Are You Shitting Me?

Remember; It's not my intention to embarass you. It's to ridicule you.


Waiter: Would you like me to take your soups away?

Lady: Yes please and could you wrap them to go?

Waiter: Of course. Would you like them separate or in one container?

Lady: You can put them in one. I suck his face, I can eat his soup.


I shit you not


Are You Shitting Me? is a delightful commentary on the bullshit heard in restaurants, public spaces and from the voices in my head. Please, carry on....

Rabbit, rabbit.

Currently am house sitting in SMonica and loving life on the westside,

".....ode to be young and independently wealthy...."

So much fun to be close to the beach with a fabulous pup named Radar. Radar has more energy than a power plant and doesn't know the word 'quit'. I was ready to invoke my favorite chant to start the month with a bevy of good luck when I was awoken by him and questioned, wearily "....wuz goin' onnnn???..." stay tuned.





And this couldn't be planned, it's Canada Day! On the heels of my last post, tee hee tee hee!

Are you shitting me????

Remember; It is not my intention to embarrass you.
It is to ridicule you.


Out of the mouths of babes, I tell you. Out of the mouths of babes.



Children's conduct is not what it used to be when we were all growing up. If we were in public it was better to be seen then heard. Now the little darlings are allowed voices, cell phones and in some cases; advocates. We've rolled the role of parent back a bit where adults today are trying to be 'friends' with their kids. I find this strategy unnerving from the conduct I witness day to day; restaurant to restaurant, and store to store. Backtalk, bad manners and bad attitudes really fry my bacon and further my credo as to how this Gay man will raise his family (someday). But sometimes you just hear one little comment that sends you reeling;



The Scene: A 'family friendly' shoreline seafood restaurant.



The Players: Two families of 5, 4 parents on one side of the table aged 35-45, 6 tired, rowdy kids on the other side of the table for ten aged 3-8.



The Time: Past respectable family dinner hours, with small children, 830pm



As the action unfolds the parents are talking (bewailing, commiserating) the kids are acting up in some kind of debate. The end comment of this debate is by the most spirited of the eight year olds,



"YOU'RE a Gay-Canadian!!!!!!!!!!!!!"



This was the little crumb-snatchers final retort in the name calling fest.



And the parents were unmoved. By the political correctness of the comment. Or even the humor. There is humor in everything. "A Gay-Canadian".

I shit you not.

Are you shitting me?

Remember; It's not my intention to embarass you. It's to ridicule you.

Providing insight into what exactly people say and think sometimes don't every coincide. Actually there's a preponderance of speaking to a lack of thinking in Los Angeles. Without further ado.......

Surfbrah: It was ripping today

Surfbrah girlfriend: You didn't surf today?? Did you?? The swell's up from the storm. The bacteria in the water is 'out the door' (meaning a lot).

Surfbrah: I didn't see anything.

I shit you not.

Happy Friday, love to love you baby!

I don't know if this is true or not, but my buddy Matteo sent it to me, and I think it's a lovely way to start a weekend. A bit piggish but you know what, Miss Piggy and Wonder Woman were some of my earliest gay icon's. Now I've moved onto David Beckham and fresh pasta. My, how the mighty have fallen. Matteo is my source of inspiration for "Are You Shitting Me...."

This just keeps getting better......

Are you shitting me???

Somewhere on the coast of Southern California sits a fish restaurant where the absurd is engaged and sanity frequently 86'd. But in the observations of humanity bits of humor are found.

This is a rare one. The boyfriend eats meat. The girlfriend does not. She doesn't deter the bf from ordering it out. She does require keeping the menu at the table. Not for reference she keeps it, but defense. She puts the menu up on the table as a wall between the two of them so they can eat dinner 'together'. Now and again she peeks around the Great Barrier/Beef to make conversation and flirt. It's reminiscent of Pyramus and Thisbe, n'cest pas?

Are you shitting me?

Overheard at a popular fish joint on the PCH in Malibu ("The Bu");

Waiter: We have naturally farm-raised King Salmon from British Columbia....
Woman: Excuse me, how do they raise salmon on a farm?
Waiter: Uhhhhhhhhh..........

Are you shitting me?

Post offices are not my favorite places to visit. They always develop into a very needy codependency that I don't like to encounter. "You need this form, stand over there." "Sir I'm on break soon if you can't fill in the form timely...". And usually there's about as much warmth at Post Office on the west coast as there is at the DMV. My old post office was housed in some crazy building with turrets (towers not swear words) and had the worst counter attendants and post master brought in from another dimension. There is no possible way that those people are human. No way. Enough civil service bashing (sorry Bruce P)

I say that, until today. I was mailing out bday cards and gifts and wanted to use the automated postage scale machine thingy. There was quite the line for the counters, I smiled as I made my way to the machine's area adjacent to the lobby. A woman was loading packages into it like it was a Friday afternoon in Santa's north pole workshop before an "Elf Gone Wild Weekend" happy hour was about to start. She leaves and jams the chute with her last one. No biggy I think, I'll do my postage here and counter drop the rest. Chutes and Ladders!!! The Universe is jammed up. The credit card processing won't work. I informed the patron behind me of this. He just thought I had lousy credit and tried it himself. Scowling, I made my way to Hands Across The Post Office. Doubting Thomas followed moments behind, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact. The line moved better than I thought and not before long I was being called to a clerk. I gave him my out going cards, bought stamps and he began weighing the packages. "By the way, the self automated package machine is out of order. So you should know," I said very nicely. The clerk raised his head, looked me in the eye and said, "Job Security," with the wryest smile you've ever seen. Humor. At the post office. Humor. At the post office. I pert near peed. Something between an exhale and laugh and a cough came out of my chest and the clerk smiled greater. At the end of the transaction I pulled my amex from my fold of cash and handed it over. He then commented how he had a similar wallet and produced and wallet made of cardboard and duct tape. I told him the color was fetching and the style trendy. He was pleased with this transaction. Business over I wished him a good day, and left.

It's not uncommon to find characters in Los Angeles. People regularly exercise at the park on a tightrope, or leave gyms with juggling pins. Sometimes you can even catch the nice man in the matadors outfit riding his bicycle with the basket of silk flowers on the handle bar through Calabasas, and I won't even start about The Cat Lady (I'll tell you another time). But to find a character, in civil service at the post office, with great timing...........are you shitting me?

Are You Shitting Me?

Remember; It's not my intention to embarass you. It's to ridicule you.

Are You Shitting Me continues with a look at the stupid and innane. Inane and out of their minds, stupider and stupidest there is never a lack of material in this town of scenery and Scene shops. She stoops to conquer, while most trash is already on their stoops.

In this new feature I promised you the best in overheard conversations from the depraved in Los Angeles but I made a cellphone exception this time around. This was almost as good as the jaunty little woman with the masking tape on her ass like a pig's tail. I'll tell you that story sometime. Leaping Lizards!!!!! It's a Leap Year.

You are never going to believe this broad I saw at the Farmer's Market last sunday in Studio City. The real irony was that she didn't even have fancy canvas bags to shop with. She was toting plastic. Yet she could get the skinny on a skivvy. Irony, not found in your organic spinach. Wasn't there any NASCAR on the television? You know she wasn't on her way to the Oscars.


Maybe to Oscar the Grouch in a stylish aluminum trash can.

Are you shitting me?

Presenting a new column for the Spatagram, "Are you shitting me?" will give you the best overheard conversations in the greater Los Angeles area with a penchant for stupidity. Get ready, there'll be plenty.

Valentine's Night, a fish restaurant near the Pacific, 2008:

MAN: Happy Valentine's Day, honey. (slides her small jewelry box)
WOMAN: Oh sweetie. Thank you.
MAN: I hope you'll like them.
WOMAN: (opening box) I'm sure I will.
MAN: (to waiter) I'll have another.
WOMAN: Heart-shaped diamond earings?
MAN: You like them?
WOMAN: You gave these to me last year.
MAN: I did?
WOMAN: You did. (pulls back hair from ear, showing earrings)

I shit you not.