HOME    L.A. Misérables Series   I    II     IV    V    VI

Excerpts from

"LA Misérables, Three:

What the Hell Was I Thinking?"

DAY 495 - JULY 20TH, 1997

I am really getting this desperate? I actually found myself looking through the personals section of the Los Angeles Times. No success. Through a process of elimination I was able to eliminate either the woman or myself from consideration in just about each and very ad.

"Let’s see…. Hmmmm… this one says she has ‘old fashioned values’… Naw, that means at least six months before I’d get laid and oral sex… well, maybe never… I can’t wait that long…. I already have some sperm that are so old they’re wearing leisure suits, platform shoes, bell-bottoms and dancing to Bee Gee’s music.

What’s this? ‘Looking for a man who appreciates someone who’s beautiful on the inside’… that means that ‘if you can see past my homely exterior, I’m really a nice person’… No thank you. You don’t need a boyfriend, you need an X-ray technician…

This woman writes that she has ‘beautiful hair’… and there’s no description of her face… You don’t have to be Herculé Poirot to recognize that this is the equivalent of saying ‘she’s a good dancer’ or ‘she’s got a great personality’… the ol’ ‘fake left, go right’ slight of hand… Translation: she’s ugly.

How about this one?… ‘seeking successful man’ who’s ‘financially secure’… Do I qualify? I have a bottle of shampoo on lay-away. Does that answer the question?

What’s this one say?…‘height-weight proportionate’… to what? A bulldozer?… A building?… A gorilla? I need her to be much more specific…

This bachelorette is ‘looking for her dream guy’… I can be her ‘dream guy’… I’ll be gone when she wakes up. Ha ha ha….

What else do we have here? This woman is looking for a ‘baby-faced man’… What does that mean, ‘baby faced’?… She wants someone who’s bald, toothless and drooling?…

This one claims to have a ‘fair complexion’… Does that mean she’s pale and pasty or that she has something less than a ‘good’ complexion?… I’m not willing to take that chance.

Hmmm… This one claims to be an ‘outdoors type’… Ya, so’s the Sasquatch. Next.

How bout this one? She’s ‘plump and ripe’… I’m not a migrant farm worker, so I guess I won’t be picking her….

Let’s see… This one explicitly wants ‘no baggage’ and ‘no hang-ups’… She doesn’t need a man. What she needs is more closet space…

Here’s one of the many that ‘likes long walks’… Good, that will save me the trouble of driving her home after we’re done having sex… Tell the truth ladies, the only walk you’re interested in is from the back of the church to the alter.

Here’s a woman that describes herself as ‘full figured’… which is another way of saying that she has a body like the Underdog balloon in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Ummmm…. This one says she’s ‘high maintenance, but worth it’… That’s a concession you’d make for a Lamborghini, not a girlfriend. Cross her out.

Here’s one that’s ‘cultured’… What’s her name, Pearl? (chuckle) How shellfish of me.

What’s this one say? Oh. Yet another woman looking for her ‘soul-mate.’ Is that how Gladys Knight met the Pips?

I give up. Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.

 

DAY 503 - JULY 28TH, 1997

You have got to be shitting me. There is a girl that I used to take out occasionally and I haven’t seen her for years but she has been calling me all the time lately for the last month or so and is dying to see me. I called her last night, told her that I just arrived in town and asked when she’d like to get together. Without hesitation she said, "I can’t wait to see you. I haven’t been with anyone for a real long time and I’m really looking forward to spending some time with you. How about tomorrow night? Is that too soon?"

"Not soon enough! Tomorrow night it is. The only problem is, I don’t have a car to use so I’ll make a deal with you… If you pick me up, I’ll take you to dinner."

"That sounds great, Paul! I’ll be there at 6:30. I can’t wait to see you."

Yes! This is it! Finally! I called up Mitch in Los Angeles. "Mitch, I finally have a date! This girl told me how lonely she is! She’s been calling me all the time. She wants it… BAD! She is HOT baby! I’m finally gonna get laid! Let the pigeons loose! Release the balloons! Sound the trumpets! Light the fireworks! She is so horny and she can’t wait to see me! Believe me, this is a sure thing! Money in the bank! I’m finally gonna get laid!"

I got up early this morning and gave it a little extra during my workout. I kept telling myself, "C’mon Paul! One more rep! Force it! It will be worth all the pain when she grabs your upper arm and feels your triceps when you’re on top of her! C’mon! Make it hurt! Now some curls… benches… dips… rows… lats… flies… don’t forget the stomach crunches!… what the hell, a couple more stomach crunches…it’s worth it… "

I got ready… trimmed my moustache… shaved… clipped my nails… took a long, hot shower… soaped up body, giving particular attention to my intimate areas… carefully blow-dried my hair… put in some gel till it was just right… froze it in place with some mega-hold spray… slapped on some cologne… brushed my teeth, twice… flossed… gargled… flexed and checked out my triceps in the mirror… put on some good clothes…no, not good enough… changed the outfit twice more… checked the hair again… perfect. I’m ready! This is it baby! You’re a love machine! I wondered if it would be rude of me if I answered the door naked and said, "I wanted to see what you were wearing before I got dressed." No, no, no… stay cool. I know it’s been a long, long time but don’t ruin a sure thing you idiot. I was dancing around the apartment singing Staying Alive from Saturday Night Fever in my head as I anxiously kept looking at my watch every thirty seconds or so.

DING-DONG. Fuck! She’s here. I’m thinking, "Who knows… we might not even make it out of the apartment. I have the warhead armed on my heat seeking missile and it’s on the launching pad as I start the countdown to ecstasy. I might just rip her clothes off right here, throw her down and do it on the floor behind the door… and then on the kitchen table… and then on the couch in the living room… and then in the bedroom… then on the weight bench… It’s obvious what she wants, and I’m gonna give it to her… good. OK… OK, Paul. Stay cool. Don’t look too anxious. You want to make her think that this kind of thing happens to you all the time. Be cool. It’ll happen. She needs it as bad as you do."

5 - 4 - 3 - 2 -… I opened the door. There she was… And right behind her… was her four and a half year old son.

"Mommy!! I want some more juice! I want some more juice, NOW!!!!"

"Bzzzz Bzzzz Bzzzz…. ABORT TAKEOFF!! ABORT TAKEOFF!! Bzzzz Bzzzz Bzzzz…."

"Hi, Paul."

I wish someone had a camera to record the stunned look on my face… kind of like the look that Lee Harvey Oswald had when Jack Ruby stepped out of the crowd in Texas and pointed a loaded handgun at his gut. "Oh, hi."

Zippppp… The kid rushed past me into the apartment like a Tazmanian Devil on diet pills after three double espressos. I ran in, right behind him.

"Can I play with your computer? Huh, can I play with your computer?"

"No… no… get away from that computer!… You’ll erase my life’s work… don’t touch that button! Not THAT button! Get the juice away from the keyboard! Don’t spill the juice!… that’s a mouse, not a Matchbox car, be careful with it! Don’t tug on that wire! Easy! You’re gonna pull the wire out! Let go of the mouse!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! My mommy lets me play with her computer! Whaaaaaaaaa!!!! Mommy, the man’s being mean to me! Whaaaaaaaaa!!!!!"

Zippppp… He took off for the living room and tried to take my prized collection of Franklin Mint cars off of the wall unit.

"Hey! Hey! Put that back! That’s very expensive! It’s not a toy! It’s fragile! Put that back! Those doors aren’t supposed to open that far! You’re gonna break it! Don’t bend that antenna! That’s expensive!! Be gentle with it!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaa!!! Mommy! I want to play with the cars! Whaaaaaaaa!!!! Mommy, can have this one? I want one of the cars!!! I want this one!! He won’t let me have it!! I want it!!!!"

"You can’t have it, it’s mine."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!! I want one!! Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!"

Zippppp… He’s heading toward my guitars. TWANGGGGGGGGGG!!! TWANNNGGGGG!!!!!! TWANNNNGGGGGGGGG!!!! TWANGGGGGGGGGG!!! TWANNGGGG!!!!!!!

"Hey! Be careful! You’re going to knock them over! Not so hard! You have to be careful with those! They’re not drums, don’t bang on them like that! They cost a lot of money!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaa!!! I want to play with them! Why can’t I play with them? Whaaaaaaaaaa!!!! TWANNNGGGGG!!!!! Whaaaaaaaaa!!!! TWANGGGGGGGGGG!!!"

Zippppp… He running into my bedroom and sprinting right for the stereo rack. What kind of a sick sitcom episode is this turning out to be?"

"Hey! That’s a very expensive stereo! You shouldn’t touch that! You’ll bust it! Don’t twist that knob so hard! No, that isn’t supposed to come off! Give that knob to me! Don’t throw it behind the bureau! Shit! Get the juice away from the receiver!! That’s a white rug… you got grape juice on the white rug! Don’t push those buttons like that!! Leave them alone!!! Fuck!!"

"Whaaaaaaaaaa!!! Mommy! He’s yelling at me! Whaaaaaaaaaa!!!!! The man swore at me!! He said the F-word!! Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!"

"Tell him to leave the stereo alone!!!"

"Oh don’t worry, Paul. He’ll get sick of it once he breaks it…

C’mon, Uncle Paul’s going to take us out to dinner! C’mon, let’s go! If you’re good, we’ll go for an ice cream cone."

"I WANT ICE CREAM NOW! Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!"

We ended up eating hot dogs in some Chuck E. Cheese place filled with screaming kids. Well, they ate… I had to be spoon fed and needed the food wiped from the corners of my mouth because I sat there in a hypnotic, catatonic trance, staring unfocused and straight ahead, oblivious to the confusion around me, muttering under my breath, "I’m never gonna get laid, am I?" over and over and over again.

I was home at nine o’clock… alone.

Thank God.

 

DAY 551 -SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1997

Remember that stupid questionnaire that I filled out and mailed in for the video dating service? Big mistake. A representative called me and said, "Paul, this is whoever from so-and-so dating service and I’m looking at the personal profile that you sent us… Are you interested in meeting intelligent, professional women in your area? We have over 7000 members in the greater Los Angeles area alone, half of which are beautiful, successful women who are dying to meet someone like you… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah…."

"Listen, before you waste your breath and go any farther, how much is this going to cost me?"

"The cost is a small price to pay to meet dozens of rich, horny, professional women who crave a man and live within five miles of your home…"

"How much is it going to cost me?"

"Our fees are competitive within the industry and much less in the long-run than, say, the price of hiring a comparable call-girl or jerking off on a 1-900 sex-line… so let me go on…"

"Please, how much is this all going to cost?"

"All this will cost you to join is an initial $200 deposit… that’s all. Just $200 down to have access to hundreds of pillow-chested, sex-starved, moist, virgin, kinky, co-ed sluts who are looking for a man just like…"

"Whoa! Hold on! Why can’t you tell me how much it’s going to cost?

"As I said, if you put just $200 down…"

"Are you a car salesman? I put $200 down, then what? How much after that? Are there monthly payments? Is it a one-time fee? Can’t you tell me? Is there a price list?… Do you charge by the pound?… Is it like a taxi? Do you keep a meter running while I’m out on the date?… Do you offer a flat-rate, like a long-distance service, 10 cents a minute? No charge if she’s busy?… Is it like renting a car? Can I get a girl with unlimited mileage? Is ‘ugly insurance’ available for an additional fee? Is there a weekend rate? If I want, can I upgrade to a better model?… Do you give rebates if the girl has a bad-hair night or gained weight since she recorded her video?… Do you auction the women off? Do we bid? Is that how you determine the cost?… Do you have specials on women that aren’t being asked out very often?… Do you have a warranty like Federal Express, "She’s absolutely guaranteed to be there overnight!"?… How about discounts on defective girls? You know, do you take a few bucks off if the woman you choose has a drug problem or has hang-ups because her perverted uncle Lester used to whip-out "Mr. Happy" when he baby-sat? … Do you have irregular merchandise? Women who have one arm longer than the other or ladies who lean to the left a little? … Do you work on commission? Do you only get paid a percentage of my cost for dinner if I get lucky?… Do you have sales, like, "This week, all office workers and clerical staff 25% off" or "From 5:00 to 6:00 redheads are 2 for 1 during happy hour!" Do you do that?… Why can’t you tell me how much it’s going to cost? Do you thieves make the price up as you go along?"

"Sir, if you insist on being difficult…"

"Being difficult? You’re being evasive! I asked you a simple question! I don’t trust anyone who can’t give me a straight answer when I ask how much this is going to cost me!"

"Sir, I understand you’re tense… it’s obviously been a long time since you got laid or else you wouldn’t have contacted us in the first place. If you could just calm down long enough to understand that cost is unimportant when we have literally thousands of uninhibited, cock-hungry, clean-shaved, sperm-swallowing, bi-sexual nymphomaniacs who love it in the ass and have been asking for you by name…"

(click)

 

DAY 552 -SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1997

(Early this morning… just as I feared…)

(ringggggg)

"Hello…"

"Hi, this is someone else from so-and-so dating service and I heard that you had a little problem with one of our representatives."

"I don’t have a problem… You have a problem because you’re so deceptive about discussing your fees that I can’t trust you people. So, if it’s not top-secret, classified information, why don’t you tell me… just how much does it cost?"

"Let’s put it this way, sir… If you consider the typical price you pay, going into clubs looking for a date, only to be continually disappointed in the quality of women that you’re meeting, relatively speaking, our costs are comparative to, say …"

(click)

(ringggggg)

"… for an insignificant preliminary deposit of only two hun…"

(click)

(ringggggg)

"…Pussy! Listen, we have pussy!! Don’t hang up! Admit it, you’re a lonely loser and we’re your only hope!! How much would a washout like you be willing to pay for willing, hot, youn…"

(click)

 

DAY 384 - MARCH 31ST, 1997

My friend George is finally settling down and getting married in May. Tonight he is coming to my parent’s house for lobsters with his fiancé, Anchalee. Before dinner I briefed my parents on the pronunciation of her name based on a past experience I had when they met a friend of mine named Isa.

"Mom and Dad, this is Isa. It’s like Lisa without the L… three letters, I-S-A… Isa. Very simple."

They called her everything but her actual name… Elsa… Lisa… Ilsa… Enid… Elsie… Iris… Edna… Ida… Inga… Edie… Eva… Igor… and my father’s famous "Eee-mmphhphhh…" trailing off into him turning his head and clearing his throat with a cough.

George’s fiancé is a lovely girl of Asian descent who was raised in the United States but recently lived in Malaysia. During dinner I would catch bits and pieces of my father making conversation with her…

"When I was in the Marines I almost got shipped out to Korea…"

"I used to work with a guy who was Cambodian…"

"We got drunk on sake on night…"

"I’ll tell you… that Jackie Chan is something else…"

"I have to admit… Toyota makes a hell of a car…"

"I like the appetizers, but Beef Chow Yoke is my favorite…"

After we ate, I said to Anchalee, "Isn’t my father a great guy?"

She said, "Ya, he sure is… next he’s gonna ask me if I want some ‘Flied Lice’…" Hey, she’s funny.

By the way, my parents played it safe and referred to Anchalee as "honey."

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