She's Got Lame

I do lame things. I once wrote a letter to the university I graduated from saying that Suzy had moved and to stop sending 'her' mail to me for financial solicitations. I then put one of my return address stickers on the envelope. Eventually I just sent them a check for $100 to stop the lambs from screaming in my mailbox twice a month.

I get all my deceased stepmother's mail, even though she died in 1998 and lived 3000 miles away. In an effort to stop a cruise line from sending me their flyers every twenty and a half seconds, I saved them all, stuck them in an envelope and wrote them a letter saying she was deceased. I then put one of my return address stickers on the envelope. Now I can go on a cruise in my own name! I don't even learn from my mistakes.

I have two pair of real Chanel eyeglasses. One is a pair of sunglasses that I use for driving and the other are clear ones that I use to see at the movies. They were only $500 at the time. They're now up to $800 and I had to draw the line. I mean, it's not like it's Restylane, you know? So I did what any cheapskate with impeccably good taste would do and bought a pair of fake sunglasses that spelled out Chanel over the bridge of the nose. One day when I was wearing them, I was walking down the street with McLoserstene when a kid holding a camera stopped and asked if he could interview us for a documentary about living in L.A. McLoserstene promptly declined, as I think she's on the lam from the Feds, but I agreed.

"What makes L.A. a great city?" the kid asked as he focused his lens on my face.

"For me I'd have to say it is the shopping. Beverly Hills, Malibu, even Melrose. It's the only place I can find all the couture designers and buy the high-end one of a kind things." After a few more questions he thanked us, McLoserstene took off her fake mustache and we continued down the street. It was only later, when I removed the sunglasses, that I noticed that the N in Chanel had fallen off and that I was wearing the famed couture designer Chael's one of a kind - really one of a kind - sunglasses. The editors probably put me on a gag reel and sent it straight to Chanel who put me on an International Do Not Sell list.

I went to Costco one day and bought a pack of filet mignons, a bunch of asparagus, a book and a DVD. I paid for everything and then set them down on an adjacent counter as I plowed through a bin of boxes. After a few minutes I found a small one, turned to my purchases and noticed that the asparagus was gone. I looked right and left, trying to spot the dumbass who would leave filet mignon and take asparagus. Fucking vegetarians.

"Uh, excuse me." I tried waving down an employee who didn't even turn around. "Hello, scuse me!" I was, apparently, invisible in a world of the deaf. Great, now I was going to have to wander through the exit line by myself looking for extra vegetables in everyone's boxes. This is why people get married. To get someone else to do the dirty work.

I took a step, bumped into something and looked down. The asparagus had fallen on the floor. Might as well check out the optometrist while I was there.

But the lamest thing I ever did involved my late father. After his fourth wife died, I went to spend Christmas with him. One day we went food shopping in one of those gigantic supermarkets. I convinced him to use the motorized scooter since by now he was 88 and was walking slower and I didn't want to spend the next 47 days food shopping. He looked skeptical but I finally talked him into it. I convinced him that it was easy, it only had 2 gears on the handlebars, one for Stop and one for Go. He started off slowly but soon got the hang of it so I stopped watching to make sure he didn't knock over a child trying to destroy a can display. When we got to the milk section I asked him what he wanted but he didn't hear me.
"Dad?" He kept going. "DAD!!!"

This apparently frightened him and as I looked away for a second, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he appeared to be heading for a loading bay, with the big plastic flaps in front of it and probably a twenty-foot drop to the Atlantic Ocean on the other side. And he was not going slowly.

"DAAADDDDD!!!" As I looked on horrified, he shot through the flaps and I heard male voices yelling on the other side. Dear God let him not have driven into the back end of a truck full of hanging sides of men. When I finally caught up to him, he was surrounded by the people who had stopped his scooter. He got off, shot me a look and said, "Next time you drive."

End of lame chat.