The Daily Derenger

11/01/2002

I'm working this weekend in a casino. It's a great hotel so far and I have 2 full days to experience all the amenities. One such perk is the fancy soap. Now by fancy I don't mean your typical half-dollar sized bar soap. Rather, they have 2 different kinds of nicely sized soap - one is aloe based and the other is oatmeal based. I'm not exactly sure how oatmeal ended up in bar soap but it has. As a matter of fact, it's in quite a few places. Last night was not my first run in with the Quaker Oats/Irish Spring connection.

My theory is that the oatmeal flakes bring an abrasiveness to the soap in order to soften the skin. It's common with the ladies at their Bath & Body Works type places. I've used it primarily because I've had no other choice: either stink and swim with and smell like the fishes OR have the fresh scent of maple brown sugar behind my ears. Besides, women get instant arousal from instant oatmeal. As my theory so ingeniously maintains.

There is one awkward drawback to the oatmeal bar soap - the "chunks" of oatmeal leave you inspecting your soap more than ever before. I'm not a big fan of wash rags nor lufa sponges. Therefore, I use the bar soap in every necessary bodily nook and cranny. What I'm trying to say here is that when you wash your ass with the oatmeal soap, you have to check to see if it's actually oatmeal on the bar. I don't mean to get too graphic but I spent a good amount of shower time last night thinking I was a horrible wiper. "How in the hell could I leave that much behind ... from my behind?"

To make matters worse, I have horrendous eyesight. In the shower, I don't wear glasses. Consequently, I had to put the soap close enough to my face to see it since the oatmeal wasn't coming off. And at that point I wasn't even sure if it was oatmeal. Once I was convinced that the alleged oatmeal was the real deal, I went on with my shower.

I'm sorry if you never again enjoy a bowl of oatmeal the same way. I hope you now all see old Wilford Brimley clips and think of him as a pervert.

10/31/2002

If you haven't already done so, please click on my Journal link to read my review of Comedian, the new documentary of Jerry Seinfeld's journey back to the top of the stand-up comedy world.

That brings me to today's Daily Derenger. About 30 minutes after leaving the theater in which I saw Comedian, I realized I hadn't my wallet in my pocket. They were flannel pants and a wallet, especially my Costanza-like one, could be easily accounted for. But it wasn't. Now why was I wearing flannel pants in public? Because I can and haven't the money nor the wallet to purchase low-rise, faggotty jeans. The comfort of flannel does me just fine. I just wish they had frickin' zippers on their pockets!

I drove back to the theater and asked if anyone had returned a wallet. Nope. I re-entered the same theater and row I was sitting in. A crowd similar in size to the one I was a part of, about 8 people, was helpful. One man lent me his pocket flashlight while a few others looked on the floor and between the seats.

"Ironically enough, I, too, am a comedian, " I pathetically announced. "But rest assured, there won't be Seinfeld -ike money in my wallet. I drive a Prizm and live in a purple bedroom at my mom's house. Hell, the only things of value in my wallet are Subway stamps and a 10%-off-in-November card at Hooters."

They all chuckled and I told them they'd enjoy the movie. Because I made them laugh before they saw Comedian, should I be allowed to now boast that I opened for Seinfeld? Hmmm. That's one to ponder.

I still can't believe I went to see a movie about a billionaire comedian and I, a fledgeling comedian, selling bumperstickers for gas and beer money, lost my wallet. I was there to support Seinfeld and now I've lost my identity and debit card. In my case, it's really a debt card because that's all it's good for - getting me in more debt or making feeble attempts at paying some off.

It's been almost 24 hours since I first gathered that I had lost it. No calls from the theater or any kind soul having found it. I would give back someone's wallet for many reasons. First of all, I would hope someone would give mine back if I lost it. Most importantly though, it's just wrong to find something like a wallet and not give it back to the rightful owner. A scarf or a pen, now that's different. How could you possibly guess whose it is or where that person may be? But a wallet. It has phone numbers of skanks I'll never be able to fondle now and pictures of my ever-so-cute godson. Wouldn't he be happy to know he's in the same sentance as skanks? How he must love his Uncle Scott!

Please say a prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost things. Unfortunately, he doesn't find the cherries of you permiscuous young ladies out there. But who knows, give it a try. Or ask me to help look. I'll put on my coal miner's cap and come in search of the promised land. And maybe some dignity.

10/30/2002

So much material, so little time - what's a comic to do? Get some sleep and start fresh in the morning. Heck, I'm heading to my mom's to retrieve my laptop from Best Buy. Rest assured, the Daily Derenger's will be flying off the press soon after. If I can't get new bits from my mom's house then I need to hang up the writing gloves and head for corporate America.

Hello Mrs. C. Hope work is going well. How was lunch or where will it be if it has not yet been had? I'm glad to learn that you're an avid reader of ShaveYourHead.com. I look forward to seeing you at a show soon. Until then ... Oh, by the way, thanks for, in a round-about way, turning me on to David Sedaris. Great author and one that I hope to emulate.

10/29/2002

One of the best things about having a girlfriend is the constant comedy that comes about. Erin provides a plethora of material whether she likes it or not. Like last night for instance. She had an allergic reaction to some kiwi. She had never been allergic to anything before so she didn't know what to do. This reaction caused her nose to run and her face to itch. Those were the mild symptons. The big daddy was that her eyes swelled almost shut and the skin around them puffed up. She could barely open her eyes.

In her time of misery, I reassured her that this would be the closest I may ever get to dating a Korean woman. Not finding the humor in my twisted fantasy, she told me where I should go and asked me to get the bags of frozens blueberries to put on her face.

Now how could I make fun of fair skinned, Korean-like red head with blueberries on her face? Very easily and at random. Okay. So the fun ceased and I got her some Benadryl, flowers and her favorite snack - roasted garlic hummus and Wheat Thins. Then I was out the door to a night of open-mic comedy. When I got home, she didn't seem to miss me. And rightly so.

On then went the TV. It was after 11pm which for some cable viewers means soft-core porn. I wasn't sure what I would find but knew that Cinemax was always a safe bet. TOUCHDOWN it was!

Technology has enhanced digital cable to become such a great friend. Not only can you see what's coming on in 12 hours, but you see the description of the current show as you turn the channel.

Although some of the titles of the soft-core porns can be misleading, the length of the "film" leaves no question as to what it is. If it's on for any 30-minute slot, usually from :15 to :45 after the hour, you're in luck. There is often times a lame, but brief storyline given on the screen to ensure that the time of day and length of "film" wasn't simply ironic. "What's this? Sensual Meetings on at 11:15pm? Let's see what it's about. Just as I thought, a plumber "meets" four women in one apartment complex in the same day. A pure stroke of luck and work of art all at once.

I need to go "watch" some of this stuff in order to be a true professional in this comedy and writing business. For one must embrace that which he calls his own. To me, Cinemax is my own late night snack.

10/28/2002

This question bears being asked for the umpteenth time: what's with chicks and candles and picture frames? Especially candles. Most of them aren't even used as candles; they just sit and look nice while their wicks never feel the light of a match. Even the ones that are scented with some ocean mist or clean cotton are often left to think what could've been.

Picture frames get used - for the most part. Now I have heard of some instances where the picture in the frame at the store stays in the frame once at home. I guess if the picture in the frame looks better than the picture that is supposed to go in, you opt for the good looking strangers.

I just don't get why chicks have so many picture frames all over the place nor why some people get to be in more frames than others? That's just asking for trouble if the slighted person visits unexpectedly. I think there should be a designated area for pictures. Maybe on a shelf or a wall but frames wherever you turn is too much. And what if the pictures are ugly? Perhaps it's not even the picture and instead the scenery or the people are hideous. In these situations, one should be able to tell their friend that the picture in question is worthy only of being in an album and not on display. Honesty is the best policy, right?

We were at a Bed, Bath and Beyond yesterday where frames, candles and other chick things were purchased. It had just opened so it was crawling with anxious employees and watchful trainers. Being asking if I need anything is appreciated but there should be an allowance of such questions. "Yes I'm finding everything okay. And I'll be able to find it easier if your team of merry men moves out of the way!"

One guy even asked if I was enjoying my experience. I had to look around to see if I was getting a massage. Enjoying my experience? It was Sunday and football was on. But I wasn't watching it. Instead, I was looking for duvet covers and table cloths. Enjoy that, my friend.

Another thing that seemed odd was that the help at BB&B didn't wear uniforms. They wore regular clothes with a name-tag on their shirt. If you happened to catch one of these people at an angle unable to see their tag, you thought that it was just some weirdo asking you stuff. "Oh, you work here. That's good 'cause you seemed way to inquisitive about my Corningware choices."

Erin's new place is slowly coming along nicely. I simply have provided the means by which to get from store to store. Once in the store, I drive the cart, lift the big stuff and carry the bags to the car. Now I have to go to bed only to wake-up and hang paintings, curtains, and candle holders. Yes, candle holders for candles never to be lit. Once that task is done, I will arrange the personalized, yet forbidden-to-use, towels in the bathroom. The life of a writer and comic - anyone wanna switch?

10/27/2002

The computer is still in the shop but Erin has hoisted this machine from her cousin Brendan. It will suffice even though this mouse is as mobile as a fat man in a fun house. Let it be known that I have a serious relationship with my laptop and her keyboard. I feel bad using another machine to post my Daily Derengers. It's not cheating on her and since this machine is also a Compaq, I can sleep without much guilt.

There is a great deal to write about tonight. I usually like to keep my DDs to one per day but after taking off last week and knowing how much you've missed them, I will post early and often.

Erin and I had a great day. I wasn't sure how it would begin. We got home late last night from a Halloween party and went to bed slightly intoxicated. Our wake-up call came in the form of her cousin, Jane, inviting us to brunch.

It was held at Erin's aunt and uncle's condo in dowtown Chicago. Being that Erin hasn't been grocery shopping since Betty White was a fetus and that I have less cash than the window-washing bums, a free meal was an excellent way to kick off the day.

I have never dated anyone with as much of a real family as Erin. Most of her aunts and uncles have been married for a while. The divorce rate in my family is pretty much 100%. The whole 'til death do you part' thing was apparently written in crayon.

It was my first time meeting some of Erin's family. Her cousin Jack, who is my age and knows my profession, asked how my recent tour went. I spoke of my travels and the miles I put on the Prizm. Upon hearing that I drove in excess of 6000 miles, Jack inquired as to how my seat smelled after such a trip.

Now generally I get questions about the small towns I play in or the scenery of the land; never had I been asked how my seat smelled. While some people may have taken that question as a bit awkward or even intrusive, I did not. To be quite honest actually, I had a loss for words. That wasn't because I didn't have anything to say for as you well know, I can talk about anything for any length of time. I simply didn't know how to answer Jack. I mean, I had just sat down to brunch at his parent's place overlooking the city on a crisp, Sunday morning in October. Even I wasn't sure if describing the stench that took up residency in my seat was proper brunch banter.

Somehow, the conversation bounced from me and opened up discussions on their family's front-seat flatulence. Nobody was safe: man, woman or child. "Welcome to the family, Scott, you stinky bastard." Or at least that's how I perceived the greeting.

That pretty much set the tone for the topics covered. Fart talk was quickly replaced with accounts of loud neighbors and their sexual habits. Jack's sister, Maurine, who I had just met 10 minutes earlier, took us back to the days when she lived in Oklahoma City. She lived near some folks who were not only loud lovers but mid-afternoon loud lovers as well. "And these two lived across the street," she added. "My roommate and I would be like 'do you hear that? How can you not?" Then they pulled up a chair, cracked open a beer and enjoyed the sounds of noontime nookie. Okay, so I made that up. They didn't like beer.

It's safe to say that this part of Erin's family will enjoy my comedy packed with jokes about gas and ass. The jury is still out on the other members. I also am second guessing, and perhaps rightly so, the "real family" label I put on Erin's relatives. Just keep it here to see if next week's brunch will again have a South Park-like theme to it.