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Tuesday, November 22, 2005

My Big Fat Birthday Bigot

For the past week, I've been dogsitting a darling little Westie named
Harvey, whose mum is my dear friend Jade Anderson. Harvey and I have been
taking daily walks up to the top of my street, where there is a beautiful
promontory overlooking all of Los Angeles -- on a clear day, the horizon
stretches from the Inland Empire to Catalina Island. It is a peaceful,
meditative idyll, and Harvey and I have befriended many of the other locals
who hike up there to enjoy the scenery. Today, however, we had a more,
um...colorful experience.

Apparently, one of the neighbors who lives at the top of the street (let's
call him Lil' Bigot, or LB for short) does not take kindly to people walking
dogs past his house. Or people walking past his house. Or people in
general. Just before dusk, Harvey and I were standing across the street (on
public property), chatting with a lovely couple and their two pugs. For no
reason whatsoever, LB decided to turn his hose on the entire group before
rinsing off his silver Hummer, which was parked in the driveway. The couple
had apparently encountered this type of behavior in the past and proceeded
to engage LB in verbal combat. After a few minutes, they tired of his
inanity and decided to turn the other cheek. Harvey wasn't done exploring
the area, so we bid our new friends goodbye, and they drove off into the
sunset.

Suddenly, I heard a trollish voice behind me utter an unmistakable word:
"Gook." Is it just me, or do racists not have the same attention to detail
as they once did? I informed LB that he was off on his geography, and he
stared at me open-mouthed for a few moments, a confused expression on his
doltish features. His retort: "Gook, Spic, Chink, whatever." Dumbstruck by
his rapier wit, I could only laugh and shake my head in disbelief, which
seemed to anger him further. He leered at me, knuckles dragging on the
pavement, and delivered his piece de resistance: "Hey, Fatty -- go home and
take your dog with you." Ouch -- these LA Neanderthals know how to hit an
actress where it hurts the most (luckily, I love my junk in the trunk).
Resolving to take the moral high ground, I stared daggers until LB retreated
into the safety of his lair, then turned on my heel to walk home in peace.

It was at that exact moment that Harvey decided to squat in LB's driveway
and deliver an early birthday present to his Auntie Mia. This was clearly a
sign from the heavens -- and who am I to ignore divine intervention? I
calmly scooped up Harvey's love nuggets with a plastic bag, walked
deliberately across the driveway, and smeared that gook all over the
driver's side door handle of the freshly-washed silver Hummer. LB was
either busy molesting small children, or not man enough to confront me, or
both -- whatever the case, Harvey and I walked home in quiet satisfaction
and celebrated with beef jerky and Ben & Jerry's (respectively). Katie Wong
would've been proud.

Song du jour: "So Here We Are" by Bloc Party.

-Mia

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