2000-09-05 | 02:19:02

i ate a burrito with jaclyn smith this weekend.

well, i ate a burrito NEAR jaclyn smith.

we were at the same mexican food stand in venice beach. she was with her mom and daughter. she looked great. her eyes were humongous and colored an eerie windex blue.

seeing jaclyn, if i may call her that, made me wish that they would have given the starring roles in the new "charlie's angels" movie to the original cast. that would have been so dreamy. cameron, lucy and drew could never be as hot as the first "charlie's angels" were: jaclyn, kate and farrah. even cheryl ladd could best those '00 wannabes. but not shelley hack. even though she was good at selling "charlie" cologne, she was wooden as an angel. kinda free, kinda now, kinda not.

watching and discussing "charlie's angels" in my junior high days was a big deal. it rivaled the social phenomenon created recently by the show "survivor." being able to hold forth on what jill, sabrina, kris and kelly were up to was serious stuff. serious. eighth grade social currency via prime-time aaron spelling tv.

speaking of prime time, "charlie's angels" was a 9 p.m. show. my bedtime was around 8:30. i begged my parents to let me watch the two-hour season premiere. it was VITAL to my SOCIAL WELL-BEING. but they didn't GET IT.

through some cruel side of his, my dad decided to watch the premiere himself while i tried to fall asleep, in spite of my mumbling bitterness, down the hall in my bedroom. this meant i could hear the voices of the girls, bosley and charlie wafting down the hallway and through my open bedroom door, but couldn't see any of the action to get any much-needed context.

torturous, man, torturous.

i had one thing working to my advantage. my dad has always been a big snacker. he'd make several trips to the refrigerator each night. i don't want to think about it, but i know he quaffed milk right out of the carton during those fridge raids. bleh. a saliva chaser on our breakfast cereal. talk about special k! bleh.

anyway, i was listening carefully for any snatches of dialogue i might be able to cut and paste into conversation the next day at school. some kind of evidence that i wasn't a super nerd who went to bed when the farm folk did.

my wide-awake ears picked up a creaking of the couch. my dad was rustling. then one of his grunts as he positioned himself to stand. then the blink of his shadow as he crossed the lit doorway of the tv room. pad. pad. pad. smuck-pop! the opening of the refrigerator door. i had a five-minute window at best.

i darted down that hallway like i was doing the 50 yard dash in p.e. i stood stockstill in the doorway, looking at the forbidden tv screen. all my nerves were snapping with freneticness. at any moment the jig would be up. i had to walk the tightrope of maximum viewing intake without risking father path-crossing.

there was a tropical scene on-screen. i think charlie was swimming away. you could only see the back of his head. a bad '70s perm. no one ever saw charlie, you know. part of his mystique and all.

the next sound i heard made me jump out of my skin and do a spasmodic river dance reprise. it was the hiss of my dad's voice on the back of my neck.

"GET your BUTT to BED!!!"

i bested my land speed record that night on the return route. i did a leap off the wall-to-wall like i was kerri strung mouting a balance beam and ripped the covers over me. then i quaked in my cotton/poly blend cocoon. heart speeding, eyes burning with tears.

"i hate my dad," i whimpered to myself in a choked whisper, biting my lip. "hate him, hate him, hate him!"

in time, i learned to forgive. in time.

i wonder if i could find that episode on vhs...

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