Beverly Hills Recliner
I got home from another hectic day at the office and took my boy down to the pool for a swim to cool off. It's been hot out here in the city lately, so I've been getting out of work early (only working 9 hrs. instead of the usual 10 or 11) so I can go swimming with my son. Later on after dinner I got into a rather heated discussion with my wife, something about the basic difference in sex drives between men and women. ( I think it's a biological thing. I seem to remember reading something about it in a paper about evolution?) Since I was losing the argument anyway, and my odds of getting any dessert after dinner looked pretty slim, I decided it was time to go out and buy a new recliner. We had been talking about getting new furniture for the last month or so, so...
Now new usually means "new to us" in this household. I've come to the conclusion that you're better off buying quality second hand furniture than brand new cheap imported stuff. I decided to get rid of my old recliner first, since it was pretty well thrashed. I dumped it next to a closed down Salvation Army donation center, right underneath the sign that says it's illegal to drop things off when they're closed? A mall cop on a bike saw me unloading it, and started yelling at me from the distance. I was back in my van and out on the street before he could get half way across the parking lot. ("Dodge V-8" vs. "Man on Bicycle" = "No Contest".)
So I went looking in the paper at the ads for recliners and found a genuine Lazy-Boy for sale for $75! (Iím easily excited, huh?) I called up to find out the address of the place so I could go look at it, and the girl on the phone says she's in West LA just outside of Beverly Hills, near Hollywood. (I know I should say "woman on the phone" but I'm just not that into being Politically Correct. I still tend to call any woman under 50 or so who sounds like she still likes to have a little fun girl. And I donít consider myself some kind of nimrod either. I'm thinking of writing an essay: "Man vs. Guy, Woman vs. Girl, or have you got a better term than "girl" for a woman under 50 or so who still likes to have a little fun already, you feminist bitch?"(Aw come on, itís a joke!)
Now where was I? Oh yeah, so I said I'd call back after I checked on a few other prospects. (I didn't want to appear too eager.) I called a couple more ads, got no answers, and decided to call back about the Beverly Hills Recliner. Got the full address, showered, put on a clean t-shirt and some after shave (Iím going to the land of "Swimmin' Pools and Movie Stars" remember? "Hey Uncle Jed, I'm gonna meet me a starlet!"), and headed out the door...
I was flipping through the presets on my radio, (Stone Temple Junkies on KROQ, Senseless Arguments on Real Radio, Whining Oppressed Hispanics on NPR, the usual...), when I hit KSCA and heard Ray Davies start singing "Everybody's a dreamer, and everybody's a star..." Perfect song to sing along with on the way to Hollywood!.(I'm not that good of a singer, but I make up for it by being loud.) I hadn't heard Celluloid Heroes in ages. and I didn't realize I remembered all the words until I was about half way through, singing at the top of my lungs... ("The top of your lungs", now there's a weird expression. I wonder what's at the top of your lungs, anyway? It's probably not a pretty sight if you still smoke or live here in LA...)
So anyway, I got off the freeway, missed Pico, and ended up on Santa Monica Blvd. I figured I'd probably miss it anyway, so before I left home I looked at the map and saw that I could cut south on Beverly Glen to get back to Pico in case I did. ("Plan for failure and you won't be disappointed", I always say.) I passed a male prostitute sitting in a bus stop on Santa Monica and thought: "Tough way to make a living, buddy, if AIDS doesn't get you, one of your customers might". Well, as Ray Davies said: "Success walks hand in hand with failure along Hollywood Boulevard"...
So I finally get to the house with the recliner, and this guy answers the door (her husband). So much for my fantasy about being met by a "Lingerie Model Looking to Entertain Herself with a Working Man". (For you feminists out there, no, not all men are perverts, some of them are liars.) I checked out the recliner, and other than the fact that it smelled like incense it seemed like a really good deal, so I bought it for $75. The guy was cool, and he helped me load the recliner into my van. I brought it home, and my wife helped me move it into the living room (after I pried her off of her chat line), and now I'm going to relax in it... A successful adventure for the day, and an end to this story.
Cy also has some pretty funky dreams.