.

“I feel a little violated,” I said.

“Well, from the sound of it, I’d like to violate you,” my neighbor to the left chimed in.

“Well, Joel was probably the most violated,” someone said.

“Yeah, totally,” was the class reply.

“I kept my eyes open. Joel was totally thrusting his crotch into the air. Ohmigod, it was so funny.”

“Fuck you,” was Joel’s red-faced reply.

“Your lover knows your secret place, Joel. And so do we.”

Moral of the story: Seventeen nineteen year-olds should not be lead through orgasm sense memory on the first day of class. Just a suggestion.

No phone call yet.

None.

ih.

Don’t forget to read the Book of Days account of meeting me. My first online sighting.

two o’ clock… noon time, lunch time in la-la land… still waiting for the phone to ring…

it’s close to two in the afternoon, l.a. time. The monks are getting restless. still no word. but hey, they just finished lunch, right? right?

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