� Memoirs of an Evil Genius �
Conquering the World, One Martini at a Time

� Dropping The Mom On L.A. �
12:40 p.m., 2006-03-02

I know I�ve lightly touched on this subject before, but it bears repeating: I�ve just about FUCKING HAD IT with driving in Los Angeles, I�m going to tell you. The sheer amount of obstacles and aggravations one (read: I) must encounter in a routine daily commute verges on intolerable. Nay, it doesn�t verge; it puts its big-ass dirty size 17 clodhopper boots all up IN that shit, and then grinds its heel around to push the intolerable into the cracks, where you can never get it back out, and then it rots and festers! It sucks, is what I�m saying. Witness yesterday when an old geezer in a too-expensive car yelled out his window and called me a �stupid son of a bitch� because I wouldn�t PULL INTO AN INTERSECTION AT A RED LIGHT so he could get around me. Witness this morning when some stupid whore played chicken with me in MY LANE, some dipshit tried to use the carpool lane to cut in front of everyone and DIDN�T EVEN SIGNAL BEFORE TRYING TO MERGE BACK, and some fucking mental headcase jogger chick RAN OUT in front of my car FROM BEHIND A TREE in the MIDDLE OF THE STREET where I DIDN�T HAVE A STOP SIGN. It�s like fucking Grand Theft Auto out there, y�all!

Anyway, now that I�ve gotten that out of my system, please allow me to tell you about this past weekend, when my mother and my sister came to visit! They�d been talking about doing this for a long, long time, but my mother has a lot of difficulty getting away from her job, so it was great that it finally worked out. They arrived on Friday, and the three of us met for dinner at an Italian restaurant in Venice (California, not Italy). It was here that Mrs. Jones and I discovered our mother had gone around the bend. Herewith, a transcript of our conversation:

Mrs. Jones: Hey, Dr. No � how do you like your new job?
Me: Oh, it�s not so bad! Sometimes I�m really busy, but I seem to be handling it okay.
Mom: Did Storm call you on your birthday?
Me: Uh�not sure where that came from, but okay. No, actually she didn�t. But she called me the next morning. You know, her birthday is this weekend too! We should call her. I bought her an automatic juicer!
Mrs. Jones: Oh, that�s a really good idea! Maybe I�ll get her something for her kitchen, too!
Mom [to Mrs. Jones]: Are you going to make your own baby food?
Mrs. Jones: �
Mom: Because your grandmother was really big on making your own baby food.
Me: Where the hell did that come from?
Mom: I just want to know!
Mrs. Jones: Can we talk about one thing at a time, though, please?
Mom [disgruntled]: Fine. I was just curious.
Me: Actually, on the topic of grandma, she�s lost her mind. She bought me this self-help system so I can meet my inner oracle and extract the wisdom of the ages from across space and time!
Mrs. Jones: Nifty.
Me: I�ll say. I�m not sure why she thought I needed that particular gift, but I�m trying not to read too much into it.
Mom [pause]: It�s just that I don�t see you that often, so I have to ask these questions when I think of them!
Like that. You may substitute various nouns in and out of that conversation and just use it as a template for the rest of the weekend, during which my sister and I engaged in lucid discussions that were interrupted now and again as my mother sought to finish conversations we began in 1995.

She had a good time, though. It was her first visit to the west coast, and thusly the first time she�d ever seen the Pacific Ocean. It was also her first LA traffic jam. We�d gone up to Pasadena for the afternoon, where I stumbled accidentally into a bottomless mimosa, from whose clutches I then tried to extricate myself with about a gallon of water. It was not, of course, until we hit gridlock on the 405 that I suddenly had to pee. And I mean, I had to pee. My sister suggested I go waltzing up the incline along the highway and do my business behind a bush at the top of the berm, overlooking the road. Yeah, right. EVERYONE in the county was stuck behind us in that traffic jam, and I am NOT going to jump out of the car and take a whiz while nine million Angelenos pull out their camera phones and liveblog me.

Fortunately my sister was wearing her Bad Idea jeans, and she suggested I instead pee into a water bottle, which she then passed into the backseat. This was an even more ill-advised course of action than the former, if that�s at all possible, never mind the fact PEEING IN THE CAR is hard enough WITHOUT my MOM and MY SISTER sitting a foot and a half away. Plus, I�d have to cover myself up with my coat to block out any prying eyes, and�not to be vulgar, or whatever, but peeing in a bottle is not simple trick, y�all. That is a small, small opening, and there is a lot of precision required for such a feat. It�s the urination equivalent of a surgical strike, and all I�d need would be for her to hit a bump or something before I�d be peeing all over my jacket and the rental car and who knows what all else. So the bottle idea? Rejected.

Instead, we finally managed to crawl off at an exit and headed back NORTH for another five miles or so, and THEN I had to wait in line at a gas station�when I finally got to relieve myself, I seriously thought the recoil was going to knock me off my feet. I have not known such indescribable pleasure in a long, long time, you guys.

Okay, that�s probably enough for today. Moderate your intake of liquids, kids. That�s the lesson for today.

Your Weekly Trivia Fact: Both Hitler and Napoleon were missing a testicle. Oh, the things you learn by coming to my site! I�m Watching: Project Runway, and I still can�t stand Santino, which is what makes my actually liking some of his designs so hard. And: Lost. Is it just me, or have they maybe finally figured out what they�re doing this season?

A Year Ago, I Said:

It�s like there�s a slow leak in the Oscars, and all the class is just slipping right on out.

I�d Like To Thank The Academy, But They Don�t Deserve It
3-1-2005

� 2005 by Dr. No, all rights reserved; you break it, you buy it.



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