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February 17, 2004
The Baddest Birthday In All of the Motion Pictures
Hi. My birthday just passed and it’s been a most wonderful week.
My friend from New York, who has an ironically long pinky nail, came out here on business. I say ironically long because he’s Mr. Straight Edge Three X’s Tattooed On the Inside of the Lip, and when I think of long pinky nails, I think of cocaine for some reason. Nasty pants, I know. This friend is actually a clean-cut (yet eccentric) dude with a long ass pinky nail. No drinks, no drugs. I think he might even be celibate but I’d hate to say that if it’s not true. The nail makes me crazy, and I wanted to somehow break it “accidentally” but he has this strange attachment to it. He says every time it breaks, bad things happen. Uncles die. Yellow mustangs get totaled. You get the point. Of course, this minute detail about my friend isn’t the point. I haven’t written in a while so I’m all over the place.
I’ve been trying to get that Brasil story down for some time and I’ve decided that what happens in Rio stays in Rio. Some of it was downright unexplainable, like the sunsets or the beautiful shade of brown skin or the green eyes or the sounds on the beach (“sanduiches natural”) or the overall theme of benevolence or even just the amazing McDonald’s fish sandwich. Then, some of it seemed downright unbelievable when I read it back and totally had the “had to be there” vibe so nevermind. I mean, can you really appreciate the sight of a post-op tranny happily dancing topless in the streets with no judgments from the passersby without seeing it with your own two eyes? The whole feeling of it was just beautiful. You probably can’t get that feeling from the words I’ve chosen to express this particular moment. Lady swung that weave with some straight ownership, cigarette in hand all the while. Again, not my point.
So back to my friend with the long pinky nail. At my post birthday breakfast, a homeless man walked up to our table after he dangerously jaywalked across 6 lanes of traffic and yelled, “Who is the richest white girl in all of the motion pictures?” My friend replied, “Sally Struthers…” and the homeless man said, “Who?” and then he repeated the question only this time saying, “Who is the baddest white girl in all of the motion pictures?” I said “Cameron Diaz” and he said, “Who?” and I said, “But you said the richest white girl…” and I learned right there never to question a seemingly drunk homeless person. He started yelling at me saying he said baddest the whole time. So he poked us for answers and every time we’d be wrong. He then said, “Have the answer ready when I get back from the liquor store. I’m jonesing…” and with that, he unknowingly gave me the best birthday present ever in the world. There’s just something endearing about his use of the words “motion picture” and “white girl” in my personal opinion. Who is the baddest white girl I wonder?
Now, this year had to be one of the best birthdays for me ever. First of all, Coral and I have discovered a birthday tradition. We will eat at this steakhouse in Beverly Hills every birthday from now on. You see, I was taken to this place on a first date a couple months ago and I loved it. There’s a real musician playing a real baby grand piano in the background as you eat the most ridiculous petit filet known to man. Ten million different people help you and shit just appears before you even mention that you need it. It’s upper echelon business. For a first date, he came strong. And so I decided I would take Coral there for her birthday. We celebrate our birthdays for a week around here. So every day, a new installment of gifts appear. It’s the best ever. So for my birthday, I wanted to go again and it ruled again. It’s an older crowd. White hair and everything, but it’s just fun. And older men guess your age to be 19, 20 or 21 and it’s flattery all night long which I must admit is part of the place’s charm. Anyway, one of my birthday gifts was a car stereo. I happened to be the only person alive in the year 2004 with a CD/car adapter thing hooked up to the cassette. Cords and shit. Who am I? So, one day Coral said she needed to borrow my car and when she came back, she said, “Come outside…” I did, and there she was blasting Me, Myself and I on my new car stereo with iPod hookup thank you very much. Beyonce is on constant rotation around here. Did you hear her say all Aquarians have game on the Signs song? Yes, she’s talking about me. I love a song about the zodiac. Right now, I love Jay-Z, Beyonce, The Postal Service and yes, I bought Ruben Studdard because he said no more hot tubs and no more strip clubs in that Sorry 2004 song. Every time a man apologizes to me for the rest of my life, I will imagine Ruben Studdard on my porch singing his precious face off. I love you, Ruben. I was so excited about the stereo I may have even lied on the hot asphalt parking lot ground doing the bicycle exercise.
I’m so technologically advanced now I don’t even want to mention it because I’d be bragging. What do you want? iPod. I got that. CD player in the car. I got that. Is it DSL that you’re looking for? Boom, I got that. I have it all, man. It’s the best. Bust up in that ass with the technology. As a matter of fact, I’m “ripping” CDs right now. You see, I even get down with the terminology. Actually, I’ve just been corrected. I called it “ramming” for the longest until one day my friend said finally, “Melissa, I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s ramming?” And I explained and he said it’s ripping. Whatever. Tomato. Tomato. It’s the fucking technology that I possess that everyone should be impressed with. Always trying to take a sista down. I’m making huge strides in advancement here. And so what I returned my TiVo because I thought it was faulty. All the while, I just wasn’t pressing the right button. So? Excessive button-pushing should be outlawed anyway. The Clapper is a good invention that exemplifies that.
So, the whole house is fragrant with flowers. You see, last year on Valentine’s Day I waited and waited only to receive a phone call telling me NOT to wait because nothing was coming. Flowers eventually appeared that evening, but still, to experience the heartbreak even for a couple hours is too much to take. Damn, just destroy my life already. But this year is much different. Flowers up off in every room, y’all (cable too). Lily stargazers, roses, daisies. What do you want because boom I got that. Yeah!
Now, did I tell you about my Code Red this past week? Do you even know what Code Red is? You see, when you’re a young girl about town like myself and you’re going on dates – I say that like I’m some kind of dating fool when I’m really not. Anyway, you have to have a plan of action for when the date goes awry which they often times do. This is Code Red. If he’s the worst, I call Coral and simply say Code Red. Within the hour, if all goes as planned, she appears at my dinner table and says excitedly, “We found your birth mother!” and I pull out my Oscar-worthy tears and bounce on that fool. We’ve had to come up with this Code Red business because even with a slender figure, it’s not easy to slink through any LA bathroom windows. And I’ll be damned if I put my red suede peep-toe pumps on that toilet seat. So yeah. I can’t wait until we use the 1-800-BIG-HUGS line. It’s just way more believable. Girl! 1-800-BIGS-HUGS just called. They found her! They found her! That will just make my entire life worth living, and you see, it puts a whole new spin on bad dates. I almost can’t wait for a bad date now.
So last week’s Code Red. I met this hot dude with a movie star name (not an actual movie star though) three years ago at the post office. I didn’t think anything more about him because at the time I was way more insecure and even more so oblivious. Now, before I left for Brasil I was getting my final Baja Fresh fix in and lo and behold The Post Office Dude appears. Hotter and hot damn, he remembered me. Walked up. Said his hellos and boom blam, my Aquarian game was all over the place. He said, “Can we be friends this time?” with a sly eyebrow move and smile all kinds of hellzyessss. I said of course and we exchanged phone numbers.
I came home from my trip and he asked me to meet him for coffee. I don’t drink coffee, but I could start drinking it for him. He truly is adorable. I wore white so that I could enhance the tan and his first question was, “So what are you doing out here?” He may have even asked me what my latest projects were. There’s nothing I hate more than a “Who represents you?” kind of Hollywood question. Is that cliché of me to hate that kind of conversation so much? I hate lots of things that much though. Venetian blinds, flat soda, those orange candies that look like cartoon peanuts. I glazed over that question and told him how much I loved Brasil.
Suddenly, he didn’t want coffee and instead wanted to get sushi at the local health food supermarket. I’m flexible. Whatever. We get to the supermarket and he’s all of a sudden a bipolar sociopath. First he’s looking for pizza, then the sushi and suddenly he says hello to a girl who doesn’t appear to actually know him. That’s fine. I’m not that (italicized) insecure. He then lures me to the fruit section, all the while seeming jittery and shady, and says, “I actually want some fruit. You look like you know about fruit. Pick something out for me…” I turn around to say, “I look like I know about fruit?” with a what-the-fuck kinda-joking-but-not-really expression and suddenly he’s gone. I look back and he’s deep in conversation, far away, with the girl he said hello to. Smiling, flirting, etc. Is this fool trying to clown me right here right now! I can’t believe this shit. More than I was offended, my little feelings were hurt. And I get it, he said “friends” but there was always an underlying flirtation with the original invite to coffee. I don’t think I misunderstood that part. These were real live compliments that boys give girls when they want to maybe kick it with the girl, you know what I’m saying. Regardless of what this little rendezvous is supposed to mean, that was rude and I don’t have the time or the patience to be bothered with a red flag of this magnitude. I Code Red Coral and walk toward the exit. This was just a few blocks from my house so I just stayed on the phone with Coral as I headed home. I gave her all the details and we laughed and laughed and bemoaned the fact that he was actually cute. She just kept saying through her wildly loud laughter, “You just bounced?!” Yes, without a trace. He did it to me so it is what it is. The cute ones are the worst. First of all, nobody but nobody leaves Baby in the produce department. Second of all bitch, I don’t care if you were stopping to talk to your wife, you should at least say, “Excuse me for a second…” and then go on about your business.
My other line beeped. It was him. He catches the first train to hell, I mean, voice mail. Suddenly, I hear honking and my name and he says from his car in the street, “What happened to you?” I laughed and said, “What happened to YOU?” He then did the turn-around “girls are so sensitive” routine coupled with the “I left my food there looking for you…” (wack sob story) and I just said, “You know what. No hard feelings. I just felt that was rude on your part. You should politely excuse yourself when you leave someone you’ve invited out, but don’t worry about it. We could chalk this up as a misunderstanding and go on about our business. Thanks.” I refrained from including “while you’re talking to another girl you jackass” from that very direct explanation of my actions. And I said all of this sincerely. I don’t need any enemies here. I continued to walk home. Wow. That fool thought he was ditching me and then I flipped the script on him and left. Echo. Echo. Echo. That was some flawed shit he pulled. As I approached the next block, there he was again. He asked me to get in the car and talk to him and then go look at his new condo and all these crazy things. What? I think he may have even answered his phone in the middle of his “explanation” which I think was supposed to be masquerading as an apology. It was just insane. I even closed my eyes and counted backwards from 10 to get my bearings. This had to be the most insane 20 minutes of my life. Not to mention, I overlooked the Teva sandals the first time but never again.
Even still, that’s not worse than the guy that made us think of Code Red in the first place. He said, “So are we going back to my place?” after a terribly rude first interaction at dinner. I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t get down like that…” His response was, “Get down like that? Is that black talk?” And as my body started the process of spontaneous combustion – heat starting to flare in my face first -- he said, “Oh I shouldn’t have said that,” and while laughing he continued, “You’re black, huh?” I’ll give you some time to process that. Go ahead, take a moment. I understand. I’ve provided some blank space to stare at. Yeah, man.
So yeah. All the ladies if you feel me, help me sing it out.
Virtue is the new black, you know. Besides there are a billion hos out there. Why go that route? Whatever, I’m old-fashioned. Is there something wrong with appreciating chivalry, punctuality and the occasional extension of thoughtfulness and exclusion of racially motivated jabs after dinner? Los Angeles. Whew. I tell you what. Does this shit happen to other people? Or am I just alone in this? Must write book. Must write book. I’ve got stories, man. Stories for days. Thank goodness I can laugh at these things. The entire male species is insane. My life would be ten times easier if I were Puff Daddy. Or a billionaire. Or a lesbian.
Regardless, my birthday was the best ever! And I hate aging so that’s saying so very much.
P.S. Please start watching The Brini Maxwell Show on The Style Network. I understand there will be a slight dilemma because it comes on at 5, the same time that Regis' Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? comes on The Game Show Network, but you'll just have to get over it. It's the best show in all of the land.
Posted by melissah at February 17, 2004 01:23 PM