I also told him I'd caught a glimpse of his girl once and that she was gorgeous. He said "thanks", then stopped and looked at me. "Hey, how'd you see her?" I panicked. "Uh, I was uh, coming home one day and, uh, I saw her walking up to your doorstep."

Well, I covered that quite well, don't you think? Then I realized, if I was just meeting him, how would I know where he lived?!?!? Again, he didn't notice.

He would introduce himself to me four more times during our conversation, washing his hands off with a hose each time and then apologizing for shaking my hand while his were wet.

As I walked away he said "Hey, what do you do?" I answered "I'm a talent agent." His eyes got real big and he shouted "Oh man, could I use one of those! Who do you work with?" I said, "Writers and directors mainly." Now he looked really confused. "What did you say you did?" I tried again, "I'm a talent agent."

"OH!!!" he laughed really hard. "I thought you said something completely different!"

I especially hate it when the line is from an ancient movie like "Trainspotting."

I think, on some level, no one actually expected us to really go. I also think that might account for our inability to secure compatriots for the trip. No one, way back when, wanted to commit to something they didn't really believe would happen. And then when it started to get real, everyone realized what a huge commitment it really was and got scared off. As if, initially, everyone said "Sure, I'll go" figuring that a year down the line, we wouldn't really be going. Well, we sure showed 'em, didn't we!!!???

Problem is, I hear a new wrinkle in the press now. Some are saying that George is letting everyone think he'll choose Ridge so that the idea that George might be pro-choice can have a chance to settle everyone's mind. The idea being that the public will continue to believe that George might be pro-choice, even after he steps up to the mike and announces a pro-life VP candidate.

Anyone have an opinion?

I was sitting in my room reading yesterday afternoon around five in the evening, when I heard a car alarm going off. At least, at first I thought it was an alarm. Then it started to honk less rhythmically and, thinking this strange, I went out to have a look-see. I went out my back door and walked down the driveway until I could see a black Grand Cherokee across the street. It’s lights were blinking and its horn honking, and the driver’s side door was open. There was a guy standing in the open door, our neighbor, this dude we know only as Ray. Ray is a very loud individual. He’s always yelling at somebody, or talking loudly on the phone in his open doorway, or asking you over and over again if you are some guy named Bob (true story).

As I got closer to the curb, I could tell there was a very attractive blonde in the drivers seat talking to (at?) Ray. I regret now that I wasn’t paying more attention as I walked out there, but at that point, even though I could hear them speaking, I was in that state of mind where you can hear a conversation (or many conversations) but your brain filters them out because they are not important to your continued existence on the planet. All that changed when I heard the blonde say “You’re a fucking asshole” and slam the door. Ray said “That’s it, we’re done!” and marched back towards his apartment. I froze like a possum in headlights, did a quick-about face, and headed for the safety of my bedroom, figuring this would all be over in a matter of moments.

That was at five pm.

At five thirty, she was still in the car. I know this because I had closed the shades in my bedroom window, save for a nice, Laaz’s face-sized hole from which I could keep an eye on the blonde in the car. I went back to my reading with pauses every few minutes for a situation report on the cutie outside.

This is where it gets really interesting.

At about six, she gets out of the car and marches over to Ray’s apartment. She bangs on the door until it opens and as soon as it does, they’re at it again. Ray is loud, but mellow, and you can’t always make out what he’s saying, only the tone. But I did pick out one important word… “Kristen.”

“Kristen” went on and on at peak volume, “You can’t keep doing this to me Ray.” “Why do you treat me this way Ray” etc. etc. (I started chuckling here because, at this point in her tirade, I felt like I was in that skit from “Amazon Women on the Moon”, the one where the guy named Ray rents the personalized porno… “Touch me here… RAY”, “I expected a little more out of you… RAY”). Now, up to this point, it sounded like Kristen was walking out on Ray. She kept screaming for her “fucking keys” and I got the idea that the Cherokee might be hers and that the reason she hadn’t left in all that time was that Ray had taken her keys so she couldn’t leave. Except why would he have her keys? And why wouldn’t he want her to leave, given what she was saying? And why does he keep shouting “Get the fuck out of here and never call me again” like a mental patient?

Anyway, this cycle of sit in the car for an hour, then bang on the door and yell some more went on for hours and hours, until the final battle royale began at about 9 pm.

He comes out to tell her to leave one more time and she follows him back towards the apartment. As they get close, she winds up and gives him a nice big, Hulk Hogan style Judo kick in the middle of his back. His shirt now torn from shoulder blades to waistband, the two halves flapping gamely in the breeze, he continues his march homeward. Doesn’t even flinch. Imagine the balls on this sucker! Standing toe-to-toe with an angry, clearly-insane woman, capable of Jackie Chan-style hand-to-hand combat. Cojones of steel my friends. Never turn your back on an angry woman, especially one trained in self-defense. Anyway, against all odds, Ray makes it to his place, but doesn’t get the door closed fast enough, and she busts in through the front door, right on his heels and madder than a hornet with its ass on fire. Ray, god bless ‘im, leaves the front door wide open, as the fight enters the twelfth round.

Now, this door just happens to be about ten feet away from my door… as the crow flies. Fortunately, there is a nice big hedgerow separating the two. Their angry mouths a mere twelve feet or so away from my hungry ears, Kristen launches into it again, this time adding some cheese for good measure. Real, quality soap opera type stuff this was…“You’ve wasted so much time Ray, so… much… precious… time!” Hee hee.

Or how ‘bout ““You can be so wonderful Ray, but then you get wasted and you change! You change Ray!!! Tee hee hee.

And then there was this little doozie. “You told me about Linda and Pamela. I know about them all.” Whoa-ho! What have we here? Thinks Laaz.

She continued. “You’re the one who told me to meet other people, and then when I do, you freak!”

Ah, so that’s the way it is in their family…

Now Ray starts to get creative “We’re over” he tells her.

“Why” she shrieks!

“Because you’re a slut!!!” He counters.

Ooooh, good one Ray.

By now, I‘m sitting on the sidewalk on my side of the hedge, all pretense of not really trying to hear every single bloody word now gone straight to the four winds, when I ear a “psst” to my right. I look over, and there’s my neighbor Laura sitting in the shadows about twenty feet away. She waves, then comes over and sits down next to me. She was listening too. She fills me in as best she can, says they do this all the time. And then, in the middle of our whispered conversation, things get serious.

“Go ahead Ray, hit me. That’s all I understand. That’s all I know from you!” I winced, expecting to hear a slap or something. Then nothing. I looked at Laura. “Do you think he hits her?” She said no, that she thinks Kristen is being dramatic. She says that every now and then she’ll hear Kristen yell “You have to stop hitting me, you’re messing up my face… my face!!!” (I should get my agency to sign this girl), but then she never sees any bruises or anything when the fighting is over.

Things started to wind down when Ray pointed out that he had to be at the Viper Room by ten and negotiations for a peaceful withdrawal began. Ray’s terms amounted to this: “Kristen, if you promise me that you will never, ever, ever call me again, you can have your keys.” I know, The Treaty of Yalta it's not, but what can you do. I figure at this point, Ray was just looking for “peace with honor.”

The negotiations went on for a while, with Ray repeating his terms about fifty times, with little or no success. Mostly, she just insulted his manhood, and challenged him to call any of his other “bitches” to come over and fuck him cause she doubted he could do it. He defended himself a few times, but mostly he just pressed his terms for withdrawal.

All-in, I'd say it was a very bizarre, most disturbing, most entertaining and fascinating experience. I liken the sensation of listening in on a part of the neighbors' crazy lives to the feeling I once got watching a really bad comic do incredibly offensive material. It was painful to watch, and yet I couldn’t look away. I had to hear what he would say next.

Then, just as quickly as it began, it was over. The door slammed, and that was it. That was at 9:30. It’s ten-thirty now and there hasn’t been a peep in an hour. The Cherokee is still outside, but all is quiet. I half expect to hear them having sex now. Such are the fickle moods of the passionate couple.