Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Bad L.A. Days

What was the worst day in the city's history? LACityNerd wants to know and has come up with a few suggestions. I added the 1938 flood, but, personally, I think the Northridge Quake shook me up the most. For at least six months, I wouldn't take long showers. For much longer, when I heard the wind howl, I assumed we were fixin' for a big one.

3 comments:

Steve said...

I think it might be the day of the OJ Simpson verdict

Carl Waiting said...

I think it might be the day I ran out of the house hysterically waving my arms(not a trace of shame on my face) in an effort to flag down the ice-cream man who looked like he wasn't going to slow down as he passed our house. I was wearing a tank-top( which made me look like a tank, never mind the cheap merlot and melted in chocolate stains down the front plus a bacon grease stain so big and shiny, you could see yourself in it)...not that anyone was even considering approaching me that day after laying eyes on me...it was enough seeing the ice-cream man recoil in horror when I slammed my wobbly self down on his make-shift counter like Carnie Wilson having an asthma attack in an explosion of stomach staples.I won't describe the rest of my outfit except to say this; my shorts, sandals and bandana( holding my hair back, exposing my trailer park black roots), looked like the poorer, dirtier cousins of said riving tank-top.
Anyway, as the ice-cream man slipped a nitroglycerin pill under his tongue to combat the fright he'd just experienced, I ordered the tallest soft serve waffle cone ice-cream you've ever seen. Seriously, it was larger than that thing held aloft by The Statue of Liberty...
I handed over my sweaty dollar bills, fifty or sixty of them...I told you, this ice-cream was huge...then turning back towards the house past groups of frightened children screaming,"Mommiieeee, you said Godzilla wasn't real, you promised meeee!...etc., I tripped (gracefully, like a hippo, drunk on Jager and riddled with tranqualizer darts...
My ice-cream fell like an avalanche from it's waffle mountain-side and lay sprawled on the hot pavement like a great pink and white lake of sucked out liposuction fat. Months of procedures...
Neigborhood dogs lapped at it, children strapped on their ice-skates, laughing the way children do, the way I never did when I was a child.
I clung to my dignity like a drunk to a lampost. Took a long drag off my cigarette, gazed longingly, but only for the briefest of moments at what once rightfully belonged in my stomach, but now due to the bad luck that clings to me these days like B.O. to an armpit, was stickily covering quite a huge portion of Perlita Ave.
As I said, I walked slowly into the house, an invisible shawl of Anna-Nicole Smith-like dignity draped about my hefty, fish-belly white shoulders.
As soon as the door closed behind me, I began wailing like a stuck pig, threw myself sobbing upon the bed(which promptly collapsed), and fell deep into the sleep of the cruelly-denied.
That my friends, was the worst L.A. day.....
Kisses,
Twiggyxx

Miles said...

Well, that cannot be topped. Not even with jimmies or sprinkles or thousands and thousands.