Boobs & Gorillas

22 Jan

Dear Yolo,

Questions: Do you think Jim liked his party? Is he weird and new age-y? Does he do a lot of unsolicited impressions and characters? Is he in control of himself or does he insist on sifting cocaine onto his dutch baby, drinking orange juice with his finger and snapping his rainbow suspenders when pleased? He’s not going to play a doctor anytime soon is he? So many questions. That’s weird Martin Landau was there. I think he was maybe the first celebrity I met in LA. I still have no idea how I recognized him when I was 17, but I did, and I’m still not sure who he is right now and a significant amount of time has passed.

Your trip to the zoo sounds so fun and lively! You are so lucky. Whenever I’ve gone to the zoo, the animals are always sleeping or hiding. At least I thought I was at a zoo when that happened. My first partner from my acting class told me a funny story about going to the zoo as a child with his dad. They were watching the gorillas and apparently there was some weird tubing that allowed you to call to the gorillas. Maybe it was for drive thru banking– I’m not sure. Anyway, his father started calling to the gorilla and apparently the gorilla got really exciting and came over and started dancing around or something. So a small crowd gathered and his father kept making the noises and the gorilla kept getting excited. And then the gorilla ejaculated in front of all these children… maybe on the glass. It was gross and embarrassing and funny and difficult to discuss with his father.

I have been experiencing cat shenanigans that fall somewhere in the spectrum of funny to gross and kind of humiliating.

1) Bonkers the cat throws hairballs occasionally. He’s a fluffy long-haired cat so it’s gonna happen. Usually, I find evidence in the bathroom, or in the hallway. Lately, he has started puking in interesting and surprising places.

I am at a casting for some liposuction procedure or something. I take off my big puffy winter coat– the kind with a big Eskimo-like fur trimmed hood. I take my coat and fold it into my lap while I wait. Looking into the coat on my lap,  I realize that at some point yesterday or perhaps the day before when I left my coat on the bench in our entryway rather than hanging it in the coat closet, Bonkers the cat took the opportunity to throw up in the hood of my coat. His cat puke has now dried to a long, thin, grainy, hairy, cat-food-ocher strip that stretches from the coat’s inner sweater collar to the inside of the hood (which I thankfully never attempted to use.) I quickly fold the coat again, ashamed, hoping no one else there has noticed, opting to clean in private and wondering if I’ve been amusing fellow New Yorkers with my cat puke hood.

Later, I assess that it was not visible, or smellable since an unexpected rain on my jacket made the fur trim smell… like racoons.

2) A couple days later I have an audition for a popular men’s drugstore line. The email from my agent suggests that I sport serious cleavage, but “keep it classy”. I’m running late, so I rummage through my lingerie drawer throwing stuff everywhere and end up wearing this Victoria Secret add a cup bra which I keep for these sorts of occasions because it makes me look like a porn star.

After the audition, I find a text from Roscoe complaining that my cat keeps bringing him “my boobs”. The picture above is what was texted to me as evidence. I had left out my cutlet stickey bra– you know the thing that you wear with backless shirts or dresses when you still need a bra. Bear the cat has been bringing Roscoe them while he’s working at the computer in his home office. Roscoe puts them back in the bedroom but Bear keeps bringing them back.   Bear does like to play fetch but perhaps he just thought it was a good present for a guy. I guess we’ll never know until cats start talking. I’m pretty sure I read that’s part of the Rapture.

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