Dec 3, 03
Today we went to Beverly Hills where Finley and I were the only pound dogs. All the dogs walking around in Beverly Hills look ridiculous. They're all Labs or poodles--nothing in between. And all the poodles are with women and all the labs are with guys.Total cliche, like everything in this town.
Mom had to go to the bank and the bank teller told her she smelled like dog. He looked at Finley and me and said to my mom, " I'm smellin' dog on you." He was making a joke, but Mom's been a customer there for 20 years and she tensed up. I don't know why he said it, I guess he was trying to be funny, 'cause I didn't fart and neither did Finny.
Mom told him he must be awfully inexperienced with customers, because "you don't just tell people they smell like dog." Now I don't know what is so bad about smelling like a dog. I smell good and I'm clean. I shower 2x a day, once with Mom, and once with Dad. But the teller, who was really young, kept making jokes that fell flat with Mom. She just wanted a cashier's check to pay her property taxes and the guy was taking all this time and flirting with her. FLIRTING with my mom! I would have bitten his arm off.
The teller had a cast on his arm; it was broken and when we left, my mom really embarrassed him. It was great. She leaned in, her big tits spilling onto the counter and asked him, "How'd you get that broken arm? Masturbating?" She didn't say it loud, but the tellers on either side heard her and they all cracked up. I love my mom.
Then we went to the escrow place. Some weird, bony old Chinese lady took the check and pretended to like Finny and me. She was yelling in her Chinese accent, "You rooka so cuuute!" I hate Chinese people. They eat dogs. What kind of barbarians eat dogs and sell them in butcher shops? Koreans and fucking Chinese people. Beverly Hills sucks.
Beverly Hills doesn't suck as much as Beijing, though. No way. Never goin' there.
[ Tue Dec 02, 04:32:54 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
I went with Mom to her writing partner's place in West Hollywood and hung around while they worked. Her writing partner has a boyfriend who is his partner(for writing, eating and playing)and a dachshund who lives under a chair because she can't stop barking.
She can't help herself. She barks at every noise, real or imagined and she has serious psycho problems. She follows shadows and light...Totally fucked up in the head. Puppymill brain, I guess. Every time she barks, she gets threatened visually with a bark collar. This shuts her up until she forgets.
When we got there, her partner was talking to someone named Hillary Swank and they were all excited because somebody named Denzel Washington was going to direct her. I guess this means that Mom's partner is going to get a much bigger yard.
So now we're back and Finley the Cairn is playing billiards. She gets up on the pool table in the game room and tries to get the billiard balls in the baskets. She's obsessed with playing pool. She just loses her mind when Mom and Dad play for real and the balls go in really fast. I like to watch fat Finn burn calories up there on the green felt. It's covered in her hair. Pretty.
[ Tue Dec 02, 12:13:22 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
I love these curling up moments with mom on the phone. She talks to agents, realtors, writers, escrow people and financial advisers. It's soothing. The lap is good, the heat is on, the belly's full. Couch is really soft and lots of pillow piles with fleecy blankies everywhere.
[ Tue Dec 02, 11:58:41 AM | Carole Davis | edit ]
[ DRAFT | Created: Mon Dec 01, 11:05:21 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
Dad's going down to his office/guest house to write more sitcomage. He hates being a Hollywood producer and sitcom writer. I hate it too, because he's gone at the best times of the day for running around. He's stuck in a room at a studio in Burbank with a bunch of morons on perfect days.
He'd rather be with me all day.
We were going to take a jacuzzi. Shit. It's my favorite nighttime activity. He's got to go punch up a script. Total drag. It's been heating up for hours just so the coyotes can drink hot tub tea.
Mom and I and Finley (the Cairn terrier who is my arranged wife and really fat) are going to go down to bed in that fantastic king sized Dux 900 threadcount situation. That's when she gets naked. I get to lie next to her and stick my head between the most perfect pair of tits in Hollywood. They're real. My mom was the model for playtex bras for years. She was on the box with her perfect 32C tits. Those weren't her hands, though.
I can't imagine why Finley PREFERS her own bed, when she could cuddle up to this. Yep, we're going down there and after she brushes her hair, I get brushed with her mason Pierson. I sit up for it.
Life is so good. I've come a long way from death row in San Pedro.
[ DRAFT | Created: Mon Dec 01, 05:21:45 PM | Carole Davis | edit ]
I'm Jinky, I'm a "rescue" and I live in the Hollywood Hills. My mom used to be somebody but she doesn't want to remember who that was. She was in movies and my Dad is a writer--or at least he sleeps at the computer a lot.
My mom spent the morning with her realtor and her accountant. The accountant is in Arizona so at least I can sit on Mommy while she talks to him but I can't bite him long distance. I'd like to; he's telling her all about the tax problems she has. It's so boring. She owes a lot of taxes, so I fart. That should fix it.
I like farting when she's got important people to talk to, because she can't react like she normally does, which is with squeals of delight. She has to hold it in and not laugh. She can't tell the accountant that I'm farting or that it's deliberate.
Later, the realtor came over. He's a "cat person" and pretends to think I'm cute because he's making a shitload of money off my mom. He says, "They KNOW me by now!" like my Cairn and my cat give a rat's ass. As soon as he came in, I did a lot of barking and protecting poses. I threatened him. I know I scare the shit out of him but I wouldn't bite him. I don't want to get AIDS or facial wastage. So Mom signs a bunch of realtor paper and this is really taking a lot of my time. So I fart. That seems to be the only thing that moves things along around here.
She's selling her condo in West Hollywood. The cat told me about the place and the old dog who died at 20 and about Mom's crazy life before she met Dad. Wild.