Dispatches from the City of Angels
I'm a writer and humorist living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my novel LOSING CLEMENTINE out March 6 from William Morrow. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often.
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"Taint what a horse looks like, it’s what a horse be." - A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett
"Trying to take it easy after you've finished a manuscript is like trying to take it easy when you have a grease fire on a kitchen stove." - Jan Burke
"Put on your big girl panties, and deal with it." - Mom
"How you do anything is how you do everything."
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Lobster claws: Not just for dinner anymore
For really long runs, my body gets divided into two categories. There are the parts that get slimed up with Bodyglide - think Vaseline in stick form - and the parts that gets slimed up with SPF 6,008. Waterproof, of course.
The Bodyglide keeps away the worst of the chaffing. But only the worst. (A runner will lift up their shirt in the banana-and-bagels line after a race to compare missing sections of skin with complete strangers. "Oh, yeah, look at this!" "Man, that's a big one! That's gonna hurt tomorrow." "Yeah, good race, huh?" "The best.")
The sunscreen keeps me from looking like a drunken Kansas City Chiefs* fan all painted up for the big game. But the thing about sunscreen is that it only works on the spots where you actually apply it. I did the back of my neck. The tips of my ears. That little section of face between the corner of my eye and my hairline. You'd think I'd be good at this by now.
Turns out, not so much.
Yesterday, I went for a three-hour run, and I forgot to SPF my hands.
From my wrists down, I am lobster girl. And let me tell ya, it's a sexy look. I'm particularly looking forward to the peeling and the post-burn freaky tan line, 'cause there is nothing like a visible reminder of your stupidity that lasts for six months.
And on top of everything else, I have the B52s "Rock Lobster" song stuck in my head - a song I never much liked in the first place and now mocks me mercilessly. I keep trying to replace it with "Cherry Bomb" by John Mellencamp, but it's not working.
Stupid lobsters...
*My hometown team will make it to the Super Bowl one of these days. Really. Hopefully. Probably. I mean the law of averages...right?
The Bodyglide keeps away the worst of the chaffing. But only the worst. (A runner will lift up their shirt in the banana-and-bagels line after a race to compare missing sections of skin with complete strangers. "Oh, yeah, look at this!" "Man, that's a big one! That's gonna hurt tomorrow." "Yeah, good race, huh?" "The best.")
The sunscreen keeps me from looking like a drunken Kansas City Chiefs* fan all painted up for the big game. But the thing about sunscreen is that it only works on the spots where you actually apply it. I did the back of my neck. The tips of my ears. That little section of face between the corner of my eye and my hairline. You'd think I'd be good at this by now.
Turns out, not so much.
Yesterday, I went for a three-hour run, and I forgot to SPF my hands.
From my wrists down, I am lobster girl. And let me tell ya, it's a sexy look. I'm particularly looking forward to the peeling and the post-burn freaky tan line, 'cause there is nothing like a visible reminder of your stupidity that lasts for six months.
And on top of everything else, I have the B52s "Rock Lobster" song stuck in my head - a song I never much liked in the first place and now mocks me mercilessly. I keep trying to replace it with "Cherry Bomb" by John Mellencamp, but it's not working.
Stupid lobsters...
*My hometown team will make it to the Super Bowl one of these days. Really. Hopefully. Probably. I mean the law of averages...right?
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