I recently passed by Jeff Probst as he enjoyed lunch with a friend on Ventura Blvd. Since I didn’t have the guts to say hello, I dealt with the situation the next best way: By posting a missed connection on Craigslist. Since ads only stay listed on the website for a week, I’ve posted it below for posterity.
As of now, Jeff Probst has not responded.
Jeff Probst – m4m – 30 (Ventura Blvd.)
Since I have a high moral code, and rule #14 of said moral code is “Never disturb a man while he’s eating lunch,” I turned away and continued my walk back to the office, wondering what might’ve been if I had only stopped and said hi.
I hope you enjoyed your healthy lunch choice. Me? I’m regretting two things: our missed connection, and eating the onion rings. They were too greasy.
This Memorial Day marks the five year anniversary of my relocation from Pittsburgh to Los Angeles. To mark the occasion, I’ll be posting daily anecdotes of memories from my first few months as a wide eyed 22-year-old in Tinseltown.
For those who don’t know the story, I was plucked from a career in retail by my mentor and friend Mikey Glazer in 2006. Mikey and I initially began a correspondence after he discovered my college television show, “Gettin’ Later.” Two years later, I became the first person he hired before a face to face meeting.
Mikey was staffing up his casting department for the Telemundo version of “Deal or No Deal,” titled “Vas o No Vas.” I was working as a cashier at Best Buy and pondering my place in society. He told me the job was mine, and after contemplating whether or not I actually wanted to leave Pittsburgh, I took the job and drove cross-country with my friend Jeremy.
Some people thought it was great that I was perusing my aspirations. Others thought I was silly for leaving my home town. One coworker, in a moment I will never forget, told me that within a year I would be broke and back living at home with my mother. I had many doubts myself, but ultimately decided if I were ever to make the move I’d been talking about for years, the time was then.
And here I am five years later, still living in Los Angeles. Though still far from financial security, I can pay my bills while doing what I enjoy, I have a great life and great friends, and I can go to the beach anytime I damn well please.
So thanks to everyone I’ve met along the way during these five years. To the people I’ve bonded with over a beer, the women I’ve dated, my work colleagues, and everyone I’ve ever had a moment with. You’ve made my time here wonderful.
Also, thank you to my friends and family back home who have supported my decision to live across the country. Even though they’re always asking me when I’m moving back home, I know they’re happy for me.
Here’s to five more years!
While driving in Los Feliz recently, my car was struck by a runaway avocado that bounced off a rickety fruit truck while my vehicle passed it. I saw it coming, but didn’t have enough reaction time to swerve. The result was a loud noise and a hole in the driver’s side headlight of my 2001 Pontiac Grand-Am.
There wasn’t enough time to turn around and get the license plate of the prick who doesn’t know how to secure the fruit with one of the biggest, hardest seeds known to man while he drives 10 miles above the speed limit. I did, however, have time to be thankful that the avocado didn’t bounce up another foot and smash through my windshield, which could have potentially killed me.
Like all people, I’ve envisioned how I might leave this world. Most of these visions involve me dying while engaged in a threesome with two women who didn’t make the cut to be one of Charlie Sheen’s goddesses. In none of these scenarios has a fruit of any kind been involved, unless you count an alcohol induced nightmare in which I was killed by a coked out Andy Dick.
Thankfully, the damage was minimized to my headlight. A mere flesh wound for a car that has survived a cross-country trip, two rear-endings, and countless sexual disappointments by its driver.
I was traveling through rural Mississippi over the weekend (is there a part of Mississippi that isn’t rural?) and stopped at a gas station for a for a fuel fill up and a piss drop off and came across the above note written on the bathroom stall’s door. Intrigued, I snapped a photo to document the occasion.
After paying for my cup of joe, which involved dealing with two of the saddest and most miserable looking people I’ve ever seen working at a gas station (and that’s saying a lot), and taking a free cd recording of a local Baptist minister’s sermon, we got back on the road.
I dialed the number written on the stall door, intending to ask for BigNasty, but I got a recording saying the number was disconnected. The other, crossed out numbers got the same result. There were brief thoughts of posting a missed connection on Craig’s List in hopes that BigNasty might find me and give me the head job of my life, I decided against it. Actually speaking with BigNasty would’ve provided a better ending to the story, but sometimes the thrill of life is in the journey and not the destination.
After living in L.A. for 3 years, I’ve had my share of celebrity sightings. Too many to remember them all. However, with me being a glass-half-empty kind of guy, I’ll never forget the sighting that never was and the road not taken. For the rest of my days, I’ll feel regret for not locking eyes with Gabrielle Carteris.
I’ve been lucky enough to encounter a good chunk of the “Beverly Hills, 90210” cast. Jason Priestley at Gelson’s Market. Jennie Garth at the Prism Awards. Ian Ziering at Big Wangs. Unfortunately the woman who portrayed Andrea Zuckerman has been the most slippery of them all.
Last Thursday, I was supposed to have dinner at a sushi restaurant in the valley. Due to circumstances beyond my control, plans were changed and I went somewhere else. That evening, I recieved a text from my girlfriend informing me that Carteris was at the restaurant enjoying some raw fish and, I assume, a few laughs.
I became flooded with mixed emotions. Happy to be attending the birthday party of a dear friend, yet sad to have missed out on what would have surely been a life-altering experience. Since that day, my mind has been wandering with thoughts of what might have been.
Perhaps we would have met eyes as I bit into a salmon roll. I confidently walk to her table buy a round of sake bombs. After a few minutes of stimulating conversation, I steer the topic to “90210” and slide in a remark about how I always found her glasses to be sexy.
We down our sake bombs and I let it slip that I find older women attractive. She giggles and touches my thigh. I insist on picking up her tab and she asks if I will come home with her. Hesitant, I ask about her marital status. Gabrielle laughs and says that not only does her husband not mind, but he likes to video tape all extra-marital encounters.
My girlfriend does not object, as all of the women of “90210” are on my laminated “wish list” a la Ross Gellar and “Friends.”
I provide her passion and home movie fodder, and she provides me stories and tid bits of her time on the best teen show in television history. She eventually abandons her husband for me and she unfreezes her eggs. Since she’s middle-aged, this is the only way to conceive our love child. We can make a Hanna Zuckerman-Vasquez of our own and live off of her residuals for the rest of our days.
It was not meant to be, so I returned to my job on Monday, pondering a life of bliss with a washed up, middle-aged TV actress that will never happen.
Last night, I had a dream that ratings on the daytime talk show “The View” were dropping, and they were bringing me in to host the show along with some bald guy, I think it was Scott Hamilton. They fired all the women on the show, and I told them to not blame me. The ladies were pissed but I managed to calm them down.
I said goodbye to them one by one, then Joy Behar seduced me. I tagged her then met her husband.
What does this dream mean?
P.S. I don’t think Joy Behar is the least bit attractive.
It was wild.