A Good Pair of Five-Dollar, Imitation Cop Sunglasses

Sat Ap 26 5:36 PM
Shit. I didn't get this done again yesterday. Giggling comes in through the window. Carlin's having a BBQ in the backyard. I'm sitting at the kitchen table waiting for sister Bernie to pick me up and take me out to Twin Palms in Pasadena to celebrate my mother's fiftieth birthday. Gip drove Carlin and me downtown to Los Angeles Street and I got my mom a gold bracelet, fourteen karats, for one hundred and seventy-five dollars. I wanted to pick up a couple new shirts, but the GIP was having some weird anti-downtown trip, so we went home after we got the bracelet. Blah blah blah. A dozen boring details. Magoo and I went to Burger King. I ate a double whopper and read the sports page and marvelled at the girls in their spring dresses.
The Dodgers are beating the Marlins. Someone downstairs is playing some horribel rave music. The GIP just walked up. He said, "Zurn, there's a cute Hispanic girl down there." I went to the window. There was an arguably attractive Hispanic girl down there. GIP went to the bathroom and left. I'd like to smoke a joint, but as part of my mom's birthday present, I won't. It's hot and sweaty today. There's nothing to say. I would have liked to have kissed Granny Gibson and invited her in when she dropped me off last night.
The Pepper is back. He's looking for ketchup now. I found some in the fridge. He said, "Hey, Zurn, there's a lot of good food down there. You should eat here and save some money on dinner with your mom. Just drink." I said, "I'm going to just sit there and get drunk while everyone else eats at my mom's birthday party?" "Well, that's what I would do." He went down the stairs again. "Exactly," I said.
Now I'm at the gas station with Bernie and Ryan in Ryan's little red sports car. Ryan got his 'burns, his human-fly-climbing-the-Empire-State-Building-goggles sunglasses, his shirt and pants look like he's been reading Vogue. He seems like an okay guy, though. I said to him, "What you need are a good pair of five dollar imitation cop sunglasses."

F! Payday! April 25 10:19 AM
I'm at my desk at school. The kids are watching the Casper movie on the VCR. I just typed a letter of resignation to submit to Principal Cicada. I have to call someone named Niki Kashikal to arrange an interview at Hoover. On the way home from school, I have to buy a new headlight for the Toyota. This morning, I had to jump it with Karlyn's car. I've got to get milk, peanut butter, jelly, wine, beer and cleaning supplies from the market. I've got to do my laundry. I've got to e-mail Flora and other people. Julia will be cruising by around six so we can meet some other writers at a restaurant in Brentwood. Maybe I should do my attendance and go by the LACAS office today, too. Tomorrow I should buy some new clothes and a present for my mom for her birthday. I sort of feel like a hamburger from Carl's Jr. for lunch. The teachers are clamoring to have their computers looked at. I maybe ought to call Hoover from here.
What else?

April 24 Th 9:07 AM
I'm at La Subida elementary school in Hacienda Hts. for a teacher training called The Dimensions of Learning. It's the first half hour of six hours, and it's already boring me to death. Me and my righteous indignation. A Philistine at a multi-cultural retreat. yeah yeah yeah Shirelle called last night while I was doing a few measly sit-ups and watching the Dodger game. She has some that edgy girl hysteria that I can't tell if it's phony or not. Her car stopped in the middle of the street and wouldn't start. She claimed to have called a tow truck driver who took fifty bucks from her and drove off. "Okay," I said, "I'll be right there." She was on Gardner just north of Sunset. I drove up and charged her battery with my jumper cables. Got it running and drove it to her apartment. I left it running and walked to where she was in my car across the street. I said, "Why don't you grab your things and follow me to my house and we can let it finish charging in the backyard without worrying about it."
"I don't want to sleep at your house two nights in a row," she said.
"Okay," I said and made for my car to leave.
Her Mustang stopped rumbling. "It' dead," she moaned.
"Why does God hate us?" I wondered aloud. A bit much, I know. We weren't sure what to do. We decided that we could take care of it when I get home from work today. I started to drive away, but I saw that she was crying against her car. I backed up. "What's wrong?"
"You're leaving me."
"I gotta go to work in the morning, and everything I need is at my house."
She decided to pack a bag and come along, but she wasn't too happy about it. When we got home we went to bed. Didn't bone. Not in the morning, either. In the shower she started harrassing me about not inviting her to my mom's birthday party. I told her that for reservations of more than fourteen people at Twin Palms, you have to rent a banquet hall, and my mom's already got fourteen people. Shirelle started trying to get a word-for-word replay of what my mother and I said. She fucking pissed me off. There we went again. Nothing fucking changes. I couldn't deal with her anymore and told her so. She called a cab and waited for it on the porch, crying. I checked my e-mail and did a half-hearted fifteen minutes. I went to the window when the cab came and watched her morose face drive away. A while later the horn for my carpool honked. On the way here, Phyllis and Sara were trying to deepen my divides like a couple of gossipy teenage girls. I played along non-commitally. Or I didn't play, but I didn't disagree.
Flora saw me cock my thumb and blow my brains out with my finger. I didn't tell her it was just something I do when I'm exasperated.

Bad Clams

4-22 W 8:16 AM
Let's try to get this done. My poor old brains are still scrambled. I'm at school. The kids are playing Spello. Levi has taken on my job as emcee. I didn't get a chance to write here yesterday. I need to be more fierce about it. I slept at Shirelle's and woke up there yesterday morning to her fucking hero, Howard Stern, on the radio. Shirelle has been hinting that there's something missing from my foreplay repertoire. "Have you ever eaten anybody's ass?" she asked.
"I don't know. Have I ever eaten yours?"
"No."
"I guess not then."
Then she started telling me about some bad clams she had eaten and the nasty runs they gave her. I had had a hard-on until that point. In the shower she gave it a few listless tugs. "You've got a lot of nerve asking me to eat your ass in the same year you tell me you eat bad clams that gave you the runs, and then I can barely get you to accidentally brush against my penis with your hand. It's this godam Howard Stern perv you listen to's got you talking about ass-eating, isn't it?--Thanks for helping me out with my boner. You could've sent me to work in a good mood. I guess I'll just whack off in the bathroom at recess now." Her whole M.O. is to lay there and get fucked with no effort on her part other than providing access. I finished dressing and drove to school. The whole day pretty much sucked. I don't have the will to teach much lately. I looked at my newspaper. We saw a fun play of Rumplestiltskin. I sat on a table in the back next to Mrs. McFerrin and fought off a boner. We practiced for Ritchie Valens and watched 101 Dalmatians. I ran into Flor Fujimoto in the parking lot on my way home. She asked me about the retreat. She seemed to want me to make some conciliatory comments. I pretended like I didn't think the retreat was a steaming pile of shit. She hugged me and asked me to put an evaluation in her box. Fugh. I went home and sent an e-mail to Lis and Julia and typed my fifteen minutes. I made some tacos. Peter Lee came over. I did the dishes and smoked one of his hand-rolled American Spirit cigarettes. Pete and Bayless talked about the same evil in the wind I had been feeling. I read them the Marquez story of the Tremontana. I rolled a j. Eric Tse Tung called to say he was getting married. Rawler called to say the time is right to apply at his school. I went to teach my night class. MTA was there to publicize their intention of constructing a subway line.