THE TWO HERMIONES

My wife and I grabbed dinner the other night at a local LA eatery called “Grub”.  As we finished our meal and were waiting for the waitress to return with our credit card, in walked 2 women dressed in full Harry Potter regalia.  Each donned a black cloak and Gryffindor striped scarf and tie. That night, I happened to be wearing a blue and gold striped cardigan sweater that was eerily reminiscent of the Gryffindor garb, albeit with one different color.  I immediately felt their eyes on me wondering whether I was one of them. I did not meet these women, but here is the conversation we had while in the restaurant.

HERMIONE #1: Excuse me.  Are you going to the meeting?

ME: What meeting? 

HERMIONE #1: Oh.  Our mistake.  We thought you might be a fellow wizard.

HERMIONE #2: You mean YOU thought he might be a wizard.  It’s because she’s colorblind.  Clearly those colors are not Gryffindor colors.  I knew you were either an imposter or just someone who likes striped sweaters.

ME: Turns out it’s just the sweater thing.  I know zero magic.  Not even the quarter behind the ear trick.  So what meeting are you going to?

HERMIONE #1: It’s a dramatic reading of the final book of the Harry Potter series. 

ME: That sounds awesome…and also incredibly time consuming.  Isn’t that book like 900 pages?

HERMIONE #2: 784 actually.  Look - we’re really not supposed to be discussing this people like you.

ME: People like me?  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

HERMIONE #1: She means muggles. 

ME: Muggles?  So you’re saying because I am have non-magical blood that I can’t go to your little reading. 

HERMIONE #2: That’s what we’re saying.

ME: That’s racist.  You two are racists. 

HERMIONE #2: We’re not racists.  It’s just a very exclusive organization with very strict rules.

ME: Oh well that makes it ok.  I have this thing at my country club anyway.  Mitzy and Fluffy are waiting for me.

HERMIONE #1: How droll.

HERMIONE #2: What if I use my invisibility cloak?  I can sneak him in and nobody will be the wiser.

HERMIONE #1: If you want to do that, that’s on you.  I’m not getting in trouble with Dumbledore for this.

HERMIONE #2: I’ll take that risk.  What do you say?

ME: Well I would love to see what this is all about.  And I HAVE always wanted to be invisible.  On the other hand, I’ve never read any of the books and I kind of don’t want to ruin the next movie by knowing what happens.  I think I’ll pass.  Thanks though.

(Immediately after making that statement, I was transformed into a snail)

WOMAN DRIVING NEXT TO ME IN TRAFFIC

Driving home from work at approximately 6:15pm the other day, there was a considerable amount of traffic. As my mind wandered while listening to “This American Life”, my pinkie finger wandered up my right nostril and attempted to dislodge something that was clearly not supposed to be there. During my attempted excavation, I happened to glance to my left and see a woman sitting in her SUV looking directly at me. I did not meet this woman, but here is the conversation we had while sitting in traffic on Barham Blvd. 



ME: It’s a perfectly normal thing to do.  Everybody picks their nose. Just like everybody poops.

DRIVER: I didn’t say anything.

ME: No.  But you were staring. And judging. Staring with your eyes and then judging with your eyes. You have very judgmental eyes.  

DRIVER: I’m a judge. 

ME: Like with a robe and gavel?  Do you have your gavel with you?  I would carry it on my person like a concealed weapon.

DRIVER: I have a travel gavel that I keep in my purse.  It’s a novelty thing.  Doesn’t make a very loud sound but it’s fun at parties.

ME: So tell me Your Honor…what do you do if you have to pick your nose when you’re on the bench? 

DRIVER: I hold it in. 

ME: Hold it in?  Like you do with pee?

DRIVER: Yea.  You never HAVE to pick your nose that bad.

ME: Sure you do.  Nostril blockage is not something to be taken lightly.  If it clogs your airway, that will prevent oxygen from reaching to your brain, resulting in brain damage – or worse.

DRIVER: I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a booger.

ME: Well it hasn’t happened yet. But all it takes is one occurrence and then the whole world will change their collective mind about looking down on those who extract unwanted particles from their nose with their digits.

DRIVER: I think that’s the part that grosses people out. If you didn’t put your fingers up your nose and then use those same fingers to touch things that everyone touches, then people would be more forgiving.

ME: Funny you should mention that – I’m actually developing an apparatus that you carry around with you and use instead of your fingers. It is not only more sanitary but more efficient in performing the task. You could put in your purse right next to your travel gavel. 

DRIVER: What if you made them look like different things so people wouldn’t be so embarrassed to carry them around?  If you made one that looked like a gavel, I would certainly buy it.

ME: “Your nostrils demand justice!” I like it.

MAN AT BORDERS WITH THE TERRIBLE B.O.

Back at Borders for another encounter with a book buying patron (see my first entry ever for the original Borders encounter). This time I was in the travel section planning a trip to a far off land. While perusing a book on Peru – a perfectly clean looking gentleman walked halfway down the aisle and began looking at some domestic travel guides. The man emitted a most foul and unpleasant odor that could only be described as mutant B.O. I did not meet this man, but here is the conversation we had in the travel section at Borders.

ME: I’m trying to find a diplomatic way to tell you something, but I am struggling to come up with a non-offensive way to tell you about your dubious offense.

BO: What if I said you could tell me and I wouldn’t get offended?

ME: Can you give me a guarantee?

BO: I can. But how good is a man’s word if you’ve never met the man?

ME: It’s not very good at all.

BO: I don’t know what to tell you then.

ME: OK. I’m just going to say it. If you hit me in the face then I guess my face will get hit. Just warning you though – I am a bleeder.

BO: Duly noted.

ME: You do not smell pleasant. In fact you smell terrible. Like you haven’t washed for an extended period of time and perhaps have been participating in athletic activities.

BO: I’d first like to say that I am not going to strike you.

ME: Whew!

BO: Secondly, I’d like to thank you for pointing out that I have offended you with my odor. And thirdly, I would like to let you know that I know that I smell.

ME: You know you smell?

BO: Of course. What am I hard of smelling?

ME: If you know you smell then why don’t you do something about it?

BO: I am conducting a sociological experiment. I stopped showering 19 days ago and was waiting until someone was kind enough or perhaps mean enough to tell me that I smell. Today I will go home and wash because of you.

ME: Wow. I’m the first one to tell you? Is that a good thing?

BO: That’s for you to decide. Did you tell me out of intolerance for the smell or to help a brother out and let him know what he might not know?

ME: I don’t know really. I almost vomited when I smelled you. So I suppose it was more selfish.

BO: It would seem. Although you could have just walked away. Don’t be too hard on yourself.

ME: Thanks…So what other experiments have you conducted?

BO: Oh I just keep doing this one over and over again. Been doing it for about 10 years now. I do it for the research. But mostly because it turns my wife on. She loves the stench. Gets her horny like a rhino.

ME: Holy shit. Really? And you’re ok with that.

BO: That’s love man. Smelly kinky messed up love.

ME: That’s beautiful.

SMOKER ON THE AVENUE

Standing on the west side of the avenue upon which I live, there is an older gentleman who is perpetually smoking a cigarette. It does not matter what time of day or what type of weather – he is ALWAYS there. And he is also always standing just barely in the street. Not so far that you have to swerve around him, but close enough where you think you might clip him. I have not met this man, but here is the conversation we had on the side of my street.

ME: Nice day huh?

SMOKER: No nicer then any other day. Every day is about the same. Adequate.

ME: It’s good to have a steady outlook like that. What’s that they say? “Keep your expectations low and you will never be disappointed.”

SMOKER: Never disappointed. Always disappointed. No difference.

ME: I live just down the street. Don’t know if you’ve ever noticed me. But I have noticed that you are out here a lot.

SMOKER: That is a true statement.

ME: I always see you out here smoking is what I’m saying. And I was curious as to how many cigarettes you smoke in a day.

SMOKER: Just the one.

ME: You’re out here like 24 hours a day. You’re telling me you only smoke one cigarette.

SMOKER: 22 hours. And yes.

ME: Is that humanly possibly?

SMOKER: I light it once every hour. Take a puff. Extinguish the flame. Hold the smoke in my mouth for 45 minutes or so. Exhale. Wait 15 minutes. Then repeat.

ME: Why on earth would you do that?

SMOKER: Got to think about my health. Don’t want to be getting lung cancer now do I.

ME: That is a tremendous amount of restraint. I am thoroughly impressed sir.

SMOKER: Not as impressive as killing a man with your bare hands.

ME: Interesting response.

SMOKER: Interesting is the most useless word in the English language. Second most useless word in Korean.

ME: Were you in Korea? The war I mean.

SMOKER: I have not killed a man with my bare hands if that is what you are asking. I am not impressive in that respect.

ME: That is not what I was asking. I was just curious because you seem about the right age of a veteran and you mentioned the Korean language.

SMOKER: I once loved a Korean woman very passionately. We did not understand what each other said. But we understood what we felt.

ME: That’s very beautiful. Poetic.

SMOKER: Poetry is for greeting cards and pricks with typewriters.

ME: Well I would call that right there poetry. But I would not put it in a greeting card.

SMOKER: You know I can see you when you shower.

ME: There is no window in my bathroom.

SMOKER: X-ray glasses are real.

A MAN AND HIS BOOMBOX

Sometimes on my way to work I cut down Robertson Blvd to get from Santa Monica to Olympic. This is an area of high-end boutiques, restaurants, and salons. One morning, standing outside one of these yet to open establishments, was a man dancing in front of his boombox. The boombox was blaring some Van Halen circa 1984, and the gentleman was dressed appropriately in David Lee Roth style tights and a headband. I did not meet this man, but this is the conversation we had on Robertson Blvd.

DANCER: (singing) Might as well jump. JUMP!

ME: Van Halen. Nice. I know people say that David Lee Roth is far superior to Sammy Hagar. But to be completely honest – I don’t mind the red rocker at all. I think he gets a bad rap.

DANCER: Who’s Sammy Hagar?

ME: You know. The guy that took over as lead singer after David Lee Roth left the band.

DANCER: That never happened.

ME: Oh. You never heard about that? It was like 20 years ago. Or do you mean you just deny that it ever happened because you are such a Roth fan? You don’t want to acknowledge that the band even existed after that?

DANCER: (singing) Got it bad. Got it bad. Got it bad.

ME: Right. Nice boombox by the way. Is that a cassette player? Can you still get cassettes any more? Remember cassingles?

DANCER: Can I help you with something? I need to start practicing my high leg kicks.

ME: You better stretch out before you do those. Don’t want to pull anything. The groin muscle is a very sensitive thing.

DANCER: Thanks. I stretched earlier. Plus the tights help to hold it all together.

ME: Don’t you feel kind of exposed in them though? Like it’s all out there for everyone to see.

DANCER: Maybe you’re just too self conscious.

ME: Oh I definitely am. I used to wrestle in high school and we had to where these spandex one piece outfits called singlets. Many times I considered the aid of a sock. If you know what I mean.

DANCER: I do know what you mean. And no I don’t stuff.

ME: See I wasn’t even implying or looking. Although now I feel compelled to look at your crotch. That’s a weird feeling. Not completely unnatural. Just weird.

DANCER: (singing) Runnin’ with the devil!

ME: I like the headband. Sometimes I wear a bandana when I work out. Keeps the hair and sweat out of my face. I go with black. I have a red and blue ones but I fear gang violence.

DANCER: Do you wear it over the whole head or as a headband or backwards like Tupac?

ME: Headband. I’ve done the Tupac thing in the past. Usually gets a good laugh.

DANCER: I can see that.

ME: Alright then. I’ll let you get back to it. Rock and/or roll.

THE DEFENDANT

Recently I was selected for jury duty at the Hollywood courthouse and became known simply as juror #5. The case presented to me was that of indecent exposure and a lewd act. We were a hung jury – deadlocked at 9 to 3. The defendant (we’ll call him Jesus because that was his name) did not take the stand and I never heard him speak one word. Therefore, I did not meet this man, but here is the conversation we had outside the courthouse after the case had ended.

ME: I’d just like you to know that I voted not guilty. Not because I necessarily believed that you didn’t do it. But because I didn’t feel that the prosecution proved you were guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

JESUS: Thank you

ME: Now I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not going to ask. In fact, even if you wanted to tell me, I wouldn’t want to know.

JESUS: Ok.

ME: Seriously. Not asking.

JESUS: Alright.

ME:

JESUS:

ME: So did you do it?

JESUS: I did it.

ME: Ah man. Why? Why did you do it? Why would you do that? Why? Why? Whyyyyy? Couldn’t you have lied to me at least? Jesus Jesus (first one with a hard J, second one with an H sound).

JESUS: I felt you deserved the truth.

ME: You’re a very honorable man.

JESUS: Thank you. I pride myself on my honor.

ME: No! You’re not honorable! Come on man. You pulled your thingy out in front of that woman. An unwanted thingy is not honorable.

JESUS: Do you think the court reporter would like to see my thingy?

ME: Let’s just – let’s talk about something else please.

JESUS: Ok

ME: Ummm…Did you happen to use the coffee machine in the waiting room?

JESUS: Yes!

ME: Isn’t that thing awesome?! It’s one of those old school ones that shoots the cup out and then fills it up automatically right in front of you. Really makes you feel like your in a classic crime drama or something.

JESUS: And it was only 45 cents.

ME: I know! And you can get it with sugar and whitener. Like they can’t even legally call it non-dairy creamer or something like that. What the hell is that stuff made of anyway?

JESUS: I have no idea

ME:

JESUS:

ME: You know I can’t do this. I’m sitting here trying to have a conversation with you and all I keep doing is waiting for you to pull ou-

JESUS:

ME: And there it is.

GUY AT THE BAR AT THE SLS HOTEL

While sitting with some friends at the bar in the SLS Hotel this past weekend, the people watching nearly made my head explode. There were slutty women in tiny dresses, old dudes with young girls, guys with white pointy shoes, even Captain Awesome. The list goes on and on. But one man caught my eye. He was wearing a white scarf and had his shirt unbuttoned 2 too many buttons. He was casually leaning against the wall, “reading” a book that was on display next to him. I did not meet this man, but this is the conversation we had at the bar.

SLS: Would you mind terribly not talking to me?

ME: I didn’t even say anything yet.

SLS: Yea I know. But I can tell you want to talk to me. You look needy.

ME: Wow. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think an insult from you would hurt so much. But apparently I crave your acceptance.

SLS: Alright alright. Don’t start crying. You can talk to me. Just don’t make it look like you’re talking to me. And don’t block the view. The ladies need a clear sightline so they can soak it all in.

ME: What ladies?

SLS: All the ladies. Let me guess. You don’t come here very often.

ME: Me? This is my local watering hole. I’m here all the time. 3 nights a week at least.

SLS: Really?

ME: No. I’m usually at home watching House Hunters or playing Rack-O about now.

SLS: You don’t have the style. You don’t have the money. You don’t have the abs. Let me guess – you drove here a compact car? Possibly American?

ME: Well…uhhh…yea. Ford Focus. But it’s only because my other car is in the shop.

SLS: And your other car is?

ME: A 1997 Toyota Rav4.

SLS: Barbie’s SUV.

ME: You know I think maybe I should have taken your advice and not started talking to you earlier. If you don’t mind I’m going to go sulk away in shame right now.

SLS: Look. This scene isn’t for everyone. Just try hanging out somewhere further east.

ME: I almost forgot. I came over here to give you something.

SLS: Look. I am flattered. But I don’t want your number. Not unless you’re about to get DD implants.

ME: Oh it’s not my number. The people over at my table over there – well, we all chipped in and bought you a few buttons.

SLS: Buttons?

ME: You know, for your shirt. We figured your buttons had fallen off, which is why we were being forced to look at your belly button. Oh and the book your “reading” – it’s upside down.