Keys in Strange Places

One of the services my office provides is to unlock people's apartments when they lose their keys/get locked out of their apartment. Usually I dread someone coming in saying, "Can someone open my door for me?" First of all, I revile these people for being so stupid/unorganized/lazy and losing their keys in the first place. Secondly, this usually happens five minutes before closing and we have to rush maintenance to cut another one (which is very stressful and difficult not to mention we all just want to go home.)

Boo!!!

And finally, it means I have to drop however many hundreds of balls I happen to be juggling at the moment (tee hee balls), get the keys from the box, and escort them all the way to their apartment. Depending on where their apartment is located, this could mean quite the trek. Especially if it is 100 degrees like the other day and I'm wearing a full suit. Then I secretly chant makeshift voodoo curses in my head while making cheery small talk.

But sometimes, I enjoy rescuing people because they often have hilarious or unusual stories about how they came to be without their keys. Here are the top five:

1. Guy who lost his keys several months ago in The Body Shop, a strip club off Sunset. To this day he still has not paid the $5 fee to cut a new key. He simply locks his front door from the inside, then goes out his patio door and jumps over some bushes. This is someone who pays at least $1200 for rent every month, (and god knows how many thousands on strippers), and he won't fork out five bucks for a key. I hope she was worth it, buddy.

My favorite part is "18 Years OK!" Classy joint.

2. Guy who left his keys in Israel. God knows how expensive it must have been to overnight a package from a place where the local post office is probably getting bombed constantly. Reliable courier services must be hard to come by there.

3. Guy(s) who left their keys in Vegas. From one type of pilgrimage to another. This one happens quite frequently. I just chuckle at them and ask them if they had a good time. They tend to respond with a sheepish grin.

4. Guy(s) who pissed off their crazy girlfriends who are now holding their keys hostage until they grovel. Seriously, I encountered this with two different residents, one of which not only stayed with the girl, but she did this twice! I don't know what they did to piss them off, but it sure is a brilliant way to get revenge.

Bitches, man. Bitches.

5. Guy whose keys are at the police impound lot. I asked him if he had had a rough night, and he replied, "Not as rough as some." Badass. But it turns out that it was his friend who was caught smuggling something nefarious unbeknownst to our hero, and his car was impounded because of it. Doesn't that suck? Anyway, the guy told me that now anyone who enters his car will be subjected to a strip search in case they too may be holding. I thought he was joking until he exclaimed, "If you don't want my finger up your rectum, then you won't be getting in my car." True story. Needless to say, I will be avoiding this person for several reasons from now on.

If you've noticed that this list is comprised of entirely male residents, then you would be spot-on. Girls get locked out all the time too, but they don't have nearly as good stories. (Usually it's because they went to the gym and their roommate locked the door. Yawn) I will update the list if I get any more good ones. Just so you know, the curse I put on these people is less severe depending on how entertained I am by their excuse.

Pretty Much the Cutest Thing Ever

I'm tired and still semi-cranky so I'll make this one short and ridiculously sweet. You know when you have a bad day and all you want to do is call your mom and vent about it? (Because you're a hopeless mama's girl/boy like me?) Well when I called my mom tonight after what I call a classic example of Clusterfuck Friday (where everyone is terrible and everything goes wrong and for some reason it usually happens on Fridays) she was babysitting my kickass little nephew Ayvind.

Ayvind is about 18ish months old now and smart as a whip. (Though how whips have any sort of intelligence is beyond me.) He's quiet and contemplative for a baby, taking in the world and forming his own tacit opinions of it. But he can still giggle and peek-a-boo like a boss. He's a man of few words, though he possesses great understanding. He knows exactly what you're saying, he just chooses to communicate back via sign language. According to my sister-in-law, he can speak about 50 words, but can sign up to 230.

Pictured: Baby genius.

Also I'm not sure what he's signing here,

but it is probably something like

"Holy crap, I'm friggin' awesome!"

Anyway, so my mom was giving Ayvind a bath while she talked to me on speakerphone. The whole time Ayvind kept shouting "Pooe! Pooe!" (Which is my brother's nickname for me -long story-, so now I'm 'Aunt Pooe' which also prevents confusion since his other aunt and I have very similar first names). Ayvind knew exactly who I was, although we haven't spend nearly as much time together as I wish we could.

According to my mom, (who could have been lying since she was also trying to cheer me up) he signed "I love you," and tried to kiss the phone. Then he tried to give the phone a rock to play with, all the while saying "Pooe! Pooe!" Since he doesn't talk much, it was an honor to hear him say my name. Especially since I had such a crappy day. He also loves rocks, (which is a bizarre family trait I thankfully did not inherit) so giving me a rock was a symbol of great sacrifice and love.

The point of this is that you can't stay upset and frustrated when you have an adorable little guy 450 miles away who adores you right back. (Though I still find it hard to believe he remembers me even after not seeing me for at least 4 months. That's roughly a quarter of his life!) You pretty much made my day, Little Ayvind. Aunt Pooe loves you too!

Creepster Fish

It's been a few weeks now that I've been on Plentyoffish.com. So far I've had one date (a rather uneventful trip to the Sherman Oaks Starbucks where we didn't really have anything to say to each other and it was terribly uncomfortable). Other than that, I've just been e-mailing or chatting with a few blokes. Nothing to write home about, that's for sure.

"I have a grande chai tea latte with

a shot of stilted conversation for Hutch?"

I was online today when I got a chat request from this guy without a picture. I don't trust profiles without pictures because a) the guy is either too lazy/stupid to upload one or b) he's ashamed of the way he looks. If I have to upload one, you do too. However, I decided to give him a chance because he mentioned in his profile the fact that he actually is familiar with English grammar and if he doesn't know how to spell a word, he looks it up on Dictionary.com. I think I've said before that guys who can't spell worth a crap or prefer ridiculous abbreviations are a major NOPE for me. And since I do the same thing (google a word before making a fool of myself), I thought maybe that's enough to build a relationship upon.

We went through the usual, "Hi, how's it going, what do you do, blah blah blah." Then he asks,

"Would you mind if I had a fetish?"

All I could think about was this episode of Sex and the City,

which is (almost) every girl's worst nightmare.

Um... I resisted the urge to block him because my interest was piqued. Here was a guy who was completely upfront about what makes him a weirdo. And we're all weird in some way, (like me with my correct spelling fetish), we just usually try to hide it. You have to respect him for that. Why waste time when you know there's something that's important to you that might be a dealbreaker? Curious, I responded,

"Depends... what kind?"

It took him a few moments before he wrote, "I'm really into it, so I'm looking for a girl who can accommodate." Now he was really starting to freak me out. I replied, "Are you going to tell me what it is?"

Finally he said, "I like girls in pantyhose, the ones that go all the way up."

I don't get it. But I guess the point is that it's irrational.

I guess as far as fetishes go, it's not as disturbing as others. And like I said, I appreciate his honesty. But seeing as I loathe pantyhose (they're scratchy, expensive, inconvenient, time-consuming, they rip easily, and they just get in the way. I also despise the word 'panty'), I'm thinking this is a big fat NOPE. More importantly, when you've been talking to someone for about three minutes and don't even know what they look like, much less if they're a decent person or not, it's a little soon to be talking about specific plans for the bedroom.

Maybe I'm just old fashioned that way.

How "The Help" Helped Me

Tonight I made a rare trip to the theater to see the film adaptation of "The Help." I read the book not too long ago. I didn't love it, but it was very nice. I mostly went because I adore Emma Stone and wish we could be best friends in real life. The film was pretty great, but what resonated most with me was just one of the end credits: "Based on the novel by Kathryn Stockett." This whole movie was made because one day a woman sat at her computer and began to type.

I started writing a novel almost exactly one year ago. It wasn't my first attempt. There are drafts written in pencil on college ruled notebook paper going back as far as second grade. And for my fifth grade yearbook ambition, I wrote that I wanted to be an author. In high school and college I cultivated my love for writing through creative writing classes, screenwriting classes, and other studies of what makes for a great story well-told. Once I got my first real job though, writing sort of took a back burner to bill paying and mindless TV watching.

While I was pretty much unemployed during the first part of 2010, I was finally able to exercise my long lost creativity. I started working on a script with a good friend of mine. We made it two-thirds of the way through a promising coming of age adventure story inspired in part by the Goonies before we hit a wall. Plot-wise we were stuck. And it was time for me to go back to work where I actually got paid. And so the story sat unfinished in the dark recesses of my aging laptop.

Since it was looking like that would never again see the light, I decided to once again try my hand at novel-writing. Screenwriting has so many rules. Relentless formatting, keeping descriptions succinct, letting directors and actors decide how a line should be delivered instead of instructing them, and what pitfalls to avoid lest your script appear juvenile. All that for little pay, less credit, and the joy of seeing your baby be torn apart by people who don't know a good script from their Aunt Mildred. With a novel, you can pretty much do whatever you want. Sure you have to keep to a basic story structure if you want it to be successful. But there is so much more you can do with tone, setting, and characters. You can really develop where you'd have to hold back in a script.

With this somewhat bitter attitude, I began my novel. It was semi-autobiographical even though the concept of a writer writing about themselves as if they are the most fascinating subject in the world irritates me. But you have to write what you know and just hope that others can relate. (That is, if you hate doing any kind of strenuous research, like me.)

I went back just now and read the first 11 pages. I only read 11 because that's as far as I got last September. But as I read those few pages, I was pretty damn proud of myself. Normally I go back and read something I wrote and cringe ever so slightly. But I made my future self laugh out loud! So now I'm inspired to go back and if not finish this book, at least keep heading in the right direction. Any progress is better than none.

Because some day I want to see "Based on the novel by C-------- H--------" on the big screen just like Kathryn Stockett. (Not that she's my new hero or anything. Tina Fey will always be number one. But I figure if she can do it, why can't I?)

Canada's Bad Seed

The other day, I was an oblivious witness to this "car accident." I use air quotes, which normally I despise only because it was more of a love tap than an actual collision. I also say oblivious, because I watched the whole thing happen and didn't even realize until 10 minutes later that it happened to be Justin Bieber whose Ferrari was nudged while he was blocking traffic.

Evil demon spawn

Now, unlike most people I know, I didn't have particularly strong feelings one way or the other regarding the Biebs. He was just this silly little boy that made crappy music and pre-teen girls squeal. I can't judge those girls too harshly since I too was a victim of expertly marketed and well-groomed young boys who made crappy music. Though I maintain that it was way less crappy than the piffle they dare to call music these days. That's right, PIFFLE.

Pictured: Not Piffle

Because he was barely on my radar, other than an adorable sketch on SNL with Tina Fey, I just didn't care. That was until the other day when I saw a 16 year old kid test driving a car worth more than I will ever make in my lifetime. That pissed me off to begin with. But once I heard the conversation that took place after the accident, I was livid!

Biebs started going off about how this poor lady hit him on purpose because she knew who he was (paranoid with delusions of grandeur???) Then when she started speaking in Spanish to someone nearby, he started ranting and raving about how "This is America," and she needs to speak English. Finally, he demanded to see her green card. Really dude? First of all, you sound like an ignorant, racist prick. Secondly, your own girlfriend is latina. You are soooo not getting laid for at least a week. And thirdly...

Shania is watching you, Bieber. Always watching.

YOU'RE CANADIAN FOR SHANIA TWAIN'S SAKE!! If it wasn't for your crappy music, you would be the illegal alien. And speaking of illegal aliens, the woman speaking Spanish happens to work at the Spanish Embassy. So good luck ever trying to play a concert in Spain again. She probably has mad connections and can shut down your visa quicker than your fan's attention spans. You're welcome Spain!

Next up, Justin Bieber!

It has been a well-documented fact that I love Canada and Canadians with all my heart and soul. Every Canadian I have ever met, and I've met quite a few, has been exceedingly kind, generous, hilarious, and awesome overall. Now I know it's not right to generalize. But when you've met many fantastic people from a certain country, you start to get a feel for the values they tend to espouse as a nation.

Pictured: Canada

So you can imagine how betrayed Canada must have felt by the actions of this one bad apple-faced goon. Maybe he's just a kid who got too famous, too fast, and spent too much time on the mean streets of LA. But that's no excuse. I think he needs to take a serious time out back in his mother country to refocus on not being a jackass hoser.

It was hilarious how this minor, and I can't stress minor enough, collision (bumper cars have more violent impact) became such a big story. The police showed up and agreed that there wasn't even enough damage to take a report. I saw myself that there wasn't even a scratch on either bumper. But the Biebs had insisted on calling the cops and what the Biebs wants, the Biebs gets. Douche.

Plenty of Awkward

The past few weeks have been filled with awkwardness of the most acute variety. Mainly from two sources which I will now proceed to break down like a late 80s neon-clad subway busker on a cardboard dance floor:

PART ONE: Here fishy fishy!

I have mentioned before that I have twice dipped my toe into the proverbial ocean of online dating via Plentyoffish.com. First, I just looked around, was disappointed in the kind of menfolk that were available, and ran away screaming. The second time, I gave it some more thought and actually tried to fill out a profile. This just made me depressed and caused hours of tipsy self-analysis. Since then I hadn't really given plenty o' fish another though. My life is complicated and stressful enough without adding some guy's baggage to it.

My own baggage is already full enough.

But a few weeks ago I was clearing out spam from my personal e-mail, already bored with my weekend. I noticed an e-mail with the headline "Hutch, you have 17 new matches!" Woop-de-doo. Doesn't mean jack. But still, it piqued my interest. Why the hell not take a look? So I finished my profile (queasy the whole time) and started fishing for real. It seemed like every guy listed 'working out' or 'going to the gym' as one of his interests. Whether he really is a gym rat, or thinks that by saying he is, he will get more girls, I don't know. But anyone who views exercise as fun and not a necessary evil is clearly someone who will not be interested in me (who works out faithfully for months at a time, only to go months without working out at all.) Not that staying healthy and active isn't important. But if you spend over twelve hours a week in the gym running in circles and lifting heavy things, your priorities are out of order. Or they just aren't in sync with mine.

Just seems rather pointless, doesn't it?

I also noticed an inordinate amount of guys with pictures of themselves in the bathroom mirror taken with their iPhone. Whether they were fully clothed, shirtless, or lifting up their Ed Hardy shirt Situation-style, this was a major turnoff (*salutes* "Major Turnoff!"). I don't know why it bothers me so much. Some guys may just not have a good picture of themselves, but can't they have their friend or mom or cat take two seconds to snap a photo that doesn't have a toilet seat in the background that clearly hasn't been cleaned in years? Nothing says sexy like seeing which kind of deodorant and shaving cream a guy uses while he throws up some lame peace sign. Of course I'm judging these guys, but I'm sure my profile is just as lame in other ways. Because as I observed previously, it's impossible to create these things and not come off as some type of tool.

Typical. And just silly. Stop it, boys.

Within a few minutes with my face permanently fixed in stinkeye position, I already had a couple guys interested in meeting me (meaning they probably just pushed the 'yes' button while scanning my picture for .5 seconds without actually reading my profile. Not really flattering, but I'll take what I can get). I also had a message from one guy. It wasn't much, but it was a start. So I started e-mailing back and forth with this one guy, as well as a couple others. The problem is, what on earth do you talk about with a complete stranger?

The basic theme of the conversations seemed to be "Hi, how are you today?" Me, being the witty conversationalist that I am, always tried to throw them off with something adorable and quirky, but they didn't seem to really appreciate my sense of humor. Many of them just wanted to get my phone number so we could text. Like I'm going to give out my number to someone who could be an axe murderer. (Which could conceivably happen in a bar or other socially acceptable arena, but at least then I would know what he was really like in person first and if it was worth the risk). Plus, and more importantly, I don't have unlimited texting and this could get expensive.

This kind of messaging went on for a few days until one night when I got a chat request from some guy I had never heard of. He was kind of cute, and had a profile I would actually consider. (The ratio seems to be one in twenty-four profiles is not completely abhorrent to me. That sounds like I'm really picky, but I just don't want to waste my time with Douches. Note the capital 'D.') So we're chatting away, which seems to be slightly less stilted than e-mailing back and forth. Discussing relationships, men and women, even sex (but in a general, philosophical sense). Then he started getting dirty. Like really dirty. Which freaked me out big time. Aaaah! What the heck? Am I here just for some cyber one-night stand? Plus he still lives with his parents at 26 and uses 'u' instead of 'you'. NOPE!

"Well as far as I'm concerned, the internet is just another way of being rejected by a woman."

-George from "You've Got Mail"

So that put me off the whole process for a while, but there were a few nice guys I was still talking to. I like that you can sort of get to know each other first before giving out any personal information lest they turn out to be an uber-creeper like the aforementioned. And you can always block a guy if he says something really random but cruel like one guy did. I won't repeat what he said, but it didn't warrant a response. Just a swift click of the 'block user' button. I got that message, another chat request from dirty perv boy, and made a connection with one of the good guys all within about 10 seconds of each other. A little overwhelming ride of emotions, from pain to disgust to delight. I'm meeting one of the guys for the first time in a few hours (in a public place in mid-day). We'll see how that goes...

PART TWO So when did you get saved?

Yesterday I was invited to my neighbor's birthday party. He's a nice guy that I've talked to a few times since moving in in March. I always kind of got the feeling he dug me. Which put this whole fantasy in my head a la Friends or Big Bang Theory of falling in love with the guy across the hall. Not that I was that into him, but that's a pretty powerful pop culture image. Plus, it sure would be convenient seeing as it's the complete opposite of a long distance relationship.

I miss "Friends" a lot.

I stopped by about 30-45 minutes late because I thought it would be awkward to be the first one there. Hah. Also I was watching Friday Night Lights which is my new favorite thing in the world. (Sorry Desperate Housewives, you've been replaced. I don't give a crap about high school football, but this show is riveting and so well-done! Plus I met one of the actors and wanted to get more familiar with his oeuvre of work. Tee hee, oeuvre sounds dirty doesn't it? Anyway, back to my story.)

Hell yes!!

I walked across the way to my neighbor's apartment where several people had already crammed in the tiny one-bedroom. Picture this, a room full of nicely dressed though slightly douchey looking dudes sitting in silence around a veggie tray watching a subtitled kung fu movie. There was one other girl, but she didn't seem to have anything to say other than "Are you sure you don't want any potato chips?" Maybe she was just as bored as I was. I could tell something was off about this party. But not wanting to sit awkwardly much longer, I asked, "So, how do you guys all know each other?"

"Oh, we all go to the same church."

Oh....

I should have suspected this when I noticed the cutesy angel sign reading 'God Bless This House' over the bedroom. Not that there's anything wrong with going to church. By all means, if it makes you feel good and provides the social atmosphere that people crave, that's fantastic. I just knew I was even more out of place than I thought (besides being underdressed in just jeans and a t-shirt). So more awkward silence persisted while the kung fu movie gave us something to look at besides our shoes.

Hell no!

Then one of the guys turns to the guy to his right and asks, "So when did you get saved?" The guy responded, "Once when I was seventeen, then again when I was twenty-six and gave my life to god to be a pastor."

It was at that moment that I knew I had to get out of there. Luckily, I had a good and true excuse that I had to go meet up with a friend. But our host was hiding in his room talking on the phone and folding laundry. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Because we were all sitting silently, I couldn't just slip out unnoticed. So I counted the minutes until my neighbor was done with his laundry so I could say "Happy Birthday" and take off. He gave me a hug, (which I am not a hugger, but whatevs) and said to stop by when I got back.

Finally I was free!!!! I drove off like I had the devil after me (tee hee). I went to my friend Eric's house for our Sunday tradition of quiche and True Blood (which is a whole lot more satisfying than church in my opinion.) Why quiche you may ask? Because it's effing delicious for one thing. And for another, Eric and I have been making quiche ever since his 21st birthday almost exactly five years ago when we got drunk and were craving quiche even though we had never made it before and ended up making the best quiche ever even without any recipe or soberness and proceeded to eat it on the floor of my kitchen with two random girls we met at the supermarket at midnight after work. So that's my quiche story which I've probably told a million times, but it was such an awesome memory I don't care.

After True Blood, I headed back from Koreatown to NoHo only to find an ambush waiting for me in the parking lot. My neighbor's "party" had turned into a late night bible discussion. My neighbor called me over and I couldn't very well say no even though it was late at night and I was tired. True Blood takes a lot out of you, you know. He asked me about my faith, which I tried to sum up succinctly. "I believe in something, but I'm not a fan of organized religion." Of course, my religious history is a hell of a lot more complicated than that, but it was too late to get into it.

But he kept goading me in the polite, well-meaning way Christians often do. And I just couldn't deny my Hutch heritage to debate circles around an opponent. Normally I hate debating, but he wouldn't let it go. So I let him have it. And I explained how many horrible things I have witnessed under the guise of religion. How I don't believe in the bible, so don't use that to support your arguments. How my biggest political believe is that religion has no business in politics. How I don't agree with a large majority of what is considered to be a sin. How pretentious, insincere and commercial religion has become. How religion has mistreated a large number of my friends who happen to be gay and caused them so much pain and heartbreak. For all the good things religion does, it destroys and divides just as much.

It was a calm, respectful discussion for the most part, but it did raise my hackles quite a bit. Especially when an older gentleman got involved and tried to convince me that people aren't born gay. I tried to make him understand that why would someone choose to be estranged from their family, bullied and beaten at school, not given equal rights under the law, and suffer so much derision from people like him if they weren't being true to themselves?

Anyway, so now it's going to be suuuuper awkward whenever I see my neighbor. I used to think he wanted in my pants, but now I know he just wants to save my soul. Which is kind of hurtful to my ego, but whatevs.