Wednesday, November 2, 2011


Wednesday, November 2, 2011 1:12pm (PST)

Hmmm… where to begin? Where to sum up my whole day at the “center”? Last night I was informed by a wise writer (dude, he, like, gets paid real American money to write! Whoa!) to start at the beginning. My dear mother drives me to the airport and in the back of my head I think we are both wondering the same thing, “Is this the last time I’m going to see her?”. I feel that my hypothesis was correct as she gave me all the money in her wallet. It was like a reverse robbery. “Here’s some money kiddo, just in case you need to cover your own ransom!”. Smart thinking! So far I have only used that money on delicious Mexican food and tipping airport people properly for carrying what could be one or two seventh graders in my bags. So we’ve discussed the plane adventures, let’s get to the pick up. I call Marine Girl (MG, from now on) informing her that I have arrived, this is what I’m wearing, what do you look like, what are you driving, um, yeah, TOTALLY LEGIT STUFF. May I also add, I took my Leathermans in my checked luggage and moved it to my purse as soon as I dragged my bags of 7th graders from the luggage carousel (Mama only raised a partial fool, watching ID, Snapped, and Law and Order did the rest). So MG pulls over and doesn’t help me with my bags, which is fine. She kindly reminded me that, “all chicks do that”, as in over packing. While we drove, I looked for her Adam’s apple for validation of this comment. As there was none, I marinated in the irony. I couldn’t revel, because I didn’t know if I was going to die in the next moment. So I put on my best, lemme get to know you, lemme ask questions and pretend I care AND get some details on the situation I have put myself in (all for the name of a story). Oh! You might be wondering how MG got her nickname, well, she was in the marines…and then she moved to Vegas…on the strip. I feel that these variables are strange and she is a secret Aileen Wournos of sorts, coupled with the blond-rode-hard-hung-up-wet look. On our car ride she transitions from claiming her allegiance to MAC make up and to the do’s and don’t’s of the Master (no, we don’t call him that, but I refuse to name names at this point, I aint no Elia Kazan and if I was on witness protection, I’d have to get off facebook, might as well just die). I exit the vehicle where I see the Master in the doorway of a decently sized house. MG helps me with my 7th graders and I’m unsure as to the sincerity. Is it because Santa’s watching? Is it because she saw I was a ween and have the upper body strength of a person in physical therapy for a spinal cord injury?? Good times are abound in the cult center. ABOUND I SAY! Which means, you must be deathly silent (like don’t even think about touching silverware) because Master Shit Does Not Stink (MSDNS) is giving a $3000 online blessing. Yes, that’s correct, three-fucking-thousand-dollars. Post ‘blessing’, there MSDNS whines about what a ‘generous deal’ he provided to the blessee’s, who were ungrateful for the price. I suppose this is a side effect of the energy transmission. Realizing you just got royally fucked. So this place is quiet as a morgue. Luckily! I brought a book (A Prayer for Owen Meany, it was on one of my seventh grader’s reading lists). I did stay in my shared room with MG for a bit, tried to nap and recover from jetlag, however, to anxious to really sleep. Once we got to the house, MG had abandoned me for interactions with others. Last night, my phone was on vibrate (which I thought was considerate!) and MG yells at me to turn it off vibrate as I was getting thoughtful texts from my loved ones to see if I had drank the punch. Speaking of punch, I mean, what I’m getting at is that, I sense that MG’s energy gladly wants to punch me in the face. She won’t make eye contact with me, did I sleep with her boyfriend? No, somehow I doubt we have the same type. AH, how dare I forget! On our car ride, she inquired as to my taste in country music. Aiming to please, I gave the placebo answer: Oh I like just about anything (please please don’t kill me). This reminded me of a time when I was at the dentist getting my teeth cleaned and the dental hygienist asked who I was going to vote for in the presidential election, all the while tooling around my mouth with a sharp object… what is the correct answer to make you not stab me? Anyhoosit, after about five hours of not really talking and being very very quiet (we’re hunting wrabbits!) MSDNS gets his third in command to speak with me about my resume. I don’t know if it’s because he can’t read or as third in command (TC) says, “because of his energy and powers, he gets overwhelmed”. Hell yeah I deserve an Oscar for keeping a straight face. However, in future text you will see that my serious façade can only last so long. TC is a very nice lady. TC is from Austin. TC has not had 8 hours of sleep in years it seems and I momentarily feel bad for her. TC, besides Mary Poppins have been the nicest to me in the cult. Sidenote: totally disturbed how I’m the unpopular one in the cult, you’d think they’d be on the new girl like flies on shit. I digress. As the jetlag is approaching and wearing down my better sense to stay awake, I ask around to MP and TC, think MSDNS would care if I went to bed? I don’t want dinner I want sleep! Now yes, you’re right a 29 year old well educated jack ass is asking if she can go to sleep at this point in our adventure. And surprise, surprise, the answer is a passive aggressive “no”. Fortunately, dinner is made, thusly affording me the opportunity to make an ass of myself (“It’s like sitting on an atom bomb, waiting for it to explode.”) With inhibitions worn down by sleep and such minor human contact, I jump right in at the table, noticing three people I have not met (note they are all male and the males live upstairs…cue creepy music) Two are Indian, and one looks like he went too far into the emo scene and may be on the verge of killing himself any minute. Well, he looks like he’s just waiting for someone else to do it, as he has given up so much already. Poor, sad white boy with a mac, iphone, shelter and a fucking chef. Dinner continues in silence and I can no longer hold in my jackassery, so I ask in what probably sounded like a female Forrest Gump, “Hi! I don’t know you, what’s your name?”. This at least briefly gets people talking. And whether it’s MG, TC or someone I already know plus the three new people, well, they all introduce themselves and then, we go all the way around the table and viola, we get to MSDNS. The real me can no longer take it. I am possessed by the demon that is myself and say to MSDNS, “And you are?”, jokingly. MSDNS has so much energy about him that he has no time for humor. I am scolded at the table with something to the effect of, “In theez beezneez, vwe try not to tease each other. It requires great discipline. Eet iz bvery special that I am eating with you all today.” No one laughs. I have to bite the inside of my mouth to keep it together and then change the subject so I don’t linger on his unfounded self importance and if he is so great, why is he eating chicken, rice and salad with his hands.

So let’s all get on the same page, you cant talk around him, he cant open doors for himself, he can openly complain about the chef’s cooking with her three feet away, someone else gets him salsa and puts it on his plate like a baby, and it’s my honor to sit with you and watch you eat like a savage. Yes. Thank you. Thank you for the wonderful fodder this is making as an article. Thank you, MSDNS for this energy transmission.

Langniappe crap: this man has no sense of humor because people laugh at his ‘jokes’ when they are not funny. Wesley Willis on his worst day had a better sense of reality. Did I mention ladies and gents, that this gem of a man is taken? Oh yeah! Off the market! Going to celebrate his marriage at a ‘retreat’ on 11-11-11 (creepy music again) where a fortunate few who have purchased “get fucked in the ass” tickets get a real live energy transmission AND to be in his presence. Also, when you read or say energy transmission, doesn’t that just sound like a Star Trek geek’s way of saying, “ejaculate”… just think of it man.

UPDATE: since the ‘scientist’ I am supposed to speak with about being a science liaison will not be here on the 4th as he thought (the scientist, not MSDNS for he senses all), I get to fly to sunny, warm NYC on November 20th. As long as it’s on someone else’s dime and I get this ridiculous story out of it, who am I to complain? Whine and make fun of people—yes, but complain? Absolutely not!

Deep thoughts: MSDNS reminds me of Thierry Guetta, the French dude from Exit through the Giftshop. “Los Angeles: where crazies get the green light.”

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