Most of my friends are well-trained when it comes to dining in public with me.
--And I assure you, I am not a diner-nazi. I am not above splitting up a bill - CONVENIENTLY AND CLEARLY - for a server. I'll send back - POLITELY AND PATIENTLY - something that was prepared improperly. And yes, I will tip appropriately if I receive service that is just inexcusable.--
But as Hell would have it, I occasionally encounter one of those rare situations in which I find myself breaking bread with someone I haven't seen in awhile, someone who is now a complete monster. Someone you want to watch die in the first five minutes of a Scream movie.
Some girl I kind of knew from an old day job many years ago insisted she and I meet up in a restaurant (more on that later). I kept putting it off until her persistence beat my brimming anxiety. Oh, and her latest text stated it was "important."
We met at this horrible vegan grasshole in some forest off of a cayote scattered-trail in Silverlake. Old wood-framed paintings of pilgrims aboard ships, eating only vegetables, adorned the restaurant walls. Because if anyone is the poster child for vegan compassion, it's one of our nation's pilgrims.
My bitch "friend," who doesn't even read this blog...
(CUT TO: FIVE MINUTES INTO MEAL:
BITCH FRIEND: Oh my God, I love your blog, I read it everyday, "Angry Trainer," so funny!)
...was 2o minutes late. ("Karaote lesson ran late. For this JayStay [Jason Statham] movie I'm doing."
Yeah as a featured extra, you overcompensating little self-promoter.
I ordered carrot water (water with generous shreds of carrots, unstrained) and she had a kale lemon tea root sack thing. She apologized ceaseslessly, in the literal sense of the word meaning "not ending," as she composed a five-minute text message to her nail stylist regarding their scheduling snafu.
We attempted to order. This took a goooooood 10 minutes? And that's a conservative estimate. You see, BITCH FRIEND likes to say she's "allergic" to things because she's educated solely by Dr. Mira Cull's "Oprah" segment about eating only baby food and chia seeds.
Once we cleared the hurdle of ordering, she cut to the Chase, the only pun that still makes me grin.
"I wanted to ask you....
Oh shit, she has this dramatic pause. Please don't ask me for money. Please don't ask if you can crash on my couch. Please don't ask me to film some horrible break-up scene for your demo reel, where I'm the sassy gay best friend who snaps you back into faboo.
...you're friends with Amy Poehler, right?"
"Uhm. No." I replied.
"I thought you, like, were on a stand-up team with her?" she asked.
"What," I asked, "is a 'stand-up' team?"
"Like...funny people who get up on stage and say funny things?"
"Oh," I said. "Improv? Not stand-up. No. I am not friends with her, I do not perform with her. I take classes through a program she started. Or something. I really don't have the energy to explain it all. But I have no connection to her at all, other than I know some people who know her."
"You...aren't working with Amy Poehler?"
"No. Not in any shape or fashion."
"So you wouldn't be able to get me a meeting with her?" she asked. "My manager thinks I'd be great for comedy..."
"Yeah, no, not even, like, a thing, I do not know her."
I was in shock. Utter shock. Why the Hell would you go through with something as formal as lunch to ask such an asinine, presumptuous, ill-informed question? Just text or Facebook me that delusional shit next time!!
Furthermore, what rank, odorous, staggering gaul must one possess to go years without maintaing consistent contact, to never ONCE post or text "Happy Birthday!" or "like" a post on Facebook (YES I AM AS NEUROTIC AS THE REST OF YOU ABOUT SHIT LIKE THAT, THE SECRET IS OUT!!), and then ask something of that magnitude?
Even if I were gang-banging Amy Poehler with a group of stoned indie improv hipsters on the reg, I would never be so shallow as to ask her to give my friend a hoist up the Hollywood ladder. Gross. What a rare form of eww that is.
So, I got up and left. I did leave appropriate cash on the table for my tip. But I left that obnoxious little bitch then and there. And I genuinely hope that today, for the first time, she reads this blog.