Ungrateful Birthday Boy

October 18, 2011 § 4 Comments

My friend Mark Olmsted is the Trash Whisperer of West Hollywood.  He walks around every day picking up trash around his neighborhood – nearly two tons of it after five years. (http://thetrashwhisperer.blogspot.com/)  Mark wanted only one thing Saturday – to drive to Santa Barbara and spend his birthday with a famous author. But Sue Grafton blew him off, so it was up to me to show him a good time.  I took him to a restaurant called The Shoreline right on the sand, which I thought he’d love, but he seemed distant as I smoked cigarette after cigarette and expertly flicked the butts into a group of harbor seals. I thought his mood would improve when we were back in the car and he unwrapped my thoughtful gift.  Here, I said, let me get rid of that for you, and wadded up the wrapping paper and threw it out the window. But he only scowled and stared straight ahead. By the time I unveiled the highlight of the birthday celebration – the buzzing of the children’s park by a paid glider pilot who dropped a replica of a birthday cake made out of crushed Budweiser cans and used Band-aids, a bunch of flyers that spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARK, and two tons of confetti – it was apparent that Mark was determined to throw a big wet towel down on his on birthday, then pick up and put it in the trash, then blog about it. I stood on my front lawn and watched him drive away.  Fine, Mark, I shouted at his retreating car as I gave myself a B-12 shot and gestured with the empty syringe before I let it fall into the grass. See if I ever invite you to Santa Barbara again. 


§ 4 Responses to Ungrateful Birthday Boy

  • Mark Olmsted says:

    “Thoughtful gift.” HA! A Smith and Wesson 12-gauge shotgun with NO AMMO people. She’d distinctly promised we’d go dolphin shooting, and instead I had to wade out in the water and club them. WITHOUT A WET SUIT.
    And then she took pictures of the surfers attacking me with their boards, no doubt for her new book RED CARNAGE. It was a set-up, the whole thing. Kathy’s a user, people. Yeah, she pays for lunch — but with a credit card she stole from Sue Grafton.
    Little does she know I completely turned the tables, as I reported everything back to Sue. Her new mystery involves a writer of Backwoods Southern Fiction who looks eerily like Nancy Sinatra Jr., and gets framed for a string of burglaries in Santa Barbara in which she only steals porcelain cat figurines. She is sentenced to do community service on a haunted Catalina island orphanage, where a two German girls, Uta Haagen Daz and Ana Heim, make her put on a Gothic version of the Sound of Music in which she discovers the nuns are all zombies. I won’t spoil the climax, but SOMEONE is trapped on the island, and may or may not survive the lisping Nazi vampires.
    Happy Damn Birthday to Me. And Sue.

  • Mark Olmsted says:

    Oh, by the way, I live in Hollywood, not WEST Hollywood. See that “gay assumption bias” (“gab”) at work here?
    Like they litter in Weho.

  • Mark Monteiro says:

    I don’t understand how Oprah works in here Kathy.

  • Scott says:

    One of Grafton’s better books: “J is for Jealous Much?”

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