Well, I don't live in LA anymore. Now I teach at a high school in Worcester, MA. BUT I still have some things I need to post on here (character sketches and stories) so I may still be putting things up. I think I'm going to start up my other blog (Popular Electronics, December 1958) again.

I don't want to spend too long on a wrap up thing, because it'll make me sad. My time in LA was awesome, probably the best year of my life so far, and I can't wait to go back and visit. It is nice feeling like you really know a city that most people on the East Coast either a) hate, and would never want to live/visit there or b) idolize. I might try to go back for a visit during my February vacation. We'll see.

EMAIL

I teach a computer class every Thursday. It's called Computers II: Introduction to the Internet. It is awesome! At the end of the class I have the clients send me an email (to my work email address). Often I'll have them pretend I'm an employer, but usually they just say things like "Dear Miss Allison Thanks for helping with class. Your pretty" and such. Today I just said "send me an email" and didn't make them pretend I was an employer because I was already pretty tired. Anyway I got a great message today from a student. Here it is:

Sent: Thursday, July 22, 2010 3:11 PM
Subject: meat

Dear. Larry
I am righting you A Letter to let you no i love you

Magic Castle

I flirted with John Stamos for 20 minutes at the Magic Castle, and I touched his once elbow while doing it. At one point, my friend and I decided that it would be a good idea to play it cool with Stamos, and focus on talking to his magician friend. My friend had made him a paper tulip out of a bar napkin. Uncle Jesse's magician friend was a bit randy, and made rude comments about me and my friend. I didn't like it.

I got compared to Grace Kelly by 3 different magicians. (Magicians are sleazy) Everything went swimmingly, except when one magician bought us deviled eggs (why would you order deviled eggs?) with caviar and truffle oil, and it was so awful, and I had to eat one so as to not be rude. I almost puked, but I was focused on being as charming as possible so I took it like a champ. Oh, Magic Castle! I wish I flirted with Robert Downey Jr. instead, but you can't have it all! (R.D. Jr. was not at the Magic Castle last night, I'm just sayin')

DEAN: Stay black, pay taxes, and die

Writing about Dean is a very daunting task because there is so much to say and so many stories to tell I just don't know where to start. I will start, I guess, at the beginning when I first met Dean. He's not actually my client, but his case manager's cubicle is right next to mine. I didn't meet him right away, actually. I heard him.

"I am just saying that if a woman gonna start me going and make me angry I am not afraid to hit her. I'm an equal opportunity beating machine." His voice is part Kermit the Frog, part Shaft.

Now, when I first heard this through my cubicle wall I became immediately concerned for my co-worker, a frail blonde girl who had a bad habit of giving out too much personal information (a habit that an unnerving encounter with a man who believed there to be microchips implanted in his knees by the Fire Departments of New York, Chicago and Los Angeles in order to track his homosexual activities roundly broke) and sitting a little too close to the clients. Out of slight concern, but mostly out of curiosity, I my wheelie chair scooted out of my cube a bit to take a look at this guy.

He's pretty tall, African American and in his 60's. He has no teeth and close-cropped gray hair. The skin on his nose is a bit lighter than the rest of his face, his nails are kind of long and he is wearing broken glasses. Dean's legs are stretched out in front of him and he he has fingers crossed, supporting the back of his head. Dean is smiling and nodding a bit. He is basically on vacation, and loving every minute of it. My co-worker is stunned.

It was during Dean's assessment, the time case managers first meet the client. The assessment is basically a list of questions we ask them, mostly yes or no, about their work history, felonies, medical conditions, etc. Then we make a goal plan and set them up with a few more appointments. The way things go in assessment often, but not always, determines how your relationship is going to be.

"So," she asks after a few seconds. She has returned to the list of questions displayed on her monitor. "You have a history of domestic violence?"

"Absolutely not." Said Dean. "Ain't no woman done nothin' to me, I'm just sayin' I ain't afraid to should the need arise."

We all thought Dean was a nutcase, and we all were glad he wasn't on our caseload. As time went on, however, and Dean became an office regular we began to get a much different picture of Dean. I can't really remember why Dean started signing in to see me; it probably had something to do with the fact that my co-worker, his assigned case manager, was out of the office pretty regularly. Eventually he started seeing me, Elizabeth and his case manager Bianca all the time. He'd come in, sign in to see me and 5 minutes after he'd left my cubicle he was in Liz's. He started calling his his "3 angel case managers."

The thing we work on with Dean the most is how to control his violent urges. Now, I'm pretty sure that Dean has no violent urges, ever. He's a very nice guy. But he loves getting a rise out of us and having a reason to come into the office, so we see him pretty frequently.

That's all for now, again. I am starting to wonder if I can actually write about Dean... you really need to meet him to get him. What do you think? DO YOU WANT TO HEAR MORE? I guess I should write more because he is certainly a challenge to accurately depict using only the written word. He needs multi-media.

nerds!

Team USA lost. And I really wanted this one for Clint Dempsey, because he deserves it for not being a baby. There's always 2014 for us to get beat by Ghana 2-1 again!

I stopped using shampoo. I am not gross! I use a baking soda scrub once a week now and the "Mexican Hair Washing Method" every other day. The "Mexican Hair Washing Method" involves using hot water and rags and then cold water. It works well, but it's sort of weird.

For some reason, I've recently become more health conscious. It's not that I've read anything new. I just started buying as much organic food as possible and freaking out about products I put on my skin!

Tim and I just had a fantastic weekend in Santa Barbara and Ventura. I didn't actually take any pictures, I am not sure why. I guess I just didn't want to lug the camera around this weekend. Please enjoy this image of the Mission Santa Barbara I found on the internet.

If you ever need or want to visit Southern California my advice to you is to stay in Ventura (the actual name being San Buenaventura [classy]) and drive to Saint B (45 minutes or so northwise) and Los Angeles (1 hour in no traffic, 2 hours in normal traffic, 3 hours in holiday weekend traffic southwise) instead of staying in Los Angeles itself. Maybe it's just because I live and work here, but LA is not usually a very relaxing place to be.

Santa Barbara is absolutely right out of a movie. Everything is perfect and done in mission style. Ventura is similar, but more of a surfer beach town and less of a wealthier Northampton of Southern California, like SB.

We went to a great museum; the Karpeles Manuscript Museum. (Be careful, the site plays cheezy music). It had a little bit of everything! Letters from Elizabeth I to Francis Drake re defeating the Spanish Armada, handwritten drafts of Ian Fleming Bond stories, sheet music written by Mozart, Bach and Tchaikovsky, Gutenberg Bible pages, a map used by Christopher Columbus on his voyage, lots of Egyptian stuff, Russian space station computers, an ancient Torah, letters from Arthur Conan Doyle written to dead people, the world's first folding pocket knife, memos written by Admiral Nelson shortly before his death aboard the HMS Victory during the Battle of Trafalgar. IT WAS NUTS! They have more in New York (Newburgh and Buffalo) and in Charleston, SC, Tacoma, WA, Jacksonville, FL Fort Wayne, IN, Shreveport, LA and Duluth MN. Maybe more, too. I don't remember. If you are ever in any of these towns, GO! It is also free. The guy, Mr. Karpeles, MUST BE LOADED because he just buys these things and puts it all into a museum. It's awesome. Apparently they have the Proclamation of the Holy Crusades which, obviously, I really want to see.

Queen Elizabeth and Arthur Conan Doyle had interesting, neat handwriting. The composers had CRAZY handwriting.

I had a great vacation.

Did I ever blog about my most inappropriate comment ever?

Darnell, the client from the reindeer post, flirts with me constantly. Well, he used to. I think I got the point across and now he just talks about how he's going to bake me my wedding cake (I helped him enroll in culinary school) or "at least one of my wedding cakes." Back in the day, when he was inappropriate all the time, I really put my foot in my mouth.

Darnell was in my cubicle talking about how pretty I am and what "nice blonde goldilocks hair" I have and how I'm so nice and I'm not going to be a bad wife but a good wife and blah blah blah. Amid his comments and my constant verbal reminders of what is appropriate and what is not I was somehow able to discern that he wanted me to print out some of his resumes and make copies of his California Guard Card (which, by the way, allows him to carry a gun!).

I got up and went to the break room, which also houses THE BIZHUB 2000 (which cost like $20,000 or something nuts) (sorry for all the parentheses). I poured myself some coffee while waiting THE BIZHUB 2000 to do its thing.

When I came back into my cubicle I put the coffee mug down on my desk and handed Darnell the papers. He took his stuff and looked at my coffee mug.

"Don't take no sugar?"

"No."

"No cream at all?"

"Nope, nothing Darnell."

"That's weird. Most ladies like it a little lighter."

"Not me. I like mine strong and black."

Italicized for emphasis, I hope you can tell how much I wished I could shove those words back in as they were spilling out. I immediately started talking about the Lakers (if you ever say something awkward in Los Angeles, this is a good tactic to divert the conversation) and, thankfully, Darnell didn't say a word.

Pardon The Lack of Blogging or Lil' Jon is the Antichrist

I've been applying to jobs and I have no time to blog. But I applied to 2 jobs today at work, so I feel like it's ok for me to take a little break. Today, I'm going to tell you about either Dean or Demonde.

I guess I'll start with Demonde, because Dean is a regular client and I know he'll keep coming in. Demonde is very unstable and could disappear at any moment.

Demonde wears a dirty white bathrobe every day, all day. He has this look in his eyes that suggest he is constantly staring at the mesmerizing pendulum of a grandfather clock located a few inches above eye level. It's disconcerting at first, but when you hear that he speaks only in rhyme it kind of makes sense.

"Today I would like to get a job/but it's not that I need one/ it's for the future I sob/ at the coming of Lil' Jon"

Lil Jon is a big deal with Demonde. I'll get to that in a minute.

When I met him, he told me he was Jesus. Keep in mind, he told me this after he mentioned he "didn't need to take his meds anymore". So he tells me he is Jesus (using slant rhyme liberally I might add because Jesus is a pretty tough rhyme) and he goes on and on about being the messiah for like, 25 minutes. Then he asks me if I believe. I say, "do you mean, do I believe in God?" He said "Yes, God. From which we are all shod!*" and I said "yes I believe in God."

"Well then, you are a believer. You may read the white book, don't let the black one be a deceiver."

I had already seen these books. He brought them in for my co-worker two weeks earlier. (Demonde is not my client, he's just a favorite of mine.) When he brought in these books, he told my co-worker that she could not read the black book, only the white book. The white book is a white binder filled with loose leaf notebook paper. The pages contain scribblings about Jesus and lots of magazine cut-out pictures of Lil Jon. We all wondered a lot about this Lil Jon thing. I got my answer last week.

Demonde was speaking to my co-worker, his case manager, at the time. Thankfully the cubicle walls are thin so I was able to hear pretty much everything. Let me break it down for you.

There are three Machiavellis. The first Machiavelli was not, as you might think, Machiavelli. No, the first Machiavelli was Tupac**. The next Machiavelli was R. Kelly. The third, and final, Machiavelli is Lil Jon. Lil Jon is the anti-christ and on [last Tuesday] Demonde is going to fight him at Venice Beach to bring on the apocalypse. He's going to defeat Lil Jon and walk on top of the Pacific Ocean and when he walks on water the end will come. We're all going to be ok though, because we've read the white book. Please keep in mind that this was all in some semblance of rhyme so it's even crazier than it sounds here because he really had to stretch sometimes. (For example, making "Jon" rhyme with "won".)

I'm going to include a Lil' Jon video so my parents know who he is. I was going to try to find the clean version of this song, but I think it's more effective if I just leave it dirty. Don't freak out. Lil Jon is the gentleman with the dreds, glasses, grill and pimp cup.

* Shod means "furnished or equipped with a shoe" just as an FYI.

** According to Wikipedia, 2pac actually went by "Makaveli" sometimes so that makes this all a little bit less mysterious, but no less crazy.

Dean is another story. Actually, Dean is a series of stories.

Mayumi Scrimpshaw

We don't see too many Asians at [my non-profit]. It's a fact. But the few that we have are loud and weird. Take, for example, Mayumi Scrimpshaw.

First of all her last name, Scrimpshaw, cannot be real. Second of all, she is about 65 and dies her hair a color that can only be described as "mallard foot." Third: she has tattooed eyeliner. Fourth: she only wears denim. Fifth: I lied about her only wearing denim because she always wears leather scrunchies. Scrunchies. Sixth: Despite living in the USA "since when Woodstorcks went," I can barely understand her English. Seventh: She is very racist when it comes to certain ethnicities. Eighth: She is highly homophobic when it comes to men folk. Ninth: She has no filter whatsoever, which explains why her job counselor is so intimately familiar with seven and eight. Tenth: She doesn't wear shoes. I make her put shoes on in my office but she takes them off as soon as she gets to the lobby. If possible, she scowls at me while removing them.

I have a story about her. More soon.

The Scientology Celebrity Center smells terrific. I noticed it on my run this morning. It is like intoxicating tea or something.

I've included a map of the route I run, just for the sake of being boring. I was on the side of the street with the Celebrity Center at the end of my run, so the scent was much appreciated. (THE MAP DOESN'T WORK)

View Larger Map

I walked around Little Tokyo for the first time today, and it's pretty cool. It is also very close to where I work, so I would like to go back and take photos!

I went there to go to their library so I could rent IRON MAN. The library's architecture is very Japanese-y and it has a nice little garden courtyard. PLEASANT.

Tonight I got to hear, firsthand, what Robert Downey Jr. was like in the middle of his addiction. Apparently he used to hang out on Skid Row. I have heard that celebrities sometimes come down to the Row when they are addicted, because they can get what they want and aren't judged/don't have to worry about running into anyone important. I don't know how much I believe it, but I ate the stories up. What fun!

Oscars: Lots of people, helicopters and TMZ vans. Not much to blog about. There was a red carpet after party across the street at The W but I don't care because I'm pretty sure Christoph Waltz wasn't there.

Today: They were filming 24 while I was walking to work. This is a bi-weekly occurrence. I like seeing Kiefer Sutherland (in character) on his cell phone, hiding amidst the crowd. I've never seen 24 but I gather that it's about terrorist threats and Mr. Sutherland does a good job looking on edge. ANYWAY today they were filming and I scuttled out of the shot and went on my way to work.

They were filming outside all day. After we'd closed my co-worker told me there were four gunmen on top of the Hayward (a hotel adjacent to my workplace) and I didn't believe him.

"It's just 24."

"No, it's not. There are cops and crowds of people. And they are evacuating the building."

"It doesn't make sense for them to be evacuating buildings if there are gunmen. It's just 24! They've been out there all day!"

"No, it's not! I heard cops yelling at people when I was out getting my burrito. They blocked off 6th and Spring."

At this point I decided it would be good to prove that it was just 24. I waltzed outside and was immediately yelled at by an LAPD officer. "Get back inside! Now!"

Turns out, there really were 4 gunmen* on top of the Hayward!

*Turns out, again, these gunmen were kids with airsoft rifles. But, when I went outside, the cops didn't know that.

I still don't understand why, if they really thought there were gunmen, they were evacuating the building. It was all over KTLA and stuff, too, so I know that at one point it was considered a real threat.

Do You Know how High Fashion Tim is?

VERY!

You have to click on it again. How do I make it so you don't always have to click on big pictures? I am bad at blogs!

This photo came from a program-mandated scavenger hunt, and Tim was kind enough to help us out when we required a "fierce" photo.

Desert Shores, California

Click on it!

Desert Shores is a bizarre, CDP (Census Designated Place) on the Salton Sea. The Salton Sea is a manmade ocean in the middle of the desert. The desert is located in Imperial County. Imperial County is in the southwestern corner of Califorina, and contained within it is Calexico.

DESERT SHORES IS THE WEIRDEST PLACE I'VE BEEN TO IN CALIFORNIA.

The End of an Otter

Otter sent me an email on Valentine's Day. It said "Hello happy valentines I want to see you again but i don't want alive no more."

Then he never picked up his phone and, to be honest, I thought he was back in the hospital for alcohol poisoning... which is exactly where he was!

He called me this morning from our Venice office. He had just gotten out of the hospital the day before and was demanding pants, shirts, bus tokens, etc. from them. He was told, rightfully so, that since he is not a client there he cannot receive services. He then called me and told me to transfer him. I said that once I did it, that would be it. He could not come to our office anymore. He would have to go to the Venice branch. He said fine, and I transferred him. (He had been wanting to be transferred for weeks. I think he was embarrassed about how he asked me to take a picture of him in his underwear, tried to grab me in my cube [he insists he just wanted me to hold his hand], told me he was doing adult films, and vomited up vodka in the lobby.)

He made a big scene over at the Venice office. He screamed and flailed and told off his new case worker, Leo.

Then he came downtown and charged into my cubical. He went on and on about how he didn't want to be a client at Venice, and how he just wanted to come back to our office. I told him that it was too late, and that he would have to deal with Leo at Venice from now on. He yelled and screamed, but he was trashed so it was completely incoherent. My boss came in to talk to him, but he just yelled at her too. He said that if he had to go back to Venice he was going to "commit crime" and "hurt Leo."

Ever since he lunged at me in my cube the security guard, Walt, has had to be with me in his presence. Walt told me later that, while watching Otter yell at me, all he wanted to do was choke him.

He left my cubicle and, when I went out to call someone in, he was standing in the lobby. He said "I just have two questions for you. One is can I get tokens?"

"No, Otter. You are now a client in Venice and you have to go to Venice to receive services."

"Ok, fine. Two: Do you still want to see me?"

"No, I don't. I need you to work with Leo in Venice."

Otter was crestfallen. His eyes welled up immediately, and he stood in silence for a few seconds. It was pretty pathetic, but this dude's a real creep, so I didn't feel bad at all. He charged out of the office saying that he was "going to beat up Leo."

At the risk of overkill...

I need to post this. Yes, I already put it as my Facebook status, but I plan on watching this every morning when I wake up.

Filled with positive soviet energy, I will conquer The City of Angels!

Last night I heard police sirens constantly. I mean, for hours. I couldn't exactly tell where they were coming from. Sometimes they sounded like they were traveling east on Hollywood Blvd, other times they sounded like they were behind my house on the 101. Either way they were going east/southeast. There were also tons of military helicopters flying around. Living in LA, you get used to the sounds of helicopters pretty quick, but I've never heard so many! I read the LA Times this morning to try to figure out what the heck was going on, but the only thing that happened yesterday was the La Cañada Flintridge mudslides. La Cañada Flintridge is (really super) pretty far from me, so I don't think that could be it.

If you hear of anything wild that happened in LA last night, do let me know!

I have a sinus infection right now, but being sick reminds me of how I've only been sick twice so far this year. I think, given the population I work with on a daily basis, this is a pretty record. My immune system is going to be so kickass when I get a job when I'm not working with 300 homeless people every day. As long as I don't get TB. Sometimes I worry about getting TB!

Favorite Celebrity Sighting (Sorry Laura Palmer)

Jon Hamm.

:0

I love the Hollywood Trader Joe's. We were perusing the cereal together and he saw me buy Weetabix aaaaaah it's so embarrassing to buy old people food in front of Don Draper. He smiled at me though (PROBABLY BECAUSE HE COULD TELL I WAS ABOUT TO PASS OUT AND KNOCK OVER ALL THE SPICY CHEESE DIP AND I BET HE HATES MESSES BECAUSE HE'S SO PERFECT).

I am just happy this particular trip to TJ's didn't involve purchasing canned beans, because most do.

Favorite (possible) Celebrity Sighting!

Laura Palmer outside Best Buy at La Brea and Santa Monica!

I had to have the "I am smelling some alcohol on your breath, talk to me about what you are going through" talk this week AND IT WAS AWFUL! It was also Otter.

Musings on Scientology

The Scientology Celebrity Center! So close to my house, I can almost spit on it from bed!

The security guard outside The L. Ron Hubbard Life Exhibit is a weird guy. He often sings a bastardized version of "Tiny Dancer" when I walk by: "Pretty Baby / L.A. Lady / Come learn about Ron Hubbard!" He looks a little like Tony Shalhoub and I'm sure he sings to all the ladies.

The security guards have a Dianetics pyramid patch on their uniforms.

The other day I was walking by the Life Exhibit (just a few blocks from the apartment) when I saw some people standing around with signs. They said "OH-8s Can't Walk Thru Wallz!" OH-8's (or something like that) are the highest level you can reach in Scientology, and they are supposed to be able to walk through walls because all their brain aliens have been scraped out. I made that last bit up, but the guy holding the sign said that it cost $300,000 to be an OH-8 and at first I thought that was a lot but then I thought about how Scientologists are multi-millionaires so I think that guy was wrong about the cost of permeability. Also, his ear was gushing blood.

One time I tried to volunteer at a literacy center in Hollywood. There was no outward indication of it being a Scientological organization. I went in thinking "my, for an all volunteer run organization, this place sure is well funded!" It looked really nice. The lady who met me had crazy eyes, so I should have known right then. She showed me the book I would be working with and it was so stupid. Full of dumb, cheap cartoons that looked like they came off a bottom shelf store brand cereal bag in 1994. The book's author? L. Ron Hubbard. It was called Learning How to Learn but all I learned was that L. Ron Hubbard should have stuck to writing terrible science fiction. The woman held the book and showed me every single page. It was a bit like story time. I don't remember much about it, because there wasn't much to it, but basically it was about this kid who was trying to figure out what the word "run" meant. He went through all the stages of not knowing a word: embarrassed, frustrated, angry, sad. There was very little writing, and therefore very little for the crazy lady to read to me, so she pointed to every cartoon and commented on the current state of the child. "Look at him. Oh, oh he's sad! Look how sad." Turn the page. "Oh, look now! See how he is angry! Can you remember being angry about words? I can." On the last page a dinosaur told the boy to use a dictionary. THE END. Good job, L. Ron. They took me to a back room and tried to get my fingerprints. I, obviously, didn't give them my fingerprints. I also said my name was "Kelly."

Then there was the time I went to the "Psychiatry: And Industry of Death Museum" (run by the Scientologist front organization the People's Commission on Human Rights) and these Nazi youth looking weirdos told me I hated children because I would not sign their crazy petition, but I think that'll have to wait. Isn't that an awkward name? "Psychiatry: An Industry of Death Museum."

Otter

One of my favorite clients is named Arthur. [Edit: Arthur now officially sucks! 2.10.10] Is is originally from Hawaii, but his parents were in the military so he grew up all over. Though he was born in America and grew up on American military bases he has a very thick, almost indecipherable accent. Also, he has an odd cadence and his sentences almost always start in medias res. For example, when asking for bus tokens to get to the G.R. building, Arthur might say "like to go again plus I need bus tokens. Gotta go to G.R. building." It would sound like the previous week I had given him bus tickets to go to the G.R. room, and he was correcting my mistake.

At our first meeting, Arthur pulled out a manilla folder full of photocopied pictures of himself with various people (including the chief of police in Santa Monica, and some guy dressed up as a Taco). Also contained in the folder were pages and pages of emails he'd printed off talking about how "Otter would not be working at Snazzy Jeff's anymore." I flipped through the document, trying to figure out why this was important. Everyone at Snazzy Jeff's seemed to love Otter. "Otter was a good worker" one email said. Another said "Otter was teh best we ever HAD!!!!!" I asked Arthur what this was all about and he said "see ok oh that's me. I'm Otter. I like people to call me Otter. This is when I worked at Google."

"Google? Oh... what's this talk about Snazzy Jeff's?"

"Snazzy Jeff's was working at Google. I worked at Google though."

(Turns out Otter worked in the cafeteria where Google employees worked, or something, but to this day I can't really get it out of him. He insists he worked for Google and always makes me put this on his resume.)

Otter is very confusing. One day he came in talking about how he was applying for a cook position at a place called "Creamy de la Creepy." I said, as I imagined you would also say, "What? What is it called?"

"Creamy de la Creepy. It's a restaurant in Manhattan Beach."

"Creamy de la Creepy? Are you sure that's right? Creamy de la Creepy?"

"YES! Creamy de la Creepy! Is where I want to work!"

"That sounds weird, Otter. Write it down."

He wrote down "Creme de la Crepe."

Otter is at least one foot shorter than me, always in a rush, and constantly carrying around lots of things he's printed off the internet (craigslist ads, coupons, photos of Geena Davis, etc). He gets beat up a lot, because he is tiny and lives in Skid Row. He also always has a lot of money on him from his job as a chef.

Otter has a few constant requests. Things he asks me every day. Here they are:

1) Can I take a picture of him to attach to his resumes? (I tell him that people don't do that, but I started to take his picture for him anyway because he was so damn insistent.)

2) Can I photocopy the picture of him with the Chief of Police of Santa Monica? And also the picture of him that was in the newspaper when he was in culinary school?

3) When am I going to get married? Doesn't my boyfriend know he needs to lock me down?

Otter can be very annoying, but he works regularly and is nice enough so I am happy to have him as a client. He likes to send me emails from the lobby to let me know when he arrived. The other day he sent me an email with "Otter" as the subject and the message being "I am here." He came in to my office with his usual stack of papers. Among them I saw a craigslist ad for a job at a gentleman's club. I ignored it. He announced that he had "a very weird thing to say; a very odd request."

"What is it, Otter?" I prepared to answer in the negative, because clients always have very "odd requests."

"Well, it's just. I need a private photo session. Well. I need a picture of me... for a job. I need you to take a picture of me in my underwear."

"No. Absolutely not." It came out really quick, because I knew before he asked that it was going to be my answer.

He got bright red and buried his head in his hands. "I'm so embarrassed, Miss Allison! I can't believe I did that!"

I started laughing, because I didn't know what else to do. He laughed too, but you could tell he was pretty embarrassed. I got up to get something from the printer. I was wearing my criss-cross tights that day. They look a little like this:

Believe it or not, I don't show this much leg at work. It would probably be wise for me to wear Mormon underwear to the office.

"WHOA! Look at your stockings! Where did you get those stockings?"

"I don't know. Macy's, I think."

"Whoa. Holy cow. When I have a girlfriend again I am making her wear those. You look like the president of Scotland."

?

Today I introduced myself to a new client. He responded with "Oh yeah... I've heard about you. Everyone at Harbor House as heard about you. I'm so glad you're mine."

Harbor House is a home for violent ex-felons.

Who Rides a Reindeer, Darnell? No one does. Stop it.

The holiday party was held two weeks before Christmas. I first heard about this party back in September, when Darnell told me that last year's venue in the Old Bank District didn't have a large enough dance floor. "There's dancing at this party?" I asked him. I was surprised because our non-profit prides itself on its sense of professionalism. "Oh, yes Miss Allison. And you're gon' dance with me first" he said with a smile made up entirely of glassy dentures he had done while in San Quentin. "You definitely gon' dance with me first." This comment came during my second week, so I was a bit unnerved and definitely not looking forward to this party. (I have since gotten better at dealing with all the unnerving things that come out of Darnell's mouth. Some of his creepiness he can't help; the dentures make his mouth look fake. You don't know how disconcerting a fake-looking mouth is until you see one.)

Clients had to sign up with their case manager to get a ticket to the party. People who hadn't been into the office in months came in just to sign up for the party. They could bring family members, and there was going to be a Santa Claus and gifts for kids. One of my nicest clients came in to sign up and asked to bring two of his daughters. He said they were about to turn 11. I said, "Oh, are they twins?" He laughed and said "Nope." (A side note about this guy; he has like 14 children and went to prison for 20 years for helping to transport 1,500 kilos of cocaine. Do you know how many pounds that is? I do, because I did the math in front of him. Bad form, I know. But that is so many pounds of cocaine!)

Darnell spent the next month or so telling me that I was going to dance with him, and I spent the next month or so telling him I was absolutely not going to dance with him. "I will be working, Darnell. I will be doing my job. I will dance with no one." His favorite thing to do was to tell me that he "doesn't take no for an answer." He also liked to list off names of women, many of them his former case managers, who would tell me that he doesn't take no for an answer. I told him he was going to have to learn. I once yelled at a former Crip in the street for lying to me. I've gotten good at sassing violent felons, and I hope it doesn't get me in trouble some day.

On the day of the party my co-worker brought in reindeer antlers for us to wear. I really like fun holiday hair accessories so I was pretty excited to wear the antlers. I was in charge of the raffle and had gotten all the stuff set and was all ready to go when party-time rolled around. I was looking forward to seeing my clients enjoy themselves, because they're usually down-trodden in the office. I thought it would be one of those heartwarming affairs you always see in movies; you know what I mean. The homeless shelter party on Christmas Eve, etc. This was not to be the case.

The party was one block south of the office. Looking back on it, I don't know why I thought having a huge party in a warehouse in the middle of Skid Row wouldn't be completely nuts. The party started at 6 and people were lined up outside waiting to get in at 4:00 while we were still setting up. Darnell was waiting outside, pointing at me and leering through the windows as I hung Christmas decorations. He grinded the air. I shook my head and stapled a snowman to the wall.

I had to stand by the door and take entrance tickets. It was a parade of smells. When they handed me an entrance ticket, they got a raffle ticket. We started handing out raffle tickets beginning with the number "080" and went all the way up to somewhere around "450" (I promise this will be important).

Darnell walked up to me and said "All right Miss Allison. You gon' be a reindeer tonight! You know I like to ride them reindeers!" I responded with "Who rides a reindeer, Darnell? No one does. Stop it." Something I've learned is how to figure out when people are full of bullroar, I am pretty sure Darnell is full of bullroar. He needs to be shut up.

We had about 100 prizes to give out, mostly coats and gift cards. I had to stand up in front of everyone, pull tickets out of a basket and read off the numbers. I introduced myself as "Blitzen the Raffle Reindeer" so people would stop calling me Vixen. The set-up was bad for a number of reasons, one of them being that I did everything mostly by myself. The other one being that I had to cut off karaoke to use the mic. Everyone wanted their chance to sing "Money to Blow" and I was hampering them.

Basically, everyone was screaming at me. They were all mad about something. Many people thought I was fixing the raffle so that my clients could win. The people who had tickets beginning with 0 started ganging up on me because I "wasn't pullin' no zero numbers and stats-tically that ain't possible!" They were, of course, wrong because only 20 people out of over 300 had tickets beginning with 0. They kept asking me to see the tickets I pulled out. Whenever I walked through the crowd back to the table they yelled at me. "HEY! REINDEER BITCH! PULL SOME FUCKIN' ZEROS, BITCH!"

We had a professional Santa Claus at the party. He was an acquaintance of one of our fancier volunteers. Santa was from Brentwood and catered to that crowd, mostly doing private parties on the West Side. (The West Side is the fancy, nice part of L.A.) Santa was there to take pictures which we then printed and put in little holiday frames. He knew he was coming Downtown, but he was expecting to be with the kids the whole time. There were only about 15 kids there, all of which were pretty terrified of Santa, so he ended up spending his time with our regular clients. He was very uncomfortable! He was bright red and sweaty the whole time. The lady clients kept trying to kiss him, and the male clients kept saying stuff like "I know you! You raped my sister! I'm gonna kill you!" and "You stole my mama's purse!" Many flashed gang signs in their pictures. Santa looked terrified in every photo, and left after about 40 minutes.

One of the best characters at the party was this guy I'd never seen before in an electric wheelchair. It was a really big electric wheelchair, the biggest I've ever seen. He was having a blast, spinning around on the dance floor, getting his picture taken with Santa, getting multiple pieces of cake and lots of food. He came up to me to ask how to sign up for the raffle. I asked him if he lost his ticket. He said he never got one. I asked him who his Employment Specialist was. He said, "what?"

"Your employment specialist."

"What?!"

"Employment specialst!"

"What? No one. I'm disabled!"

"Are you a client at [my non-profit]?"

"What?"

"[MY NON PROFIT!"]

"No! I just live here!"

"This party is for clients, sir. You can't sign up for the raffle"

"OK!" He said. Then he sped off and starting spinning around on the dance floor, with two plates of food in his lap.

The night ended on a bad note when Mike, a notorious jerk of a client who wears a Sunbeam Bread hat around all the time (like that's so badass) got angry and dumped seven open water bottles all over the Santa pictures. This was especially bad because Santa had already left so there was no option to retake the photos. The CEO, who is usually very professional, and my other co-worker picked him up by the shoulders and brought him outside. The CEO screamed "You don't come into my house! And fuck with my family!" It was odd.

I am sorry that I haven't posted in MONTHS. Here are some reasons why.

1) November was not a funny month. No one got jobs, people got murdered and I got sick.

2) December was a very funny month, but I was in the habit of not writing.

3) I adjusted quite a bit to the lunacy that is my job. What I would have found shocking, or at least odd, in September no longer seemed blog-worthy to me.

Now I am trying to get better. Here are the things I need to write about:

a) Toothjaw

b) Client Holiday Party INCLUDING: Blitzen the Raffle Reindeer and The Party Crasher.

c) Otter's Inappropriate Request

I will get crackin' with "Who Rides a Reindeer, Darnell?"