Episode 13

MY V.I. (I apologize for the text being all jammed together -

(a soap opera) It won't let me fix it & I'm too lazy to retype it!)

Cindy left the bar and walked back into the office to answer the telephone.

"Good afternoon, Village Inn; this is Cindy speaking. Oh, Ryan, it's you . . . hello honey bunny."

The normally light-hearted Ryan was speaking with a great deal more earnest as he asked her about Ken Edwards.

"Hey, Ken still works there - right?"

She was surprised by his question.

"Yes, of course. He works Wednesdays, Thursdays and Saturday . . . they took him off Mondays because it's just gotten so slow. Why?"

"Well . . this is really weird. I was driving down 17th St. and I stopped at a light and I hear this voice calling my name and I look over and it's this giant cellphone waving and yelling, 'Ryan . . Ryan . . hey, Ryan!'"

"Yeah - that's weird but what's that got to do with Ken?"

"Well, I'm getting to that part. At first I thought maybe I'd forgotten to pay my phone bill and -WOW - they've sent this living cellphone to collect the dough . . . you know?"

"That would be weird."

"I know, right? But then I realized . . . it was Ken."

"Ken?"

"Yes. It was Ken dressed in this huge cellphone costume - standing and waving at the cars driving by . . . you know what I mean? You've seen those guys, right? Some guy dressed like the Statue of Liberty or a chicken . . you know . . . to advertise some business."

"Yeah, I know what you're talking about but . . . Ken was doing that? You're sure it was Ken?"

"Oh - trust me - it was Ken. I know because I pulled over and talked to him."

"You did? What did he say?

"Well . . I didn't want to act like I was surprised (which was hard not to do) so I was just like, 'hey, how's it going, Ken?' You know, it's like - what do I say to this person who I know but I've never seen dressed like a damn telephone before . . you know? It was awkward."

"Oh my god - that would be awkward . . . really awkward! Well, did he say why he was doing this . . job, I guess it's a job, right?"

"Well, this is the really sad part. You know how he's struggled financially - trying to put his dog through obedience school and all that . . . well, he told me that he's been really depressed the past couple of months and the way he's dealt with the depression is he's holed up in his apartment and watched movies - nonstop. Well, I guess he's managed to run up such a huge Blockbuster bill that he might have to take his dog out of private obedience school and home school her."

"Oh my god . . . I had no idea this was going on! He's so quiet about his personal life. Isn't that funny - always laughing on the outside but dying on the inside."

"Oh well. I just wanted to know if he'd been fired or quit, you know. So I guess this 'cellphone gig' is like extra, part-time work or something."

"I guess. This is just terrible. I'm gonna call Trudy and see if she can get his Monday night shift back, I mean, c'mon - he shouldn't be standing out on the street dressed as a phone. Was it at least like an iphone or a Blackberry . . . you know, something nice?"

"No. It was like the crappiest freebie phone - you know - the kind they give you when you sign up for service."

"Oh . . . this just breaks my heart. My little Kenny dressed up like a cheap phone walkin' the street just to make ends meet. Damn it, Ryan. Somethings gotta change in this country! This is not right!"

"Tell me about it. Things are tough all over. In fact, I'm looking at taking an editing job with the Trinity Broadcasting Network."

"TBN!? Are you kidding me?

"Hey . . . gotta go where the money is and God's never low on cash."

"Yeah, well. I think, maybe, you better drive back to 17th St. and ask Ken if they have an extra cellphone suit."

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 12

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)

Storm clouds were gathering and

a crowd was forming outside the V.I.

It seems that Olga Renderklott, the haughtiest of all Balboa Island residents, had decided to appoint herself the unofficial spokesman of the "YES on underground utilites" movement.

"Wake up, fair citizens of Balboa Island. For safety sake you must vote YES for underground utilities," proclaimed Mrs. Renderklott into her bull horn.

Olga Renderklott - of the San Marino Renderklotts - was an abrasive, pretentious, long-time resident of Balboa Island. She and her husband, Raymond, resided in a shamelessly gaudy home on the south bayfront: a massive, double-lot, bastardized tudor/moroccan/moorish style concoction of her own design and - had they posessed less money - someone might have told them so but right about the time anyone came close to calling her out or questioning her bulldozing ways she would shrewdly make a substantial donation to a charity or cause close to the heart of the offended party.

She was always looking for something to promote, protest or preside over; and the underground utilities issue was right up her alley . . . so to speak.

"I'll never forget the time that a vicious wind arose and the decrepit, sagging eyesores - or power lines, as some refer to them, began to sway violently. I happened to be standing directly beneath them waiting for my driver to pull around into the alley behind my home and whisk me off to a charity dinner to benefit the Deaf & Dumb Motivational Speakers Society (their motto is 'listen & speak up!') and as I stood there, terrified, I began to watch the wires swinging madly to and fro. Soon I was hypnotized by their evil swaying motion and unable to free myself from the power of their persuasive, visual grip. This quickly lead to profound nausea and caused me to vomit all over the new John Galliano dress I was wearing which I had planned to return to Neimans the next day. Well, needless to say, my evening was ruined and I was forced to keep the dress! Now you see why we must have underground utilites."

The various people in the small but curious crowd surrounding her each reacted differently to her street corner confession. Five elderly Taiwanese tourists took several photographs of her while the handful of V.I. customers who'd stepped out front to smoke kept their own opinions about Olga and the issue of underground utilities to themselves . . . except for one.

Bilge, who'd lived his whole life on the island in the small cottage his grandfather built in the 200 block of Tourmaline, decided to speak up.

"Olga, you old bottom feeder! What are you doing out here on the corner babbling like a lunatic? You and the rest of your snooty 'SoBaFro' friends can take your 'bury the wires' crusade back down to the 100 block."

Olga glared at him and demanded to know, "WHAT did you call me, Bilge Donahue?"

"Snooty?" he replied.

"No . . after that."

"Oh! 'SoBaFro?'

"Yes . . . Soho, or whatever you said."

"It's 'So-Ba-Fro' - I called you a snooty SoBaFro . . . . South Bayfronter."

Her whole body raised up as she hissed, "WELL! I never!"

With a slight smirk on his face, Bilge stared directly in her eyes and winked, "Oh really, Olga . . . not even once?"

In an instant her face went from red to white as a ghost. Without a single word she turned and stormed off down Marine Avenue.

Bilge had managed to psychologically defeat all of her wealth, pomp and prestige by silently reminding her of her most humiliating fleshly failure which took place thirty-two years before during the Boat Parade and involved the two of them, a couple of bottles of Lancer's Rose and a chilly rendezvous on the swim deck of a neighbor's yacht . . . . . Feliz Navidad!

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 11

MY V.I.

(a soap opera)

Cindy entered the office shouting, "High five, girl! That was awesome. You just said what everybody's wanted to say to that guy for years."

Charmaine was sitting with her head down at Trudy's desk and unenthusiastically turned to "high five" her.

Seeing that she was crying again Cindy asked, "What's wrong now?'

"I hate that I got so upset - my mother raised me to respect my elders," was all she would say.

What Cindy did not understand was the way Charmaine had been brought up. Her mother was a portly, chain-smoking, mustachoed, schizophrenic, globe-trotting Jehovah's Witness missionary who posessed a penchant for Parliments, Popoff, pastries, piety, paisley, parties, pontificating and pineapple pot pourri. Needless to say, any child raised in such a home would be doomed to confusion and Charmaine was no exception.

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 10

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)

"What's ringing?" Cindy asked.

Simza grabbed her enormous bag and began to fumble through it, "It's my phone."

After digging to the bottom, she extracted a shiny new iphone.

"You've got an iphone?" Cindy asked.

"What? Just because I'm a gypsy you think I can't have nice things?"

"No . . no. I didn't mean . . . "

She put the phone to her ear, "Hello, Simza here. Yes . . . yes. I'll be right there."

Putting the phone back in her bag she announced, "I've got to go. I forgot I was supposed to meet my sister thirty minutes ago at The Gypsy Den."

Cindy stood as Simza got up, "I understand. So you're off to the gypsy den, huh? Sounds mysterious - where is it? Hidden away in the mountains somewhere?"

Simza cast a disparaging look her way, "What? Are you kidding me? It's a coffee house over in Costa Mesa . . . you've been watching too many movies!"

Simza hugged her once more, reiterated her warning to be careful and she made her way out the dining room door to her camper.

Cindy watched through the window as the old gypsy pulled onto Marine Avenue and smiled when it dawned on her that this was the first time Simza had come and gone without it costing her anything - but as she turned around, she realized that all the salt and pepper shakers were missing in the dining room.

"Gypsies," she mumbled.

Cindy decided she'd better check on Charmaine who was last seen crying on the phone in back. As she entered the office, she found a far more composed Charmaine drying her eyes with a tissue.

"Are you o.k., honey?" Cindy asked as she put her arm around her.

"Yeah, I'm o.k."

"What did Bilge say to get you so upset?"

"Oh, he was making fun of me and told me that my idol, Bella Abzug, was dead - which I found out is true. I just called a friend of mine and had her "google" her name for me and she told me it was true - she died in 1998 - and I've been voting for her all this time! Guess he's right - I am an idiot!"

"Did he call you that?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Well, I'm gonna go give him a piece of my mind - NO ONE talks to my servers that way! No one!"

"No, Cindy, don't. It's not important."

"Oh yes it is. That lard ass sits out there everyday and always manages to say something stupid or inappropriate and I've had it."

"Please don't say anything, Cindy - I'll take care of it - please."

"Well, alright," Cindy said, "but do not let him give you a hard time . . . I mean it."

Cindy smiled and walked back out to the bar. Seeing her, Bilge yelled out, "Where the hell've you been? People are getting thirsty around here!"

Cindy was about to unload on him when suddenly the door from the kitchen swung open wildly and slammed against the cabinet next to it. Out stormed an angry and determined Charmaine.

Crossing over in front of the bar and right into the bloated face of Bilge - she unleashed her tornadic fury.

"Listen, you! Who the hell do you think you are spouting orders to her and making fun of me - you beached whale!" Her unbridled wrath nearly knocked him off his barstool.

"You're a fat, disgusting, ignorant, misogynistic son of a . . . son of a . . "

Cindy stood by thinking, "say it, girl, come on - say it."

"son of a . . "

Confused, Cindy thought, "just say it!"

"You son of a GUN!" Charmaine blurted out as she turned and ran crying back into the office.

"Son of a gun?" Cindy thought as she turned and followed her in back.

The entire bar sat for a moment in stunned silence then Bilge spoke up, "Did she say something about a massage?"

Bucky shook his head and replied, "She called you a misogynist, you moron."

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 9

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)

Cindy could best be described as the proverbial "mother hen" of the Village Inn.

She was, by nature, a caring and nurturing person and that care and nurture was lavished upon her customers and especially upon her fellow employees. It was for that reason that she reacted so strongly to Bilge's treatment of Charmaine.

"BILGE! What did you say to her?"

The aged angler stuttered and stammered, "What . . what did I do? Bucky, help me out here. . . hey, Cindy . . Cindy . . ."

But, his cries went unheeded as Cindy vanished back through the kitchen and into the office looking for the distraught Charmaine.

Cindy found her on the phone carrying on a frantic conversation and decided not to bother her. Walking back into the lounge, she was greeted by an equally frantic Simza.

"Cindy. Come quickly!"

Knowing Simza the way that Cindy did, she knew it was no use to argue so she obediantly followed the gypsy into the dining room.

"What is it?" Cindy asked.

Simza motioned for her to be seated in the booth where she had been sitting, doing her reading. Sitting down next to her - she took Cindy's hand.

"Cynthia, my concerns for you were real!"

"How so?"

Simza looked up at the ceiling and waved her hands about in the air.

"I have seen great and terrible things about your future!"

Cindy was somewhat surprised, "Terrible things in my future?"

"YES!" Simza grabbed her hand again and gazed intently into her eyes. "You must tread ever so cautiously the next several days - there is peril at every turn!"

Cindy had never taken Simza's claims of clairvoyance seriously but something about her current intensity made her wonder and take pause.

"Simza . . what are you talking about? Should I be afraid?"

"You should be CAREFUL!"

"Careful? Why? What should I be careful of?"

"O.K. Let me tell you what Simza sees. First: those close to you have begun to change and act very strangely - have you noticed?"

Cindy thought about Michelle and the peculiar way she reacted after her braid was ripped off - and then there was Sky; he certainly had changed.

"Oh my god - Simza, you're right!"

"See, SEE! Simza knows these things. Now, Cindy, listen to Simza. There's more: there is a thief amongst you, here at the inn by the village."

"It's The Village Inn . ."

"Whatever. . . . there is someone who takes that which does not belong to them. WATCHOUT!"

Cindy thought a moment and then remembered that Chrystal's money had been missing the night before. Her eyes grew big as she whispered, "Oh my goodness, Simza, Chrystal's money was stolen last night!"

Simza grabbed Cindy and hugged her tightly. "There is one more thing."

Cindy was now completely convinced of her sagacity. "What Simza . . . what else?"

The gypsy took her hand again, "Well . . . . I see two men coming into your life - soon, very soon. One - not so exciting, not so handsome but perfect for you. The other; very intoxicating, very charming but BEWARE! He brings great danger and must be avoided at all costs. Both will pursue you but you must be be very discerning. It is essential that you choose properly - with your mind, not with your lady parts!"

"Oh, Simza, I'm afraid . . . wait . . . did you say 'lady parts?'"

"Don't be afraid - be smart!"

..................................... C h o o s e W i s e l y , Cindy !..............................................Mr. Right?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 8

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)



Cindy watched in stunned silence as Sky vanished down the street. She wondered what this world was coming to as she turned and walked back inside.

Entering the V.I., she stopped in the doorway and scanned the lounge. Slowly, her eyes passed over the rowdy, young brunch crowd; she smelled the popcorn burning in the popcorn machine.

"CHARMAINE! the popcorn's burning," she yelled.

Her eyes continued past the server's register, the coffee station, through the windows of the kitchen doors - the cooks scrambling to fill the breakfast orders - and around to the bar where sat some of her favorite and not so favorite people.

This was her world, four - sometimes five days a week and had been for years. She wondered how it was possible to love something you hated so much. Sadly, her sentimental moment of reflection was halted by the frantic, apologizing voice of Charmaine.

"Cindy. I didn't start the popcorn - it was Spencer. If I'd been the one to start it I would have paid attention to it . . . it's not . ."

"Stop," Cindy replied, "we all burn the popcorn - don't worry about it."

As the two of them walked past the bar a long time regular lecher swung around on his stool and inquired, "So Cindy, who's this sweet little thing you got there - she's new isn't she?"

Stopping, Cindy proceeded with introductions.

"Charmaine, I'd like you to meet 'Bilge.' Bilge - Charmaine"

Bilge, as he liked to be called, was a lascivious retired fisherman who claimed to have out lived three wives. He could be found most afternoons and weekends plopped atop a V.I. barstool and always wearing the same things: a Reyn Spooner shirt (size XXXL), khaki shorts and a weathered pair of Birkenstocks that cradled the gnarliest pair of old dry, cracked feet anyone would never want to see.

"Hey there - Charmaine was it?'

Charmaine took the chubby red hand he'd extended and answered, "Yes, but I prefer to be called CharTruce."

"Chartreuse? You mean like the color?"

"No. See, my name is Charmaine Truce and some of my crazy friends started calling me CharTruce - get it? Like Char from Charmaine and . ."

"Yeah, yeah I get it. CharTruce. I got it."

"Your name's unusual," Charmaine returned, "did you say, Bilge?"

"Yep, Bilge but some people call me 'Pump.' Doesn't matter to me - either one."

"I like 'Pump!'" Charmaine squealed.

"Well then, by golly, call me Pump!"

Cindy decided to leave these two alone and get back behind the bar to start on the back log of drink orders that had been placed. As she got to the well Simza announced that she was ready to do her reading.

"Oh my gosh, Simza - I forgot all about that. Listen, what do you need from me?"

The old gypsy took the last swig of her tequila and told her, "Take this cotton ball and rub your wrists, behind your ears and down your cleavage with it."

Cindy looked surprised as she took the cotton ball from her and asked, "Down my cleavage?"

"Do as I say!" Simza barked back, impatiently.

Cindy laughed, turned and walked through the opening in the wall into the empty dining room so as to insure privacy.

"Don't forget your wrists and behind your ears!" Simza yelled.

"I got it, I got it!" Cindy responded as she came back into the bar and handed Simza the cotton ball. "Is that all you need?"

"No. I need a cup of hot water, salt and a quiet place to work," Simza demanded.

"Oh crap," Cindy whispered. "Hang on."

Cindy retrieved the water and the salt and placed them in front of Simza. "You can go into the dining room if you want. No one will bother you there."

Simza gathered the items and slunk off into the dining room.

Cindy seized this momentary lull in the insanity to catch up on making drinks for the servers. As she got busy she couldn't help but over hear the nutty conversation between Charmaine and Bilge.

"So you say you didn't vote for Obama? Cause I'd take you for one of them liberal types that'd voted for Obama," Bilge declared to Charmaine.

"What I said was, I'm a liberal but I didn't vote for Obama," she replied.

"Now . . wait a minute. You said you voted, right?"

"Yes. I voted."

"And you're a liberal, right?"

"Right."

"But you didn't vote for Obama?"

"No. I wrote in the canidate that I always vote for - have for, gosh, ten years."

"You wrote in? Who? Who'd you write in?"

"The person I think's most qualified - Bella Abzug."

"Bella ABZUG?! That pushy broad?"

"She's not pushy - I think she's awesome!"

"I think she's dead!" Bilge replied as he looked across the bar at Bucky who was minding his own business. "Hey, Bucky!"

Bucky turned and looked his way.

"Bucky, didn't that old cow, Bella Abzug die?"

Bucky looked confused, "Bella Abzug? Yeah, she died . . . . years ago."

Bilge began to laugh as he looked back at Charmaine, "See there. You voted for a dead woman! Unbelievable!"

His uncontrolled laughter hurt her feelings.

"You hear that, Bucky? Bella Abzug! UNBELIEVABLE! That just proves my point from yesterday - idiots, they're all idiots! First we let 'em drive then we gave 'em the vote. What're we CRAZY?!"

Humiliated, Charmaine ran into the kitchen.


TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 7

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)



Simza nursed her drinks while Cindy filled cocktail orders for the servers and tended to the needs of her bar crowd. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a familiar face jogging by out front. It was Sky Bingham.

Sky had been a beloved regular at the V.I. for a few years but she hadn't seen him for several weeks now.

"Where has he been?" she muttered to herself as she waved in an effort to catch his attention but he just kept going; he completely ignored her.

"That's weird," she said as she ran from behind the bar, through the front door and out onto the sidewalk. Spotting him she called out, "Sky!"

He stopped abruptly and sheepishly turned around.

Cindy put her hands on her hips and demanded, "What are you doing? Get over here, you!"

Slowly he began the half block walk back toward her and as he approached she flung her arms wide open and squealed, "Hey sexy! Where the hell have you been?!"

She embraced him tightly and could tell that he was not reciprocating. She pulled away and looked at him but he avoided eye contact.

"So, Sky, what's up? I've been wondering what happened to you. You haven't returned my text messages and everyone says they haven't been able to get a hold of you . . . what's going on?"

Finally looking at her, he smiled, "Hey, Cindy."

She took a step back and gave him a visual once over from top to bottom, "Damn, dude - you're looking good! Have you been working out or what? You're so fit and trim - it's great! Look at you!"

He laughed and timidly answered, "Yeah . . . well sort of. See, I've found the 'New Way' and now nothing about me's the same and it never will be ever, ever again."

"New way, what new way? What are you talking about?"

"Cindy, the most amazing thing has happened. A few months ago I met this guy, Zoltan, he's the guru of the 'New Way' and he showed me how messed up my life was; how awful my world was and he showed me the awesome 'New Way.' Now I'm one with everything that is and ever will be; isn't that beautiful? Cindy, you really should come follow the 'New Way,' you'll never be the same.

"Why would I do that? I'm happy with the old way. I don't understand this; you're really freaking me out, Sky . . . really freaking me out!"

"Oh and by the way, I don't go by Sky anymore."

"Really."

"No. I go by my new 'New Way' name."

"And what might that be, pray tell."

"Well . . . it's Hank."

"HANK?!"

"Yeah. Zoltan picked it out especially for me. Do you like it? - he said it was perfect for me."

"HANK? Are you kidding me? Sky is like the coolest name EVER and you're gonna let some guy named Zoltan go and change it to something lame like Hank?"

"Zoltan said you people wouldn't understand. You don't have a CLUE about the 'New Way'."

"I guess I don't but let me ask you this. Don't they let you eat in the 'New Way'? I mean, why are you so thin?"

"Oh we eat all the time; mainly algae, plankton and we drink a ton of yak's milk."

"Yak's milk?"

"Lots of it!"

Spencer came running out the V.I. and onto the sidewalk. Spotting her, he called out, "Cindy - DRINKS!"

Without looking back she yelled, "Yeah. I'll be right there."

She stared at the stranger standing before her and gently placed her hand on his cheek, "I want my Sky back."

Pulling away, he looked down then back up at her and responded, "He's gone. Sky's gone for good. It's Hank now and it's the 'New Way' all the way!" and with that he turned and jogged off down the street.

Cindy was beyond speechless.
..........................................................................................................................................The "Old Way"


TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.

Episode 6

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)

Cindy's stolen moment of rest would be short lived. As she leaned back in Trudy's office chair a familiar roar approached which caused her to shout the dreaded name, "SIMZA!"

"Oh god, please don't let it be her," she mumbled as she bounded out of the office and through the kitchen door. But, alas, her fears were materializing right before her eyes. She watched, helplessly, as the tragic and most peculiar camper with a bad muffler jocked back and forth trying to wedge itself into a parking spot in front of the V.I.

The automobile, a 1973 American Motors Gremlin with a camper attached, belonged to a Romanian gypsy named Simza who had happened into the V.I. a couple of years before when the vehicle in question broke down on Marine Ave. Cindy, ever the helpful one, had taken pity upon the old soothsayer and generously offered the use of her Triple A card for towing and even recommended a repairman who's bill she eventually got conned into paying.

What gypsy doesn't love an easy mark and from that day forward Simza made regular pilgrimages to the V.I. to see her "beloved saint," Cindy. Each visit usually wound up costing Cindy at least $100.00.

"Hey, quick, come here!" Cindy yelled to Spencer.

Walking over, Spencer inquired, "What's up?"

"See that beat up blue car with the camper out front?"

"Yeah."

"There's and old gypsy woman driving it that's gonna come in here looking for me and I don't want to talk to her."

"O.k., so you want me to tell her you're not here?"

"Yeah, please. I'll be in the office."

"O.k., but I just put in an order for a bunch of drinks."

"Well, is it beer or wine, I mean, you can get those, can't you?"

"Some are beers but two are Blue Hawaiians and there's three Bahama Mama's."

Cindy hung her head in frustration then looked up again, "I'm gonna KILL Chrystal! O.k., never mind."

"I can tell them it'll be a minute if you want."

"No . . . I'll make the stupid drinks and deal with the crazy gypsy woman!"

Cindy stepped back behind the bar and grabbed the Blue Curacao to make the Blue Hawaiians and by the time she got to the well she could hear the familiar sounds and smell the familiar smells of Simza. The sound was a sort of rustling and clinking of glass and the smell was a combination of incense, patchouli, funky cheese and dirty gym socks.

"Cindy . . . my darling Cindy!" Simza cried with her deep Romanian accent as she entered the bar.

Everyone in the place turned and gave a unanimous look of shock and disbelief as the elderly, shabby Simza spun around three times clapping her hands and finishing with a loud, "HEY!".

Cindy called back, "Hello, Simza. Come sit here at the bar."

"Oh, of course my precious one . . . of course!"

As she made her way toward the bar her voluminous costume brushed up against everyone she passed, "Oh, sorry. Please, excuse, excuse me. I must see my precious Cindy. Sorry, please excuse me."

Finally, firmly planted on the last barstool, she extended her weathered hands to Cindy and smiled her semi-toothless smile.

"Oh Cindy. It's so good to see you, Cindy."

Cindy took her hands and smiled back with her perfectly bleached, invisalign straightened smile, "It's good to see you too, Simza. I see the car is still working."

"Oh yes. Thanks god for you Cindy!"

"Well I'm glad. So what brings you over this way my dear?"

"Well. I've been having GREAT worry for you."

"ME?" Cindy asked.

"Yes, Cindy and I wanted to come and do a special reading for your future."

"A special reading for my future, huh?"

"Yes."

"What's it gonna cost me?"

"Well, Simza is running a special today. One reading for two drinks. Special, just for you."

"Two drinks, huh?"

"Just for you and just for today!"

Cindy still had her two shift drinks so she figured, what the heck.

"O.k., I'll do it."

"O.k. but first, please . . . the drinks."

"Alright. What are you drinking?"

"Two Cuervo shots, chilled, no salt, in a rocks glass, one lime and a Modelo chaser."

"We don't have Modelo."

"Tecate?"

"No Tecate."

"Carta Blanca?"

"No Carta Blanca."

"Bohemia . . . Superior?"

"Nope."

" Mickey's Big Mouth?"

"NO! How about a Pacifico?"

Simza turned and spit on the floor. "That tastes like what the cat puts in the litter box!"

"Corona?"

"O.k., Corona's o.k. - I take a Corona."

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.

Episode 5

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)


Cindy put a brunch menu down on the bar in front of the enormous, balding man wearing madras shorts, Rockport walking shoes and a tee-shirt that said, "Minnesota is for Lovers!"

"Here you go. We're serving brunch until 2:00 p.m. This is the menu and we also offer $7.00 bottomless champagne."

The bulbous tourist, who's equally rotund wife and chubby children stood waiting at the door, perused the menu, glanced back at his family, then turned to Cindy.

"How's about I give ya $8.00 for 'topless' champagne," he whispered while smiling and winking at Cindy.

Shaking her head in disgust and disbelief, Cindy grabbed the menu out of his hand and suggested, "Try Wilma's across the street." With that she turned around, stormed out from behind the bar and into the office, plopping down in front of Trudy's desk. Groaning loudly, she ran her hands through her hair, threw back her head and screamed, "I can't deal with this!"

Cindy never worked the Sunday brunch shift except in extreme emergencies. Trudy knew this and hated to ask her but it was obvious the night before that Michelle was not going to be able to do it. By the time the paramedics had finished tending to her and her roommate arrived to take her home she was nearly incoherent. She kept taking the dismembered braid and sticking it up to the side of her head saying, "Mommy, fix it . . . Mommy, fix it." I was just tragic.

How could Cindy not say yes - of course she would cover poor Michelle's shift but she also knew that by doing so she was signing on to work the most hideous double shift ever. First of all, the brunch shift meant that she had to show up at the ungodly hour of 9:30 AM! and then work all day and into the evening when the place turned into the Viagra Ballroom!

How would she ever get through this, she wondered.

She needed a stimulus plan: 3 Redbulls and a handful of mexican amphetamines!










TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.!

Episode 4

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)


Trudy and Chrystal stared into an empty drawer trying to figure out where Chrystal's cash had gone while Charmaine sat at the bar pouring her heart out to Cindy who was practicing the art of passive listening and cleaning at the same time.

"Well, that was six years ago. Then I met Scoots."

"Scoots?" Cindy asked. "Well, his real name was Gaylord but I called him 'My Li'l Scoots'."

"Wow. I guess if I had to choose between Gaylord and Scoots I'd have to go with Scoots too," Cindy replied.

"Yeah, he was real special."

"O.k., so what happened to . . . Scoots?"

"Well . . . he had one little problem. He was a cross-dresser and I couldn't take it."

"I can understand that," Cindy added.

"He got real mad because I couldn't just accept it. He called me a . . a . . um. ."

"A homophobe?"

"No, no not that. He wasn't gay. I guess you could say I'm a 'homelyophobe' cause he made a real ugly woman and I couldn't stand to look at him."

Cindy, now curious, couldn't help but ask, "Did he wear your clothes?"

"Oh no . . . see, he was not a normal cross-dresser. He liked to dress up like famous women from history."

"WHAT?"

"I'm serious. You know like: Eleanor Roosevelt, Amelia Earhart or Queen Victoria."

"Are YOU kidding me?" Cindy asked.

"No, Cindy, I'm not. And . . . well, it got so bad that . . well, it was really those twenty eight days of Betty Ford that finally did it for me. I just had to get out!"

"He went to Betty Ford for treatment?"

"Oh, no. He spent twenty eight days dressed as Betty Ford. I'm sorry; I just couldn't look at that anymore!"

........................................................................BETTY FORD

....................................................................."SCOOTS" McNEALY TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I. !

Episode 3

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)


Cindy was worried as she stood by the bar with Trudy who'd just shown up. They both watched as the paramedics attended to Michelle's head wound; all this while Michelle sat silently staring at the beloved, bloody braid she was holding in her hand.

"Trudy, look at her," Cindy said. "Poor thing - she loved that braid."

"Gosh, I know. Maybe she could just bobby pin it back in place, you know," Trudy added.

"TRUDY!"

"Well, I don't know . . . oh, Cindy, look."

"Oh my god, Trudy, what is she doing?"

"Well, it looks like she's petting it . . . like a cat or something."

"That is just sad."

Across the bar Chrystal, Fermin and the new girl, Charmaine were busy picking up over turned tables, chairs and debris left behind by the melee.

It was Charmaine's first night training as a server and Chrystal assured her that this type of thing doesn't normally happen here but Charmaine wasn't concerned - she kind of liked it. She found the whole experience exciting.

Most people that knew her found Charmaine Truce to be an odd young lady. She was a bi-polar, single mother living in a Costa Mesa triplex. Her friends called her CharTruce and she liked that.


Charmaine was hooked on "America's Most Wanted." She'd watched it for years and had, in fact, been fired from her last job as a waitress because she twice thought she recognized a customer in the restaurant where she worked as one of the fugitives from the show. The first time it happened the cops considered it an innocent mistake but the second time the SWAT team surrounded the place and it was a mess. There was something about criminals and criminal activity that fascinated her.

Chrystal walked over to Charmaine who was clearing off one of the few tables that had been left standing and tapped her on the shoulder, "Charmaine."

Turning around she answered, "Please call me CharTruce."

"Oh, o.k. - uh, listen, Fermin'll finish cleaning this up. Let me show you how to close out and do your paper work."

"O.K."

The two of them walked over to the computer and Chrystal showed her how to run her closing sales report; once that was finished she opened the drawer to retreive her cash.

"That's funny," Chrystal said.

"What's that?"

Chrystal rummaged through the drawer. "My money . . . it's not in here."

Looking away Charmaine responded, "It's not?"

"No, it's not. It's gone!"


TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I. .................................."Where's my money?!!"

Episode 2

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)



The scene in front of the V.I. was nothing short of surreal. Eleven Newport Beach police cars, two fire trucks and an ambulance all parked helter skelter with lights flashing.

The whole neighborhood, along with all the patrons from the bar, were milling about outside watching as the last Tree Hugger was cuffed and placed in the back of a police car.

Ryan and Cindy restrained Michelle as she shook her fist at the hefty, vegan songstress, "Come on back when you get out of jail and I'll give you a piece of meat . . . right in the FACE!"

"Michelle, MICHELLE!" Cindy shouted, "Forget it."

"Let me go!" Michelle yelled as she pulled herself away from the two of them and as she did, she felt something warm running down her arm. Touching it she realized it was blood.

"Cindy, tell me I'm not bleeding!"

Cindy pulled her into the light and saw that she was indeed bleeding but not from her arm. "Honey, I think it's coming from the side of your head . . . oh, wait."

It was then that Cindy realized the awful truth - it was coming from where her braided pigtail USED to be.

Her scream could be heard across the bay.


TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR ANOTHER EXCITING EPISODE OF MY V.I.

Episode 1

Monday, March 2, 2009

MY V.I.
(a soap opera)



The music was pounding and so was Cindy's head as she stood behind the bar washing dishes. She tried to yell over the mind numbing cacaphony of bad music, drunken chatter and the whine of the dish washing machine, "Michelle!"

Michelle, who was working the other end of the bar and in no mood to be there, turned her way and answered, "What?"

"Is this the weirdest night or what?!"

"Are you kidding me? They're all weird," Michelle shot back.

It was Saturday night at the V.I. and things weren't going well. Trudy had booked a new band called Peta & the Tree Huggers and unbeknownst to her, Peta & the Tree Huggers consisted of 4 angry lesbian vegetarians who began their set by verbally abusing all of the patrons who were eating meat.

"Death to the carnivores! A one, a two, a 1,2,3,4." And with that they were off; playing the most vulgar, dissonant racket ever heard at the V.I.

Soon, up went a unanimous howl from the regulars at the bar.

"Cindy! Who are these communists?" barked one guy. "Go back to San Francisco!" screamed another.

Michelle walked over to Cindy and yelled over the noise, "Are these chicks serious? This isn't gonna work! First of all, it's too loud and second, we're going to have a riot on our hands."

"You're right," Cindy shouted back.

Michelle decided she would stop the music and have a word with "Peta" the lead "singer" and as she approached the stage waving her hands Peta yelled, "Back off!" and kicked over the table in front of her which fell on Michelle's foot.

Needless to say, this didn't sit well with Michelle who responded by grabbing the end of Peta's guitar. When she did, the bass player, "Sprouts," kicked her with her Doc Martens and then all bets were off.

Michelle punched Sprouts then tackled Peta and the two of them went crashing into the drums, trapping the drummer, "Herbal Annie" in the corner. Chaos ensured!

Horrified, Cindy grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

TUNE IN NEXT TIME
FOR ANOTHER EXCITING
EPISODE OF MY V. I.