Politicians and Prostitutes

Oh, Mr. Spitzer, thanks for once more drawing us all into the scandalous mix of prostitution and politics.

Sometimes it seems like prostitution and politicians go hand in hand. Almost 100 years ago we had the courtesan Mata Hari trying to take out the French for the Germans.

Fast forward to the debacle of Marion Barry, the prostitute and a crack pipe. Then we had Bathroom Gate with Larry Craig and his toe tapping escapade.

And now we've got Kristen, the call girl from the Emperor's Club having a hand in the downfall of New York Governor, Eliot Spitzer.

I know you've read ad nauseum about how Spitzer was "Client 9" (which to me sounds sort of like it should be the name of a British electro-pop boy band). But instead, Client 9 is, governor or not, just another skeevy guy who's been catting around on his wife with a prostitute.

He looked so unrepentant as he "apologized" yesterday, the wife he wronged standing next to him looking like she'd just been hit by a semi truck. I really do feel terrible for her. I wanted to take off my earrings and grease my cheeks with Vaseline on her behalf. And she must know that since her husband's a politician, not a ball player, there's no $4 million dollar Kobe Bryant guilt ring coming her way.

Unfortunately, I think we're used to politicians cheating. In the past year, L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa cheated on his wife with a Telemundo reporter. His wife left him, and he subsequently broke up with the reporter. And no one in L.A. is vocally calling for his resignation. In fact, Villaraigosa's been out campaigning for Hillary Clinton.

If we skate up to the Bay Area, we have San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom cheating with his (now former) campaign manager's wife. I think folks up there were a little tougher on Gavin, but he's still in office.

In case you think it's a California thing, let's not forget that the King of Political Infidelity, Bill Clinton, cheated multiple times. Yes, Clinton got impeached, but he finished his term. No one said, "Step down in 48 hours or else."

I really think people are really in an extra tizzy because Spitzer's infidelity is with a hooker. We don't like the idea of anyone paying a woman $4000 for sex.

And can someone tell me what exactly you get when you pay that much money to a prostitute? That must be some gold-plated sex right there.

Actually, don't tell me. I think it's better if I don't know. I'll just content myself with wondering how many of the outraged love the film "Pretty Woman".

I'm Weird, I'm Random. And You Are Too!

It's been a hot second since I've been tagged with any memes. But, thanks to Mes Deux Cents, I can once more reflect on the myriad ways I'm weird and random.

Come take a trip down the path to oddball central:

1) One of my childhood nicknames was "Batwings". My mom would braid my hair into two cute pigtails on the sides of my head. Inevitably, some hair in the front on both sides would escape from the braids and it would flop up and down as I moved. My siblings decided it looked like batwings, so I became "Batwings". Lucky me, right?

They also sometimes called me "Hefty Trash Bag" -- but I don't remember how that one got started so I can't tell you that story. Sister, dear, if you're reading, care to chime in?

Hmm. Speaking of sisters...

2) I had a pet worm named Henrietta. She was slimy. She was fun. I chopped her in half just to be sure that both halves really would stay alive. (They did.) One day my family was doing yard work and I was happily playing with Henrietta. My sister was bending over, pulling weeds and the back of her jeans was gaping open. I just couldn't resist: I dropped Henrietta down the back of my sister's pants. My sister screamed, she wriggled, she grabbed a broom and tried to smack me with it. In my quest to elude the broom, I ran, full speed, into the clothesline pole and knocked myself out.

I was, of course, savvy enough to momentarily "come to" long enough to lie and say that my sister pushed me into the pole. I suppose that lie could be where my moral failings for always wanting to have the last word and get revenge first began.

3) I kept a bug box. As a child, I liked to catch bugs and observe them in the box. I wanted to know what exactly would a spider and an ant do in the box together? I knew, but I had to see the ant get eaten to really believe it would happen.

I particularly liked catching Japanese beetles because my mom told me they were killing her rose bushes. I wanted to be a helpful child so I'd catch the beetles and then set the box in the hot sun. It only took an hour or so for them to burn to a crisp. I'd document the various stages of roasting in an "observation notebook".

Oddly enough, I'm now terrified of bugs and can't even stand seeing them.

4) I once ate an entire box of Twinkies. My brother was acquiring money through nefarious means and bought a gigantic box of Twinkies with some of his loot. There must have been two dozen Twinkies in the box and he hid the box in his room. My eight year-old self was rooting around in his stuff and discovered the box. I'd never had a Twinkie before since my mom was a health food nut. We didn't have anything with sugar in our house at all. So, I decided to try one. And another. And another...and another.

Before too long, I'd eaten every single Twinkie and felt like I was going to throw up. But, the best part was that even though my brother was furious that I'd eaten all his Twinkies, he couldn't tell on me since that would have raised questions about what he was doing to get the money to buy the Twinkies in the first place.

I've never had another Twinkie since then.

5) I paid $75 to live in a filthy Phi Kappa Sigma frat house for a month. Between my junior and senior year in college I moved off campus with a girl that I thought I knew. But I quickly found out she was sort of psycho.

She'd compulsively pull her hair out, eat tons of food and then announce that she was going to go make herself throw up. I just could not deal with watching her devour three boxes of ice cream sandwiches and then hearing her retch into the toilet. She'd even say stuff like, "Excuse me, I have to go throw this up!" After a month of that, I was desperate! I had to move out!

I knew the one black guy who was in Phi Kap and he said he'd give me a room for $75 for the rest of the summer. It was a total deal for my broke self. But, that frat house was so filthy that I'd walk a mile to the 24-hour Burger King to use the bathroom. Needless to say, I never ever took a shower there. Instead, I showered at the gym...which also meant I was exercising every single day. Damn, I was in GREAT shape that summer.

6) I used to interview strangers on El platforms with a mini-cassette recorder. I developed a "Question of the Day" and then I'd go ask random strangers these questions. I'd record their responses and write down random facts about the person. I'd ask about everything from favorite eateries to views on OJ Simpson.

I always planned to make a book out of it all. I've actually thought about doing something similar here in LA, but I think I'm a little more safety conscious nowadays. Yeah, these days I'm more wary about rolling up on random strangers and asking them, "If you had to choose the way you'd die, what would it be?"

7) I can make myself dream about people I'm very close to. If I concentrate on the person I want to dream about when I'm saying my prayers before I go to bed, I'll dream about them. Sometimes I'll just see them somewhere but I can't talk to them. It's like I'm watching them just do the things they do in their day to day life. Other times though, I can have conversations with the person I'm dreaming about. Sometimes I can't remember what we talked about, but when I can, it's always stuff I later find out to be true.

I found out that a college boyfriend was cheating on me through one of these dream conversations. He told me all about his cheating, told me he was planning on having breakfast with this other girl the next morning, and told me the location of the rendezvous.

So, I got up, went directly to the restaurant and guess who was there!

Yep. Busted!

So, that's seven weird and random things about me. Hopefully you haven't been scared away from reading this blog. I know you have at least seven things that are weird and random in your past.

I haven't tagged anyone in awhile and I'm supposed to pick seven people. So, I'll pick:

1) Mamita Umita
2) Nerd Girl
3) Ian at Or So I Thought
4) West
5) Dena at Ready, Set, Blog
6) Jess at Under Construction
7) Jameil at Unabashedly Me

I look forward to coming over to see how you all are each weird and random!

Could You Tell It Was Veteran's Day Today?

I sat in a cafe this afternoon and wondered if anyone in the place was a veteran.

After all, today is Veteran's Day.

Something like 25% of LA's homeless population is comprised of veterans. Clearly though, not every veteran is living over on Skid Row in abject poverty. Those ones that decided they didn't want to rack up the savings at Macy's awesome Veteran's Day Sale were probably getting all the recognition they needed at trendy little cafe's with profound names like "Intelligentsia".

I'll admit, there were no signs in the cafe proclaiming, "Thank you, Veterans, for risking your lives so we can enjoy our $4 lattes."

There weren't even any, "Free coffee if you got a cap busted in your ass somewhere overseas!" signs.

But maybe a couple of vets came into the cafe before I did and told them to take the signs down because they didn't want to draw too much attention to themselves. They probably wanted to sip that $4 latte and discuss the writer's strike in anonymity.

Yes, they must not have wanted to call too much attention to themselves, even though it's technically Veteran's Day.

I'm sure the tattooed up guys sitting across from me poring over photo shoot proofs probably just got back from Iraq.

The woman who seemed like she'd forgotten to put on a bra had to have been chasing Osama in Afghanistan this time last year. She was probably risking her life in barren terrain, so she should have the luxury to yap into her cell phone about how her boyfriend is an, "F-ing cheater," but she can't leave yet because the, "Sex is sooo hot. Like every night!"

Yes, even though I couldn't tell at all that it was Veteran's Day today, that doesn't mean the veterans around me felt at all slighted or unappreciated.

I'm sure they just were glad to have a day off to relax, shop, sip coffee and be cool...just like me.

Possessed by the Santa Ana Winds

I'm watching news coverage of the fifteen fires that are at this moment raging through Southern California. Right now they're showing live footage of a trailer park in Santa Clarita that just started burning fifteen minutes ago. I can make out a lone fireman holding a hose on flames that are being blown by the gusting Santa Ana winds. It just looked like he had to run for his life as the flames came rushing towards him.

I am terribly afraid of fire. When my apartment building caught on fire this past spring I totally freaked and had nightmares about being trapped in a burning building for a few weeks afterwards.

Fire isn't picky. It doesn't matter if you live in a trailer or a Malibu castle, all those memories and cherished possessions will burn. My heart goes out to the hundreds of thousands of people that have been evacuated so far.

But there's something that has weighed on my mind today more than anything else. More than flames, more than the hot dry winds of the devil. It's something that makes me feel ill, sick to my stomach, and profoundly sad.

I was visiting someone today that I've known very well for several years. And, while she was out of the room, her husband started asking me questions about my workout regimen. I told him about my love affair with Violet Zaki tapes and jogs at the park. Then he said, "You look really good. Really strong."

"Okay. Um. Thanks." I was immediately on my guard. I felt a weird vibe in the way he said it, in the way he was looking at me.

Then he reached out, rubbed my arm, told me I looked sexy and asked, "So when can I take you out?"

I tried to make a joke. I said something like, "Hah hah. You're too funny. But I'm so busy, I have no time to go out anywhere."

Laughing uncomfortably when nothing is funny, when all I wanted to say was, "What the fuck is your problem?"

Surely I was wrong about what I was experiencing with this man while his wife, who I love and respect immeasurably, was out of the room? But no, he tried to grab on my arm again and said, "At least let me take you out to coffee."

I pulled my arm away and replied, "I quit drinking coffee last year after my brother's suicide."

He didn't give up. "So let me take you to dinner then. You like Italian food, right?"

I answered that the next time I go out for Italian food it'll be with my husband. I kept talking. Rambling, really as I elaborated on my husband by sharing, "You should see how in shape he is now! He's gone from a 34 waist to a 30 since February!" I kept on talking about my husband and how he needs to take me out on a date sometime soon. I tried to keep it light, tried to make sense of what I was experiencing, and then, praise God, a few seconds later, the wife came back.

I talked to her for a couple more minutes and then made up a lie so I could escape. She was wreathed in smiles, no worry in her eyes as she gave me a warm hug goodbye. No sign of having overhead the horrible words I'd just heard.

Hours later, I feel so personally violated. And what am I supposed to say the next time she asks me to come over and visit? I truly admire this woman and it just breaks my heart because I'm sure this can't be the first time her husband has pulled some crap like this.

I can't make any sense of it. I can only think that this misguided husband has been possessed by the Santa Ana winds, the Santana winds.

Yes, he must be possessed by the winds of Satan. Otherwise, what would cause him to behave in such a way?