Steve and the Cowboy

I recently visited my friend from college, Steve, in Los Angeles. We had a great time! We even talked him into Disneyland, which is like at the bottom of the list of places you want to go to when you live in L.A.

One of the funniest things about Steve is that he doesn't watch television and doesn't really pay much attention to who sings what or who's in what movie. So, while he lives in L.A., and knows famous people, he has absolutely no idea that they're famous. Here are a few examples:

Example #1 (relayed to me by Patrick):
Steve: My friend, Neil, is on some dance show that I think you like.
Patrick: WHAT DANCE SHOW??
Steve: I think it's called So You Can Dance or something?
Patrick: Are you KIDDING me?? You're friends with 2007 So You Think You Can Dance Third-Place finisher Neil Haskell??????
Steve: I guess so.

Example #2 (after I saw Steve tagged in a facebook photo with one of my favorite actresses, Lizzy Caplan):
Me: Are you seriously in a facebook photo with Lizzy Caplan?
Steve: She's a friend of a friend. How do you know Lizzy?
Me: Are you seriously asking me how I know Lizzy Caplan?

Steve rarely cares when I let him know who these people actually are. But, on this visit, I was finally able to excite him about someone he had encountered in his past, that he didn't know he had encountered. While Steve, my sister, Stacy, and I were lounging around in the Roosevelt hotel lobby, Steve told us a story about something that had happened with him there one night.

It had happened the weekend of the Country Music Awards. Hollywood had been overrun with men in cowboy hats and boots and puffed out chests hanging out with women who were way too pretty to be hanging out with them. It also happened to be Steve's birthday, so he and his friends had gone out for drinks at the Hollywood version of a local dive. Steve, being the generous guy that he is, decided to buy one of the cowboys (let's call him Yosemite Sam because that's who I'm picturing in this story) and his way too pretty girlfriend a drink, stating excitedly, "It's my birthday! I'm buying drinks! I'll buy YOU a drink and YOU a drink!!" Yosemite Sam and PG acted grateful and wished him happy birthday and accepted the drinks. But, then while Steve was in the bathroom, Yosemite Sam exclaimed to the guys next to him (who happened to be Steve's friends), "Can you BELIEVE that guy??"

Now, rightfully, Steve's friends were bothered by this. Here was Steve, nice enough to buy Yosemite Sam and his girl a drink, on his own birthday, which they accepted. But, then the moment, Steve walks away, Yosemite Sam starts badmouthing him? So, they began to call him out on his assholery. Steve, coming back from the bathroom, is wondering why his friends are being mean to his new buddies. And, Steve and his friends leave.

Out on Hollywood Boulevard, Steve and friends are being followed by Yosemite Sam and a disinterested gigantic black man, who is most likely Yosemite Sam's bodyguard and probably has been through this song and dance before, even earlier that night, and who is just kind of lacklusterly watching the scene unfold. Steve's friends had explained to Steve, in the meantime, what Yosemite Sam had said, and now Steve is thinking "what in tarnation is that lily-livered bowlegged varmint thinking?", or so I imagine. So, Steve also starts getting in Yosemite Sam's face. Yosemite Sam is inexplicably hopping mad and throwing gibes at Steve and friends, hoping to insult their patriotism, but not being very good at it. Gibes like, "How many things do you have memorized?" "I bet you can't even name all the states." "My boots cost more than your HOUSE, City F*cks". Steve and his friends just looked at him in blank disbelief. At this point, Yosemite Sam started naming off books of the Bible (to prove how Christian American he is??)...and I mean, not like the ones that we all know, like Genesis and Matthew. Books like "the book of Habbakkuk" and "Zephaniah".

Steve and friends, by this point, have made it to the Roosevelt Hotel and enter it by bypassing the locked side door and going through the back. As Steve's milling around through the hotel, he hears yelling. He goes to the locked side glass door, and there's Yosemite Sam outside on the other side. The door was still locked from the outside, but Steve could have opened it from within. Yosemite Sam starts banging on the glass, yelling "LET US IN!" And Steve, with his face inches away from the glass, yells, "No! You were MEAN to me!" And Yosemite Sam's biscuits were burning. He begins to threaten to kick Steve's ass.

At this point, it finally dawns on Yosemite Sam that Steve and friends must have been able to get inside somehow. At the same time, Steve and friends are amped up and ready to "take it outside". So, both parties hightail it to the back door at the same time, and almost pass each other as Steve and friends run out and Yosemite Sam runs (and bored bodyguard saunters) in. *cue Benny Hill Yakkety Sax music* It should have been "go-time", but Steve and friends started to see the humor in the situation with all the chest-puffing and bemusedly decide to go off laughing into the night, leaving Yosemite Sam with smoke coming out of his ears outside the Roosevelt Hotel.

At the end of this tale, I asked Steve the real identity of Yosemite Sam. He responded, "Some country singer guy named John something or other."

I replied, "John who?"

Steve texted his friend to find out the answer..."John Rich. I don't know who he is."

I said, "Steve! You know who he is! He's in that Big & Rich group."

Steve just shook his head.

I said, "You know that song? 'Save a horse, ride a cowboy'?"

Steve's eyes grew wide. He exclaimed, "That song??!!! I chest-puffed with the guy who sings THAT SONG??!!"

All in all, I find this story and Steve's realization of who his attacker was hilarious. Hopefully, Steve has learned that sometimes situations are better when you "know people"...and that the Roosevelt Hotel is a good place to "ride a cowboy"...wait, that didn't come out right.

Don't Do Any of This Stuff

With the holidays coming up, I'm sure a lot of you will be traveling somewhere by plane. On a recent trip to California with my sister, Stacy, I made every airport-related mistake that exists in the known universe, short of forgetting to empty my pockets and then saying the word "bomb" in the security line. Just so you don't make the same mistakes that I made, I decided to give you some Travel Don'ts (Don't's?) for the holiday season.

1.) Don't forget that you have to actually travel to the airport.

None of us live at the airport. As someone who likes to plan ahead, I decided to look at the Logan Airport website to see what time they recommend that you arrive at the airport. They say during peak times, you should leave yourself at least two hours. Luckily, my flight was leaving at 10:30, which meant I would be arriving at the airport at an off-peak time. To give myself some extra time, I decided to be there by 8:30. And here's where I made the mistake. Just because you're arriving at the airport at an off-peak time, doesn't mean that you'll be driving there during an off-peak time. By forgetting this simple math, I ended up being one of those people who have to cut the line in security and then run through the airport with all of their bags a la Home Alone, barely making it to the gate on time. Speaking of security...

2.) Don't wear shiny sweaters.

We all know that in this post-9/11 world, you will most likely have to stand in a full-body scanner which shows every little anomaly on your body on a big computer screen. Sometimes if you're holding your passport in your hands, the passport will show up. Sometimes it'll pick up your bra clasp, or your shoe buckle or something. The TSA person usually pats that area and sends you on your way. While dressing for my trip to CA, I decided that I should probably dress in layers. And, the layer that I picked was a metallic cardigan. I went through the scanner. My image showed up on the screen. The TSA guard breathed, "Holy sh..." My entire computer-imaged torso was covered with green, blue and yellow dots. There was a moment of silence as I looked at the TSA people. They looked at me. Just before they were about to body slam me to the ground, I yelled out, "It's the sweater! It's the sweater!" And after I removed the sweater, luckily, my scan showed clean. Which leads me to...

3.) Don't expect airport people to know what they're doing

I'm betting that I wasn't the first metallically robed person to go through the scanner. Yet what would have happened if I hadn't pointed out that my sweater was the likely culprit of perceived terrorism? Would I be writing you from the "big house"? Why didn't anyone think to mention, "hey, you should probably put your sweater on the belt?" Once I was scanned, why was the first conclusion, "she must be carrying millions of tiny, little bombs on her upper half", rather than "her sweater is shiny"? As for other things that don't know what they're doing...

4.) Don't rely on the rental car's GPS.

On our way home, we were flying out of San Francisco Airport. As we were staying in Oakland, we figured that it would only be about 20-30 mins drive. We plugged it in the GPS which gave us a travel time of one hour and 15 minutes. We were very confused. So, we plugged in the airport again. Same thing happened. Making excuses, like "Oh it's probably one of those magic GPS's that knows the traffic conditions" and "Well, I haven't really stepped on the gas yet, so maybe it thinks we're going to drive 3 mph the whole way", we decided to just drive where it told us and hope for the best. As we got on the freeway, heading south, Stacy and I were both thinking, "We're probably not going the right way" but we drove on. After about 45 minutes of driving, it dawned on me that even though I had typed in San Francisco Airport, and the GPS read San Francisco Airport, it was sending me to the San Jose Airport. We quickly did a U-turn (...meaning we got off the exit, took a left, crossed a bridge, and got back on the highway) and barely made it to the airport in time for our version of Home Alone 2.  Of course, we didn't have time to buy snacks for the plane ride home, which brings me to Don't #5...

5.) Don't leave so little time before boarding that you can't buy snacks.

Back in the olden days, airlines served lunch and/or dinner. (And, yes, we also flew upwind both ways.) Nowadays, you can buy your lunch and/or dinner. Not that airline meals were anything to burst into song about before, but they were actually much more substantial back then when they were free. Now, the "meal" is equivalent to a Lunchable. And not the big box with the dessert kind. So, if you are on a long flight with only complimentary snacks and soft drinks and you haven't brought snacks, you will starve. That may sound dramatic, but it's true.

And so, readers, learn from my mistakes...and have a happy and well-traveled holiday season.

Un-Parents Just Don't Understand

We all know that I have a habit of rolling over electronics in my bed while sleeping and accidentally pressing buttons. It usually gets me into trouble and Saturday night was no exception.

Recently, I have had a new “like” interest who is a single father of two. We were supposed to get together on Saturday night, but I had had a long day, so I called him and left a message telling him that I wanted to stay in. He sent me a text in response that he had “fallen asleep, putting his son down at his mom’s, and was going to stay with him for the night.”  

Exhausted, I went to bed at 10:00. Around 4:00 in the morning, I woke up to my phone ringing. It took me a second to realize that this was the sound of an outgoing call, rather than an incoming one. I sat up and looked at my phone which was calling “Single Dad”. I thought, “Oh crap!” and hung up as fast as I could. Evidently, I had rolled over on my phone and it had dialed the last person that I called. I knew that Single Dad had been with his two-year old son earlier and, if he still was, the phone might have woken them both up. I wanted to apologize then, but I knew that it would make it worse if I called or texted a “sorry”. If the first ring didn’t wake them up, the second one was definitely a bad idea. I figured I’d talk to Single Dad in the morning and I went back to sleep.

At 6:30 am, I receive a text message from Single Dad:

“Don’t EVER call me in the small hours again. You woke my son and he won’t go back to sleep now.”

Now, I get the anger.  It’s frustrating when your kid is sleeping and then all of the sudden, he’s not… because of someone else. I was a bit irked by the capital letters, but willing to chalk it up to his frustration. So, I responded:

“I didn’t mean to. I rolled over on the phone in my sleep and pressed redial. I tried to hang up quickly. Sorry.”

I thought that that would be the end. I made a mistake. He was mad. I apologized. Hopefully, he was forgiving. But, it didn’t end there. The next text I receive from Single Dad said:

“Also don’t ever call or text me before noon because if I have worked until late I will not be happy at having my sleep broken. Understand?”

All right. Now, he was crossing into uncalled for territory. Warning me about only contacting him during his “business hours”, I guess was ok. But, it wasn’t so much what he was saying. It was the way that he said it; with that “Understand?” My dad has used that tone with me in the past. I think that he stopped using it by the time I turned four years old. So, I could only come to the conclusion that it was very likely that Single Dad had no concept of the difference between talking to a child and talking to an adult.

Unable to let this one go, I responded:

“You know, your phone has an off switch…”

The next text that I received from Single Dad stated:

“But I have two kids that might not be with me and I may need to be contacted in an emergency. Right now I don’t appreciate your sarcasm”.

Ok, another dad-ism. This guy was three for three. So, I responded again:

“I would never intentionally wake up your son. I knew you were with him and I’m sorry about that. It was an accident. I will take your other statement under advisement.”

But, as the morning went on and it became 7:00 am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, I began to think, here I am lying awake, because he texted me and woke me up, yet I didn’t feel the need to scold him like a colonial schoolmarm about it.  I couldn’t resist sending one more message:

“Do you see the irony of texting me at 6:30 am on a Sunday to tell me not to wake you up?”

Single Dad decided to leave the dad=isms and go for the threats:

“Keep this up and I will permanently block your number.”

Well, I had had enough. So, my final response was:

“No worries…I won’t be calling.”

I began to think about this a little bit more. I have discovered that as I’m entering my mid-thirties, I have two sets of friends. Those who don’t have children, who I don’t really have to think about whether it’s too late to call or whether I can invite them out last minute, and those who do have children, who I have to think twice about calling at night and that I have to notify in advance of a night out so they can snag a babysitter. There’s nothing wrong with either camp and I’ve always thought of myself as understanding of those who have children. But could I be telling all you kids all across the land, that there’s no need to argue, non-parents just don’t understand? Maybe I should have given Single Dad the benefit of the doubt.

On the other hand, I do have an idea of what parenting is like. My sister, Lori, was born when I was 7. I remember the sheer exhaustion of my parents and their zombie looks. I’ve seen Three Men and a Baby forty-seven times. Sometimes sirens go by, doorbells ring, heroin dealers come to pick up their “package”, and the baby wakes up. My own parents (who clearly are exceptional  at being parents, considering how fabulously I turned out) told me, in my mom’s words, “He’s a jerk.” Plus, as Andrea astutely pointed out, when I mentioned this to her last night, his reaction was not a knee jerk one. He had fumed about this for two and a half hours before sending it to me. And when you type all caps in the middle of a sentence…you have to make a conscious effort to put the caps lock on and then turn it off again. So, this wasn’t a Hulk Smash moment. This was a thoughtful and methodical Dr. Bruce Banner.

Therefore, I ultimately came to a conclusion, and I think that both parents and non-parents can agree: Single Dad…kind of a douche.