Let It All Hang In

There's a poster hanging up in the kitchen at my work that says, "Hang in there and smile!" It has about six different pictures of cats on it, and none of the cats is hanging from a tree limb.

There's absolutely no reason to feature cats on a poster about hanging in there unless the cat is hanging from a tree and it's a pun. The cats are neither hanging in there nor smiling.

But I do smile every time I see it, so I guess the poster's doing its job.

Tales of Suspense and Horror

I've got a few quick stories for you today. An anthology post, if you will.


Laughing Update

After getting hired to play games with old people (amazing) back in June, I stopped calling in to my film extras casting agency. It was just too time consuming and I never got any work out of it.

But just last week, they called me to offer me a gig working two days as a laugher for an upcoming Disney show.

I had to turn it down, because I was busy playing games with old people on the days they needed me. But I was happy that they thought of me. I thought my laughing audition was good, so it's nice to have that feeling validated.

I still don't really know what laughers do.


Labs Rat

I had blood drawn today. The phlebotomist had blood spattered all over his white lab coat. It looked roughly like this:



I thought about telling him that it was unsettling and he should change, but I just let it go.

He was actually weirdly skillful with the needle. I didn't feel a thing.


The Shirt Off My Back

Recently I was at Santa Monica Pier with Sister. I was waiting for Sister to come out of the bathroom, when a young man in a bathing suit approached.

"Can I ask you for a really big favor?"

I just stared at him blankly. I was pretty sure he was going to ask me for money.

"I just bought a ticket for the roller coaster, but they won't let me on without a shirt. Can I borrow your shirt? I'll bring it right back. It's a really long walk back to the car."

Are you kidding me? What a ridiculous thing to ask of a complete stranger. Not to mention the confession that he had a shirt in his car. It's not like his roller coaster ticket was going to expire.

I was going to say no, I really was. But I like having unusual stories to tell, and I knew giving him the shirt would make for a better story. Plus, it was an old shirt.

You can imagine Sister's surprise when she came out of the bathroom to find me sans shirt. I pointed to the roller coaster. "That fat Mexican is wearing it," I explained.

He returned it right after his ride, as promised. What a gentleman.

The shirt was a little moist when I got it back.

Post Post: Thank You for Remembering Me

(Post Posts are about things I get in the mail. You can click on any image to enlarge.)

"And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?"

- from Night Mail, W.H. Auden

I have a lot of treats to share with you today, so let's dive right into the mail pile and see what we find.

Rich Friend Cynthia sent me these gently used seasons of True Blood because she decided to upgrade to the Blu-Rays. Thank you, Rich Friend Cynthia.

---------------------------------------

This next item was sent to someone who used to live at my address:

As you can see, it's from the Fictitious Business Name Renewal Center. Which like, what? What could that possibly be?

And the wording isn't very clear. Is the business fictitious, or the name? Or is the renewal center itself a work of fiction?

So of course Roommate opened it.

Wouldn't you?

So anyway, it appears that it refers to a fake name that you use to conduct real business. And for some reason you have to pay $125 for that. Honestly, opening the envelope just makes it more confusing.

I debated whether to show you the name this person is using, but since it's fictitious I think it's okay. Plus, it's so good: Betty Jewel. Do with that what you will.

And since Betty Jewel's name is about to expire, I guess it's up for grabs now if any of you want it.

---------------------------------------

I also received this letter:

I know that's a little hard to read, so here is the full text:

Cartwheels for lemons to touch the censor.
What if you sprouted
Alfalfa for dinner?
According to someone
I think that's fine.
Forever the level the liquid
The nozzle
Your toothbrush.
Your heartprint.
Your headache.
Your wine claw glass dish set.
Send it to me from Minsk.
With a receipt
And I'll wash it.
Forget it -
The standard greeting of Kuala Lumpur.
Send me your glasses your eyesight your fish tank your thinking your future your nail clipper beeper bag of chips fuck it
Close the door.
Wash the door
Wash the streetlight it smells like -
Saved and sugar.

I told the sender I was putting it on the blog and asked how he wanted to be credited. I meant, should I use his name or leave it anonymous? He told me to credit it to "The only character in my comic book".

I guess that's true.

The whole letter was written on the back of this:

I can't really make it out, but it mentions crematoria and Germans. So fill in the blanks.

---------------------------------------

The last item is a care package from my mother and her sisters. Thanks Mom and Aunties!

Here's what it contained:

1. Cape Fear rum cake
2. Gold Mine bubble gum
3. a wax mustache
4. napkins with the image of a shrugging woman and the words "If you met my family you'd understand"
5. candle with votive candle holder
6. tissues that look like hundred dollar bills
7. a piece of wood with the message "flying monkeys - I have 'em and ain't afraid to use 'em."

This package was assembled a few months back, so it contains all the basic necessities they thought I would need while unemployed and living at the YMCA.

Roommate and I weren't sure where to hang the flying monkeys plaque. So we listed it for free on craigslist.

We got a lot of responses.

I replied to all of them:

No one was willing or able to pick it up that night, and then we got bored of the craigslist game. So none of them got the flying monkeys plaque of their dreams.

It's displayed prominently in our living room now.

Freeze and the World Laughs with You

Last week I attended my first staff meeting at the new assisted living job. It was actually fun. Everyone was joking, having a good time, and the Big Boss was trying to rein us in and keep the meeting on track.

Part of the meeting was one of the nurses was giving us a first aid refresher. She was talking about what to do if someone is bleeding (protip: help them). At this point, the maintenance guy piped in, "Don't get any blood on the carpets!"

In the same dry tone as her first aid lecture, the nurse deadpans to us, "Yes, the carpets are the most important thing."

So we all chuckled at that, except for the Big Boss who held out her hands and announced over the laughter: "No, no it's not. That's not true."

But I don't want you to think Big Boss is a wet blanket. In fact, She cracked her own little joke later in the meeting. The topic at hand was preventing "elopement", which just means residents wandering away from the building. It doesn't mean residents running off to get married, but usually when we talk about it I pretend that it does in my mind. It's funnier that way.

To drive the point home, Big Boss told us about an incident at another facility where a man wandered away from their Alzheimer's unit. He was found hours later in the freezer. She started to move on, but of course we were all on the edges of our seats. "Well what happened?" my coworkers demanded. "Was he dead?"

A mischievous smile spread across Big Boss's face. "I believe he had -- frostbite!"

I don't really understand how that's a joke, but she delivered it like "frostbite" was the punchline. Like she was waiting for a drummer to give her a rimshot.

But the weirdest part is it brought the house down. She got the biggest laugh of the afternoon.

And I Don't Have to Take It

You haven't heard from me in a while because I started my shiny new job a couple weeks ago and I've been adjusting to the change in my schedule. For example, I just realized that when I have a day off I still need to do things. It's not a good idea to sit on the couch all day watching Cheers.

Let me be perfectly clear. Of course watching Cheers is an important part of everyone's day. But you'll find you have a lot more time if you limit yourself to under 6 episodes a day. These are the tips you come here for.

So I started my new job as an Activities Assistant at an Assisted Living facility. I play games with old people. All day. And then I get money. It's seriously the best job. You need to get this job.

I work with a group of residents with minor cognitive impairments, seniors in the early stages of Alzheimer's and dementia. And they're the best. They're pretty much the best friends I've made since moving to L.A.

But one of them is sexually harassing me. Let's call her "Marie".

It started off innocently enough. Marie would tell me I'm handsome or ask if I have a girlfriend. (She doesn't remember asking, so she asks me over and over up to 20 times a day.)

Then she started telling me, "If I were younger, I'd marry you." Which is adorable, of course.

"Marie, you have a husband," I say.

"Oh, that doesn't matter!" She tells me.

But the day she grabbed my ass I knew we were in trouble. And let me be clear - this was no accidental brush or affectionate pat. We're talking a full-handed squeeze. In the crowded dining room.

"Whoa! Let's keep our hands to ourselves," I said, kidding-but-not-kidding.

Just about every interaction I have with her is colored by this unwanted flirtation. And some of the other residents are even more annoyed by it than I am.

The other day, one of the residents was coloring a picture. She noticed me watching her.

"Do you want to color one of these with us?" she asked me.

"No thanks. I don't feel like coloring."

"Well I don't know what to offer you then."

From the other end of the table, Marie chimes in, "You could offer him love."

A third woman who had had enough wheeled around on Marie -- "Will. You. Shut. UP?!"

This was probably the worst though. One day I had to take Marie out of her exercise class for a minute. On our way out the door, Marie turns and proudly announces to the class, "He's taking me to have sex with him." She says this in front of other residents, the class instructor, my coworkers...

So yeah, I'm probably going to have a sexual abuse investigation brought against me. In my third week at the job.

When we got out of the classroom I asked her, "Is that all you ever think about, Marie?"

Without missing a beat, she raised one eyebrow at me and said, "Don't you think about it?"

Post Post: What Is This Junk?

I'm trying out a new feature for the blog. Post Posts are blog posts about things I get in the mail.

I get lots of mail now that I'm a popular blogger with 11 followers (oh yes). Let's look at some of the fan mail I've received this week.

Roommate and I have been talking about ways to make friends in our new neighborhood. One idea we had was that someone in our building should throw raucous parties and invite us as a courtesy and so that we don't get mad and call the cops. And then when we go to the party, we'll charm everyone with our winning personalities.

Unfortunately, we have no control over this scheme, and nobody in the building is stepping up.

We had just about given up on this plan, when we received this exclusive invite in the mail:

That's right. Our whole city is having a raucous party. Presumably we were only invited so that we wouldn't get mad when they close all our streets and public properties.

I also recently received this packet of coupons:

As we all know, getting coupons is exactly the same as getting a wad of cash in your mailbox. So I'm a billionaire.

As an added bonus, Money Mailer included some money-saving tips:

Suze Orman better watch her back.

I Scream, You Scream

This is a long story, but not nearly as long as if you had to live it.

I saw an ad on craigslist that an ice cream shop in my neighborhood was hiring, and that they're looking for people who live nearby because there's no good places to park around their shop.

Come by between 6pm and 9pm, the ad said, and ask to talk to Jody.

So I went by between 6 and 9. The shop is really just a counter in sort of an outdoor food court. There was one woman working there, probably in her 50s with long white hair pulled back in a ponytail. Must be Jody, I thought.

ME
Hi, I'm looking for Jody?

JODY
That's me.

She stares at me like she has no idea what I might be there for, like people come and ask for her by name for all sorts of things every day.

ME
I wanted to apply for a job.

JODY
Oh, great!

She stares at me again. Her eyes seem to say, So apply already!

ME
Do you have like an application to fill out...?

JODY
Well, who are you? Tell me about yourself.

Oh, great. She wanted me to just verbally pitch myself. I told her my name and where I live and talked about my work experience. I should have told her I worked at Baskin Robbins for eight years because she was obviously not checking any references.

Jody handed me a tiny scrap of paper to write my name and phone number on.

JODY
Okay great, great. Well... let me see... what else should I ask you? Do you smoke?

ME
Nope. I don't smoke.

JODY
You can work weekends?

ME
I can.

JODY
So you can walk to work... Do you own rain gear in case it's raining?

ME
I do.

JODY
Okay, well, you'll need to meet my father. He's eighty-eight. His name is Bob. He'll be here tomorrow from 8 to 4. Can you come back then?

Fast forward to the next day. I returned to meet Bob.

ME
Hi, I'm looking for Bob?

BOB
Oh, yes. Jody said you'd be coming in. So tell me about yourself.

I repeated my spiel for him.

BOB
All right. Well, you'll need to meet with Jody again, but she won't be here for another half an hour. Can you come back in 30 minutes?

30 minutes later...

JODY
Hey. So did you meet my father?

ME
I did.

JODY
How was that? Did he seem encouraging?

ME
Uh... yeah it went well. He said I should meet with you again?

JODY
Oh, well, I have to work right now. I'm covering for my father while he has his lunch break.

There was literally not a customer to be seen. It was a cold, gray day. I guarantee no one wanted any ice cream.

JODY
Can you come back in 30 minutes?

ME
I actually have to run. (I had another interview to get to.) I could come back later tonight? Or tomorrow?

JODY
I'll be here tonight from 4 to 9.

ME
Ok, so I should come back after 4?

JODY
You could do that...

I know I could do that, I wanted to say. Should I? Will there be any point to me coming back?!

ME
Okay, I'll be back in a few hours.

I was being forced to show WAY more interest in this job than I actually had. After 4...

JODY
Oh, hey, great! You're back. Um... yeah, so, me and my father actually need to meet with you together, but he's not here right now. I'll tell you what, I'll give you a call and we can figure out a time for the three of us to meet.

I did not expect to ever hear from her. I was pretty sure she no longer had the receipt with my phone number written on it. But the next day I was surprised by a call from Jody herself.

JODY
Hey, sorry about yesterday. Things were kind of crazy.

At least she acknowledged that the situation was not normal.

JODY
Would you be available to meet with me and my father tomorrow morning?

ME
Yes, my schedule is wide open tomorrow morning.

JODY
Okay, well, I don't know if I'm available. How about I call you tomorrow morning and we can figure out a time to meet?

That was four days ago. I haven't heard from her since.

But I don't mind because today I received an awesome job offer -- more on that later. So Jody and Bob can take their ice cream stand and shove it.

This Is What It's Like to Live in L.A.

When you live in L.A., conversations like this happen:

ME

You know that song MoneyGrabber [by Fitz and the Tantrums]?

ROOMMATE

Oh, yeah. I'm friends with Fitz.


Then we looked at his facebook.

Are You Smarter Than a Blog Writer?

This blog desperately needs a face-lift. I don't live at the Y anymore, so the name is inaccurate and misleading. But I haven't been able to come up with an awesome new name. You know, something just as clever as "Living at the YMCA".

Fortunately I have some smart and witty readers. Can you help? I'm looking for something that really gives the blog a brand. Leave your suggestions in the comments. Or facebook/e-mail/text message/in person/smoke signals/send an owl.

"Flowers are so inconsistent!" - The Little Prince

This post has some adult content, so you may want to put the kids to bed before reading.

You'll recall that I've been trying to find work as a film extra. Unsuccessfully.

Sometimes I see posts on craigslist looking for extras. I never wanted to respond to these ads because they usually don't have any details about the gig, and that's suspicious.

But one day I decided to just see. The ad pretty much only had the date of the shoot, and asked you to send your phone number and a non-professional photo. I sent.

Here's the response I got:

Thank you for your submission! Before we go any further, let me tell you: we shoot both mainstream and adult entertainment. Our adult work offers competitive rates at same-day pay. Would you be interested in doing extra work on an adult shoot? You would not be asked to be involved, but it would help if the subject matter doesn't make you uncomfortable. Let me know, I look forward to hearing from you!

Rose

So that explained the lack of details in the ad, but raised a whole new set of questions. Questions like: why do they need extras for porn? Are there a lot of bustling marketplace scenes in porn? Courtroom scenes? Family reunions?

I thought long and hard about my response to Rose. My gut reaction was a resounding no. But then I thought about how fun it would be for the blog. The things I do for you, beloved readers.

Although I was nervous about someone I know spotting me in the background of a threeway at the airport, I decided to tell Rose I would be comfortable doing extra work for an adult shoot.

This was Rose's response:

Awesome! What experience do you have / who have you shot for and what would be your limitations on-camera? Sex, handjobs, blowjobs, solo/mutual masturbation, threesomes, anal, gay sex?

In order to be considered, please submit your full legal name and age along with location, (city and state is all I need!), and your contact info (phone and email).

Also, AND THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT: Would you prefer to be in a gay or straight scene?

Please send me one current full-body nude photo, holding today's date on a post-it or piece of paper!

Also, what tattoos and piercings do you have, if any?

Rose

First of all Rose, you're a big fat liar. What happened to "You would not be asked to be involved"?

No no no, Rose. Your e-mail is making me blush, and I think that disqualifies me for this type of work. This humorous experiment suddenly got way too real. And scary.

Thus ends my correspondence with Rose, and my brief foray into the world of adult entertainment.

Now There's Even More to Hate About Job Interviews

I really don't like situations where I have to come up with something on the spot. I don't like doing improv. I don't like any kind of role-playing.

Take this blog for instance. I spend a ridiculous amount of time on each post trying to give it a spontaneous and off-the-cuff air. I like to have time. I need to be prepared.

I had an interview last week at an assisted living facility to work with seniors who have Alzheimer's and dementia. As part of the interview, I was handed a piece of paper and asked to "take a minute" and compose a letter to the daughter of an imaginary resident ("Mrs. Smith"). The letter was to tell the daughter about what her mother did for Mother's Day.

This must just be to see if I can write coherent sentences, I thought.

"Spelling and grammar doesn't matter," the interviewer said. "We're not looking to see if you can write well."

Well then what the hell are you looking for, I wanted to ask her in an angry voice, but didn't.

Can I go home and brainstorm and come back tomorrow with ten different styles of letters, I wanted to ask her, but didn't.

Dear Daughter of Mrs. Smith,

Your mother spent Mother's Day wondering where you were. It seems like if you were ever going to visit her, Mother's Day would be the day to do it. Not to worry. She won't remember who you are much longer. Abandoned by her children, she no longer has a tether to her life as she knew it - her mind is slipping further and further every day.
At Mrs. Smith's request, I won't be writing you about her daily activities anymore. She considers it an invasion of her privacy.

Sincerely,
Dan, star employee

I think I actually wrote that she had pancakes and sat outside for a while.

Here's another one. Yesterday I interviewed at Bubba Gump, the restaurant chain based on the movie Forrest Gump. It's a great location right on the beach.

It was a group interview, me and two girls. The interview was very short and then we were asked to "take 5 minutes" and come up with a commercial telling people why Bubba Gump is the best place to work.

I swear I almost shot myself. Here's what we came up with. (You have to picture us doing this in the middle of the crowded restaurant with enormous smiles and Vanna White hand gestures.)

GIRL #1

Good food! Good friends! Good fun!

GIRL #2
At Bubba Gump, it's not only a party in your mouth, but a party at your table!

ME
Where going to work is a day at the beach!

GIRL #1
Mama always told me, Life is like a box of chocolates... and this is the piece I chose!

ALL THREE
Run Forrest, Run... to work at Bubba Gump!

The interviewer said we were the best group he had seen.

Read All About It

The job market is in a sorry state. At least it's sorry here in L.A., and maybe it's sorry where you are too, cherished readers.

So I've decided to try to work as a film extra. Oh sorry, they're called background actors now. (Although that name isn't wholly appropriate either, because sometimes they're in the foreground.)

It seemed like a fun L.A. kind of thing to do, and a way to make some rent money. But I guess a lot of other people had the same idea, because I haven't been able to book anything yet.

I registered with a casting agency. To get work I have to call in all the time and listen to recorded messages asking for specific things. Here's one from their facebook page:

Annie is looking for Caucasian men or women for the show "Weeds" working 5/5/11 in the L.A. area who MUST have a small european car (such as a citroen/smart car) or a Vespa (or something similar) If this is you and you are OK to work on Thursday the 5th please call and submit to [phone #]. Thanks!

If I fit what they're looking for, I call the number in the message. They pull up my photo that they have on file and give me a yes or no. If it's yes, they give me another number to call to listen to another recorded message giving me the job details.

This is all hearsay by the way because so far they haven't been looking for anything that sounds like me. Except this one thing--

Late one night there was a message that one of the casting directors was looking for "laughers". She said they often had trouble finding really good laughers, so she was putting together a file of good laughers that they could pull from in the future. Call in and laugh for me, she said, if you have a hearty, spontaneous laugh and you're between the ages of 18 and 40. (Apparently laughs from the over-40 crowd are useless.)

I'd like to mention that I have no idea what this is for. Is this like for people in the studio audience? People on camera laughing? Just to perk up a dull Tuesday night for this casting director? No idea.

But I had to call. Because it's the only thing that I could call in for so far.

I was nervous. This is why I'm not really a performer anymore. Actors have to be willing to make fools of themselves constantly. I don't have the constitution. Too proud.

It was late at night and Roommate was already in bed, so I couldn't do it from my apartment. I didn't even want to do it outside the house. I didn't want my neighbors to witness this shameful deed. But I live in a crowded city, so there's nowhere I could go to be totally alone.

I walked about 5 blocks away from my house. I had to practice first, warm up my voice, get that laugh just right. I kept moving so I wouldn't be laughing like a psychopath outside one person's open window in the middle of the night. And I held my phone to my ear so that all the people I imagined were watching me would think I was having a raucous conversation.

Finally I felt ready to call. This conversation is the quintessential L.A. experience to me.

PHONE
Ring ring. Ring ring.

CASTING DIRECTOR

(answers phone)
Laugh for me.

ME
HA haha hahaha hahahaa ha (about 15 seconds).

Silence.

Dead silence.

Somewhere Candace Bergen drops a pin.

Finally:

ME
...How was that?

CASTING DIRECTOR
Can you go on a little more for me?

ME
Sure. HAHA HAHAhahaa ha --

Dogs are barking. In the distance a baby cries.

ME (CONT'D)
HAhaha hahaah haha ha (about 45 seconds) --

CASTING DIRECTOR
(interrupting)
Okay, who are you?

ME
[Name and agency ID].

CASTING DIRECTOR
Thanks. (hangs up)

I quickly flee that neighborhood, never to return.


But I think I may have made it into the laughers file.

Living at Not-the-YMCA

I wasn't sure I was going to continue. I mean once you move out of the Y, what else is there to say? What else is there to life?

But tonight Roommate convinced me that I do have more to say. My life isn't quite the train wreck that it was two weeks ago (I live in a home now), but signing a 12-month lease with no employment to speak of is its own kind of entertaining disaster.

Stay tuned for posts about:
- the new apartment
- exploring my neighborhood
- the job hunt
- living thrifty
- looking for work as a film extra
- living the dream

As we transition into Phase 2 of the blog I'm making a promise. As long as you keep reading it, I'll keep writing it.

Is This the End?

I didn't want to say anything until it was official, but as of last night I have checked out of the YMCA for good.

This is the sun setting on the Y. It's like a metaphor or something.

I moved into an amazing apartment in West Hollywood. I'm very happy about my new situation, but I was surprised at how sad it made me to leave. Even though it was only for a month, and even though it was a crappy room at the Y, it's unsettling to leave a familiar place and enter that unknown entity - the new home.

But I love my new apartment dearly, and I am just beginning to explore my exciting new neighborhood.

Of course the question on everyone's lips is "What will become of the blog?"

The answer: Wait and see.

I Want to Ride My Bicycle

"I believe that when people are in transit their souls are not in their bodies. It takes a couple minutes to catch up. Walking - horseback - that is the speed at which the soul can stay in the body during travel. So airports and subway stations are very similar to hell."

- from Dead Man's Cell Phone, by Sarah Ruhl

Riding a bike may be the most perfect way to travel. Faster than walking, cheaper than driving, taking in the scenery, the wind in your face. What fun!

I bike a lot.

Yesterday I was making a half-bike/half-bus trip across town. (This is so convenient for when your destination isn't exactly on a bus route. Also for when Google Maps wants you to change buses twice - you can usually replace one of the buses with some cycling.)

On this particular trip, I found myself riding behind a real serious cyclist. You know the type. She had the bike shorts, the sports bra, water bottle, helmet, and a fancy, expensive-looking bike. I rode behind her a ways, letting her cut through the wind for me.

Soon we were joined by another fellow on his bike, and we rode a few more blocks. Then another bicycle turned onto the street and, less than a block later, yet another.

The five of us rode together as a pack for several blocks, weaving around each other, alternating who was taking the lead. The people we passed must have thought we were all there together. And I guess they wouldn't have been wrong.

Eventually, one-by-one we turned to go our separate ways. I was the last to break off, leaving Miss Serious Cyclist to carry on alone.

Sorry fellas, this one's mine.

Living Thrifty: Can Openers

A $3 can opener is not the deal it seems to be. This is important. You need to remember this advice when you're living at the Y with no refrigerator and eating lots of canned foods.

"This is a no-brainer," you'll think, when you find the $3 can opener right next to a $15 can opener. You'll congratulate yourself for being such a shopping genius. But I ask that you please, please stop yourself there, remember this post, and buy a quality can opener.

Otherwise you will get your $3 can opener home and discover that it doesn't do its only job, opening cans. You will spend lots of time trying to force the can opener to work, eventually using it to just punch holes in a circle around the lid of the can. Not only will this create dangerous, jagged edges on your cans; it will also break the can opener completely.

And you will feel stupid because you were so smugly self-satisfied when you found the $3 can opener.

And you will have to buy a decent can opener anyway.

Another Date With Broken Plate

Remember the old man with a broken plate I mentioned a couple weeks ago? We were at the sinks together again last night.

Once again I was washing my awesome complete set of dishes from Goodwill and, once again, he was rinsing two-thirds of a plate.

Then the best thing happened.

He smiled, wagged his shard at me and said, "Gotta be careful!"

I love this place.

The Merry Old Land of Oz

I've been re-watching my DVDs of Oz. You know, the HBO prison drama. And it has me thinking about the similarities between living at the YMCA and living in prison. Here's a comparison.

(Click to view full-size.)

Something I Seen: Blast from the Past

Here’s something I seen:

(Click to view full size.)

This guy on the bus is wearing knickers. I don't think I could find a pair of knickers to wear if I wanted to. And now I do. Where did he get these?

Also, his knee socks are purple.

Recipes: Peanut Butter and...

Last week I asked for ideas of fridge-less foods I could use on a peanut butter sandwich. Here’s some.

Smart Start

grade: B

Peanut butter and Smart Start cereal is a good flavor match. The crunch of the cereal is nice, but overall this sandwich is a little dry. Definitely have a glass of water handy.

Cranberry Sauce
grade: C-

Definitely edible, and it has the advantage of looking and feeling like traditional PB&J. But the peanut butter overpowers the taste of the cranberry sauce. Also, I can’t save any cranberry sauce for later and a whole can of cranberry sauce is hard to stomach in one sitting.

Apples and Honey
grade: A+

Apples are like jelly that hasn’t happened yet. This is a perfectly delicious blend of flavors. Very, very tasty. A strong recommendation.

Oatmeal and Sugar
grade: B+
Surprisingly tasty. It turns peanut butter into a hot sandwich, which is a melty treat. I found that the oatmeal needed a LOT of sugar to compete with the peanut butter flavor.

Raisins
grade: B-
Decent. The flavors blend well, but are not thrilling. And dry.

Got a fridge-less recipe to share? Leave it in the comments!

If you really dig sandwiches, check out Scanwiches for a daily dose of delicious scans.

A big thanks to Heather and my mom for their input on this.

Something I Seen: Buffy the Vandalism Sprayer

Here’s something I seen:

I can’t be certain, but I think Sarah Michelle Gellar has started tagging.

Bread Lady

I was browsing the rack of day-old baked goods at the supermarket, looking for a cheap loaf of bread, when I heard a gravelly shriek from behind me.

“No BREAD?”

The speaker was an old woman in a humongous sunhat that looked so silly on her tiny body I almost laughed out loud.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m looking for,” I told her.

And she began clawing through the rack of food.

“Oh, HERE we go!” she screamed, bringing several loaves up from the bottom shelf. This woman had the biggest mouth, both figuratively and literally, and the feature was even more pronounced because of her bright red lipstick. She smiled a smile that stretched back to her ears and handed me a fancy bread with lots of grains. “You take this one. Trust me, it’s the BEST. SO HEALTHY.”

I thanked her and started to walk away with the bread. From behind me she called out again.

“Look at THIS.” She was holding up some danishes. “$1.79! One a day, with your morning COFFEE. I’m not a coffee drinker.” And put them back on the shelf.

I love this woman.

I would have forgotten all about her, but three hours later I got on the bus and there she is, flapping her enormous red lips at anyone and everyone nearby.

"Weatherman LIED to me. 'Cooler today than yesterday.' LIAR."

I tried really hard to figure out a way to take her picture without her noticing, feeling like Harriet the Spy. It didn’t work out. Someday.

“Finally learned the TRUTH. No one goes to the MOVIES anymore, ‘cause there ARE NO MOVIES! Not for TWENTY YEARS.”

She didn't stop talking the whole time she was on the bus. When we arrived at her stop in front of a hospital, she tried unsuccessfully to convince the driver to pull around to a side door for her. She stood up to exit the bus, and jabbed a bony finger into the chest of a young boy standing in front of the door.

“YOU. Outta my way. I’m going in for SURGERY.”

Then, as she debarked, to the small crowd waiting to board the bus:

“Coming THROUGH. Going in for SURGERY.”

Something I Seen: This Doesn't Mean Anything

Here's something I seen:

It's an ashtray.

High Five

Yesterday a guy about my age sat next to me on the bus and proceeded to pull an enormous wad of cash out of his pockets. It was mostly ones and fives.

Counting your pocketful of bills is a strange thing to do on a very crowded bus, and I found myself curious about where he had been that night. He didn’t look like an exotic dancer. He was kind of dirty and needed to shave, so he also didn’t look like a waiter, and certainly not one that would be taking home so much money on a Thursday.

I’m telling you, it was a huge pile of cash spread out all over his lap. He dropped like six bills on the floor of the bus without noticing. Finally I picked them up and handed them back to him.

“Oh, thanks man,” he said. “High FIVE!” (He didn’t actually high-five me. Just shouted it at me.)

He put all the money away. And then it got weirder.

Because the next thing he pulled out was marijuana. Now, I don’t really know much about marijuana, but it looked like a lot of it to me. And he starts rolling a blunt, on his lap, on the crowded bus.

But at least the large amount of marijuana helps to explain the pile of cash.

Living Thrifty: Adventures in Grocery Shopping

Here’s a handful of ways I’m keeping my grocery budget down.

1. Grocery Store Cards

Everyone knows you can save money by getting your grocery store’s rewards card.

Here's mine.

But I really maximize on the card’s saving power by being fully committed. There is no payoff for brand loyalty. I surrender to the will of my supermarket. I become obsessive about only buying discounted items. It’s a good thing.

I saved almost $5 off my $20 grocery bill today
by shopping carefully with my card.

2. Buying in Bulk

This 42-ounce canister of oatmeal was much cheaper per ounce than the smaller sizes. I also bypassed the Quaker brand for the generic. And I got a discount with my rewards card. Savings upon savings upon savings!!

3. Dented Cans and Day-Old Bread

I’m never bashful about browsing the clearance racks. You can usually score savings of 50-75% off.

These cherry turnovers are a sweet and sticky treat at $3.49.

But they're twice as delicious when they're half the price!*

*Your results may vary.

4. Special Deals

I’m always on the look-out for new ways to save. Today I found this cereal with a full mail-in rebate. That’s a $5 box of cereal for the price of a postage stamp!

5. A Caveat

It’s easy to get carried away. I must constantly remind myself, it doesn’t count as saving if you buy things you aren’t going to use. A 2-for-1 deal on bread is no deal at all if I end up throwing one loaf away.

What am I missing? How do you save?

-----------------------

My favorite thing about bargain hunting is that grocery shopping is always an adventure. Steadfastly adhering to your usual grocery list feels like a chore, but I get to go to the supermarket and explore.

There’s always something new on sale, something exciting amongst yesterday’s baked goods. By hunting down the best deals of the day, I’m constantly discovering new foods, new brands, new flavors. And isn’t that the best deal of all?

Reality Check

I paid my rent today, which means I'm officially at the Y for another week. So that's a big "hurrah" for the blog, although a less enthusiastic "hurrah" for me getting my life in order.

I’ve been viewing my time at the Y as kind of a fun adventure. But um... I guess for some people it’s not. Most of the residents are older men who are probably well past the point of "this is just until I get my life in order".

Today I went to the bathroom to wash my adorable new dishes from Goodwill.

They're teal-gray square stoneware with rounded corners.

I was joined at the sink by a man with a long beard. He was also washing some dishes – a plastic bucket that he was using as a bowl, and a broken plate. Literally at least a third of the plate was missing. (I wish I had a picture of it so you would know I'm not being hyperbolic, but I suspect photographing this man doing his dishes would be a faux-pas.)

I was using my little bottle of dish soap, a dishcloth, and a friendly orange sponge. He rinsed his bucket and semi-dish with water, then rubbed them with his flannel shirt.

I had been imagining myself as super-poor, as I browsed Goodwill for the most awesome full set of dishes they had. This guy can’t afford anything close to that.

But you should definitely check out the dishes at Goodwill – some really fun bargains to be had.

Virtual Tour: The Chamber of Horrors

Today I’m going to take you inside the scariest place at the Y: the bathroom. The bathrooms are shared by the entire floor. There’s no telling what we’ll find.

Sinks laid out in eerie rows. I’m not sure what goes on when I’m not looking, but everything is always wet here. Mirrors, counters, floors – all dripping with water. At least we hope it’s water.

(Click images to view full size.)

A long, winding corridor of toilet stalls. There’s always something horrible happening here. I venture this way as infrequently as possible. I’ve heard some men have never returned.


And the beating heart of the beast, the shower room. With two, count them – TWO showers side by side, and not so much as a curtain between them.


Okay, the bathroom actually looks more like this:

But it feels as scary as the other pictures.

And fortunately, everybody seems to be on the same page about not wanting to shower together. We all just wait our turn like normal, modest human beings.

One last treat (or trick?):


I don’t know what the hell that means, but it’s very suspicious.

I Invented This Really Good Sandwich

I don’t have a refrigerator. Because I live at the Y. So I buy a lot of canned foods, including tuna fish. But I don’t have any mayonnaise, because of the no fridge. So I replaced the mayo with black beans.


You know, because beans come canned in that thick bean juice. I just piled the beans and tuna fish on there, as much as the bread could hold. One can of each is enough for two heaping sandwiches, and then I still had black beans leftover for a side of black beans.

I know it sounds gross, but the beans really take the edge off the raw tuna fish, and the tuna adds a salty zip to the beans.

This meal is:
1. Tasty
2. Fridge-less
3. Very Filling
4. Way Healthy
5. Cheap (less than $2)

Which means it's like the perfect “Living at the YMCA” meal. If you have any great “Living at the YMCA” meals of your own, leave them in the comments. I’ll try them out and feature them on the blog. You’ll be doing me a big favor, and you'll be like YMCA-blog-famous. I'm especially interested in hearing about things I can use instead of jelly on a peanut butter sandwich.

P.S. Friend-of-the-blog Heather suggested adding avocado to this sandwich. I love that idea. It would raise the price a little, but also might raise the tastiness to new extremes.

The Best Things in Life Are Free

My bus home was so late last night. For some reason the buses get terribly off-schedule late at night when, theoretically, there should be fewer stops and traffic delays. But if my bus hadn’t been late, I never would have met Igor.

Igor sat next to me at the bus stop and said, “I’ve met you before.”

“No,” I said.

“Oh, you white boys all look the same. You know that?”

We became fast friends, Igor and I. Maybe because he kept shouting his own name (“ee-GOR!”) over and over. I like that in a person. He was drumming on the bus stop benches and singing a song in Spanish.

“Do you understand Spanish?” he asked me.

“Only a very little bit,” I said.

“This song says: I’ll forget you, I’ll forget you,” he explained.

He was probably about 50, probably Mexican, and definitely wearing aviator sunglasses in the dead of night. He extended his hand to me, but when I reached out to shake it he squeezed my hand tight and clutched it against his chest.

“Your hands are cold,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m freezing.”

“My heart is warm. I’m a good man.”

“I believe you,” I said. Satisfied, he released my hand.

He asked if I ever feed the ducks. I said I don’t - I have enough trouble feeding myself. Igor feeds the ducks. (“They like me and I like them.”)

“What’s your purpose?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What’s your purpose in life? You gotta know what your purpose is.”

“I’m still young,” was my answer. “What’s your purpose?”

“Have fun. Meet people.”

Igor (“ee-GOR!”) wanted to know where I was going, where I live, what I do for work. Igor doesn’t work.

“What do you do with your time?” I asked.

“Good question.” He grinned. “Talk to you.”

We talked about nothing for a very long time. “What’s your purpose?” he kept asking me, over and over. “What’s your purpose? What’s your purpose?”

The bus finally arrived, almost an hour late. Igor got off at the very next stop, a distance it would have taken ten minutes to walk at most. When he left, I suddenly felt so sad. I don’t know why. It only lasted a moment, then the feeling evaporated as quickly as it came.

Something I Seen: Hammer Time

I don’t have a car. (I live at the Y – do you think I can afford a car?) So I spend a lot of time walking around LA. Something I Seen posts are pictures I take while out and about.

Here’s something I seen:

(Click to view full size.)

I’m amazed by this ad campaign. How much do you want to go to the Hammer after seeing this? If you’re me, a whole lot. Because like, what?

Living Thrifty: The Gold Star Goldmine

This is going to be another regular feature. I live at the Y – I’m obviously not made of money. Living Thrifty posts will feature special tricks for living on a highly limited budget.

Recently I went to a place called Gold Star. They serve burgers. I was there looking for a job (no such luck). I was also very hungry, and these burgers smelled amazing. So I bought one. And I made it a combo with fries and a soda because the cashier made it sound so good.

It was a moment of extreme weakness. Seriously, I do not need to be paying $7 for a burger and fries and a soda. But I hadn’t had breakfast that day. That’s a mini-tip for you: eat breakfast. It will save you money later when you go to a burger place for a job and end up with a cheeseburger combo.

But the trip to Gold Star did prove fruitful in the end, because Gold Star leaves plastic utensils and sugar packets out for anyone to come along and fill up their backpack.


And I did.

I needed the utensils a lot. The night before I had used my bare hand to scoop peanut butter out of the jar and smear it on bread. That’s gross.

I didn’t need the sugar. I don’t even have a use for it. I got greedy. :(

Virtual Tour: The Best Part of My Room

I’m going to try to have some regular features on the blog. This is one of them. Virtual Tour posts are your exclusive look inside the Glendale Y, complete with pictures and text and everything!

So here it is, the best part of my room. The balcony!

(Click images to view them full-size.)

See? I told you it was nice here. My room literally has a balcony. The glass doors let in lots of beautiful sunlight, and I have an awesome view of some buildings and some hills and stuff.


At night, there’s this fake Eiffel Tower lit up nearby, so I can pretend I’m living in a cozy flat in Paris.

(This is the best shot I could get of the Fake Eiffel Tower, but you get the idea.)

Yeah, my life is pretty fabulous.

Space

Two days ago I moved into a room at the YMCA of Glendale, CA. I’m going to use this space to chronicle my time spent here. It may be two weeks, it may be two years. We’ll see. Surely it won’t be two years. If I’m still here in two years... we can’t even think about that.

A lot of people (my friends and family) have been confused upon hearing that I live at the YMCA. So let’s get the ball rolling by tackling some myths about living at the Y.



1. Yes, you can live at the Y.

I feel like this should be perfectly obvious when I say “I’m living at the Y,” but I guess it needs to be reiterated. Yes, you can live at the Y. Not at every Y, and it’s only available to men.

2. No, it’s not a homeless shelter.

I pay money to live here. It’s inexpensive and you pay nightly or weekly, in cash. There’s no lease or anything, so it’s nice and easy to leave when you’re ready.

3. No, I don’t sleep on a cot in a gym.

Variations:
No, I don’t sleep on a cot by the pool.
No, I don’t sleep in a crowded room of bunk beds.
No, it’s not like the New Orleans Superdome post-Katrina.

I have my own room. It’s actually nice. I do share a bathroom with the rest of my floor, so it’s kind of like having a single in your college dorm.

4. No, I’m not sad here.

I’m actually very happy here. I have a space, which is not trivial. It’s a terribly important thing, having one’s own space. It’s not my dream home, but it suits me just fine right now.

So far the biggest problem is that I have the Village People stuck in my head all day, every day. I remain hopeful that this will diminish in time.