Also, here’s a picture of my fruit for the day in the shape of a cock and balls, just because I felt like arranging them this way:

I just ate one of the little cuties now and it was delicious.

I had the honor of playing a referee in The Whiskey Saints new video for “The Gift.”  It was a lot of fun and I got to eat pizza and drink beer.  So far, the reviews have been stellar, with commenters on a blog saying I look like Peyton Manning or a young Jerry Sandusky.  After viewing the video I gave myself a 15 yard penalty for being too sexy.

$39.99? I’ve been giving these away for free for years!‎

What a picture of me and @jules4119 might look like.

In a blatant attempt to get more Twitter followers, I announced a contest stating that follower number 300 would receive a prize.  I take announcements seriously, so giving the winner something frivolous was out of the question.

Winning something so important deserves a prize that can be cherished for a lifetime.  According to De Beer’s website, two things last forever:  Diamonds and Blogs.  Since diamonds can be purchased by anyone and I control what comes out of my brain, the only logical thing to do was write an entry dedicated to the winner.

Juliana (@jules4119) is a lovely human being.  I’ve known her for years, though not very well.  Her brother was in my graduating class at Thomas Jefferson High school, but she was a few years younger than us.

She might have been someone who faded from my memory over the years, if not for one occasion that still makes me laugh when it comes to mind.

Juliana was a frequent moviegoer at Carmike Cinemas Southland 9 in Pleasant Hills, Pennsylvania, where I worked for several years as a teenager.  One day she came to the theater and saw a friend of hers working at the ticket counter.

She walked up and started to peek her head over the counter to say something.  Unfortunately, she didn’t see the plate glass barrier and smacked her face right into it.  She wasn’t injured, so it was OK to laugh, and laugh I did.  It was one of the comedic highlights of my teenage life, and I have her to thank.

Congratulations to Juliana, my 300th follower.

As one last gift, here’s a haiku about our contest winner:

Juliana won
The greatest contest ever
Plate glass windows hurt

Do yourselves a favor and follow her on Twitter.  While you’re at it, follow me on Twitter @muldo.  If I have another contest, the next winner might be YOU!

I lived here for 3 years, in the apartment on the lower left hand corner, next to the bikes.

–

People in Los Angeles have an odd relationship with their neighbors.  They spend months or even years separated by only a few feet of drywall, yet since everyone is so self-absorbed, it’s rare to know much more about them than their names, and even those can be tough to remember.

By mere proximity, I was able to learn a lot about the neighbors in my first Hollywood apartment.  Each were strange, colorful characters in their own ways.

Next door was a former Penthouse Pet who once dated Crispin Glover. She tried to compensate for being past her prime with multiple plastic surgeries and heavy Gothic makeup.   After a year and a half of actively avoiding any interaction with me, she slid a note under my door offering to pay me $10 a month to siphon my internet.  The next time I passed her in the hall way, she still didn’t say hello.  She never got my wireless password.

Across the courtyard was an elderly, obese Hispanic woman who would lean out of her French doors and chain-smoke Marlboro reds all day.  She greeted me every morning with an “hola” in a throaty gargle, and when I returned from work in the evening she was there again waiving hello with a lit cigarette.  I don’t think she left the building once in the 3 years I lived there.

Every time I went to the dumpster to take out the trash, she would yell out “bottles!”  She wanted my recyclables so she could make a profit, and actually had a nice racket going since she requested bottles from everyone in the building.  At first, I would separate my bottles for her.  Then, she got greedy.

She’d ask for bottles when I clearly had only garbage in my bags.  The last straw came when she asked for the full water bottle I was still drinking out of after coming home from the gym.  I told her no.  Enough was enough.  From then on I lied and said I had no bottles, making it a point to not give her anything that could net her 5 cents (7 cents in Michigan).

Across the hall was a couple who both worked at a hair salon and looked like they could be the Nihilists from The Big Lebowski.  He was thin with jet black hair pulled back in a pony tail.  She was pair shaped with platinum blonde hair, sloppy tits, and owned a bitchy chihuahua who was equally neurotic.  He was affable enough to say hi, while she would give dirty looks to anyone she passed.

They drove a hearse,  had a Halloween decoration above their door which read “Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here,” as well as a HAZMAT-like sticker on the door with something about zombies.

They often had loud sex, which prompted me to make this reaction video one morning upon waking up to their moaning.

One evening, they had a domestic dispute and the police were called.  I looked through my peep hole just in time to see the woman standing against the wall, handcuffed in nothing but her bra and panties.  She was screaming at the officers and was nearly arrested.

They broke up soon after.  He moved into another unit in the building and left her in the apartment next to me.  She played a Danzig song on a loop all night, every night for a couple solid weeks.  It took the police threatening arrest and the landlord threatening eviction for her to finally stop.  She filled the silence with screaming fits at random times throughout the day. I moved out soon after.

Sometimes, when I drive by my old apartment building, I see that hearse parked outside and wonder how they’re all doing.  Did the Penthouse Pet ever get the internet?  Did the hairstyling nihilist couple reconcile?  Did the old lady die of lung cancer?   Then I snap out of it and realize I don’t care because they’re all assholes.

While I exchanged obligatory quips with a salesperson about the situation,  the doll and her human suitor waited around quietly, then posed for a picture with one of the employees before leaving as two happy T-Mobile customers.

Beard and Ryan Muldowney on July 30th.

Beard Muldowney died of accidental causes today.  He was 33 days old.

Beard was conceived by his father, Ryan Patrick Muldowney, 27, of Los Angeles,  on the afternoon of July 9th, immediately after he shaved before attending a friend’s wedding.  Though Beard was a cause of itchiness and discomfort at first, they quickly became inseparable, attending many work events and social outings together.

In time, Beard softened to Muldowney’s face, and he grew to appreciate the more mature look it gave him while learning to tolerate things like his cheeks staying damp long after he exited the shower.

Beard was expected to live a long and fulfilling life, but things took a sudden turn for the worse on August 11 when Muldowney, due to unfamiliarity with a hair trimmer, accidentally took a large chunk of Beard off his chin.

Beard is survived by his father Ryan, older brothers Head Hair and Pubic Hair aka “Curly” Muldowney, and step brother Mustache, who will be euthanized Friday morning due to his father not wanting to look like a child molester.

In lieu of flowers, please donate hair trimmer instruction manuals to those who cannot operate simple machinery without help.

I’m honored and flattered as much as, if not more than the other 2,648 people she follows.  I proudly told my coworkers and friends about my newest fan and they reacted with varying degrees of interest. One quote from my friend Joel stood out.

“This is the most exciting thing to happen since David Hasselhoff started following me,” Joel said.

I had been in town for a few weeks and was ready to meet some ladies.  After hearing all the horror stories about the pretentiousness of LA women and seeing the low dollar amount in my bank account, I was hesitant.  Eventually, I met a nice girl while at a bar in Westwood.  She was tall, attractive, and for some reason was interested in me.

A back and forth of flirtatious phone calls and instant messages ensued.  Then, going against everything I ever stood for musically, I accompanied her and two of her friends to a line dancing bar deep in the valley.  We continued to hit it off, so I made a move and asked her on an official date.

Of course, I wanted to keep it casual, so I used the term “hang out” just in case she said no.   She agreed and I began planning for our night out.  My main obstacle was money.  I was working my first PA gig and had low funds.  How could I woo my lady while pinching pennies?

Instead of coming up with something creative and romantic, I went with in-your-face frugality.

The perfect place for a first date.

My date came to the frat house, ready for a night on the town.  I told her I knew a place nearby with a great all-day happy hour on Wednesdays.  She was game, so we got in my car and drove to Del Taco since it was 3 tacos for $1 night.

I ordered and ate nine soft tacos.  She downed a modest three.  Ever the gentleman, I paid for our bill which was about $7.50 after drinks and taxes.

Not ready for the night to be over, I invited her back to the frat house to continue the “hang out.”  She agreed, so I figured my blatant poorness wasn’t a turn off.

I escorted her to my room and shut the door, wedging the Phillips-head screwdriver into the slot where the chain lock was supposed to be so we could have some privacy.  The buzzing of a lit neon sign added extra ambiance.  We sat on my air mattress and watched a “How I Met Your Mother” rerun that got minimal static when the rabbit ears atop my television were placed just so.

With all my ducks in a row, I made my move.  We made out for a while until she  was suddenly tired and had to leave.  I walked her out and kissed her good night, suggesting another date.  She agreed, then blew me off the next few times I contacted her before I finally gave up.

Disappointed, I analyzed our relationship and wondered why her attitude abruptly changed.  The possibilities were endless, but in the end I came to the conclusion that she must have been a Taco Bell kind of girl.

A photo from the night I met my first celebrity. My nipples were hard with excitement.

Ask anyone who relocated to Los Angeles, and they’ll be able to tell you about their first celebrity encounter.  Mine happened my second week in town, and was one of the most exciting moments of my life up until that point.¹

It was at a semi-intimate gathering with a lot of people I just met.  Across the room stood a familiar looking woman making small talk with the party’s hostess.  I recognized her as Nurse Olivia from “Grey’s Anatomy” (real name:  Sarah Utterback).  The character who famously gave George syphilis.  This was the time in America when men and women alike were watching the show (or at least that’s how I justify it to myself),  so it was tough to contain my giddiness.

I asked the hostess if this was, indeed, a celebrity drinking beer in the same room as us.

“Oh, Sarah?  Yeah, she was on that show.  We’re good friends.”

She took me over and introduced me.  Just like that, I was mingling with a known actress.  We made small talk for a few minutes and parted ways.  She was nice, but unfortunately there was no sexual chemistry.  I went around the rest of the night telling everyone who she was, but no one really cared.  To them, she was just another working actress.  To me, she was a star.

The next day, I told my mom and all my friends back home about my encounter.  They were more thrilled about it than I was, and that’s saying a lot.

After 5 years, you tend to forget about all the famous people you see, and if I met someone like that today, it wouldn’t phase me.  But at the time, she was a star in my presence, and the subject of a story I’ll never forget.