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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In march the frogs...
I don't have children. But I imagine someday I probably will.* And I imagine that some time after that, a small person with my husband's enormous blue eyes will look up at me and ask, "Can we have a puppy?"
What I didn't foresee was that the person would actually be six feet tall and the original possessor of said blue eyes. And I didn't foresee that he would say, "What would you think about getting a frog?"
(Insert head smack here.)
My first reaction, after the head slap:
"Eww. Eww. Eww. Ewwwwww." Followed by the sudden urge to scrunch up my eyes and hop up and down like a five year old. "Groooossss." I don't do frog. Or lizard. Or bugs. Or for that matter spiders, snakes or worms.
(You can ask my dad about the worm thing. Taking me fishing for the first time as a small child is one of his favorite embarrassing stories to tell.)
Fortunately, this conversation with my husband is taking place over instant message, which means he can't actually see me sticking out my tongue and clenching my fists. Then he sends me an e-mail filled with pictures of his new favorite frog species - I swear I am not making this up - The Monkey Frog. (It's worth noting that my husband loves anything with the word "monkey" in it.)
These pictures are not reassuring. The amphibious little slime factories look suspiciously poisonous. The last picture is of a baby monkey frog. It's the size of the tip of a human finger. I imagine it loose in the house, crawling up my leg at night under the covers. I nearly have an epileptic fit sitting at my desk.
Ewwww doesn't even begin to cover it.
Then I get the following series of instant messages. Again, I am not making this up.
Him: "Teehehe..."
Me: "Yes?"
Him: "I looked at that picture of the baby monkey frog again. It makes me smile and giggle."
Me: "I love you."
Him: "And I love you."
That's pretty much when I caved.
According to the Humane Society, there are 65 million owned dogs in this country. I have a sinking suspicion 64 million of them were acquired after a similar conversation.
Don't worry, he says, it's going to take me awhile to work up to the frog. I want to get the terrarium going right first.
To me, this sounds a lot like, "I'll feed him and walk him everyday. I swear."
*No, dear parents, I don't know when. Don't ask. I have to raise frogs first.
What I didn't foresee was that the person would actually be six feet tall and the original possessor of said blue eyes. And I didn't foresee that he would say, "What would you think about getting a frog?"
(Insert head smack here.)
My first reaction, after the head slap:
"Eww. Eww. Eww. Ewwwwww." Followed by the sudden urge to scrunch up my eyes and hop up and down like a five year old. "Groooossss." I don't do frog. Or lizard. Or bugs. Or for that matter spiders, snakes or worms.
(You can ask my dad about the worm thing. Taking me fishing for the first time as a small child is one of his favorite embarrassing stories to tell.)
Fortunately, this conversation with my husband is taking place over instant message, which means he can't actually see me sticking out my tongue and clenching my fists. Then he sends me an e-mail filled with pictures of his new favorite frog species - I swear I am not making this up - The Monkey Frog. (It's worth noting that my husband loves anything with the word "monkey" in it.)
These pictures are not reassuring. The amphibious little slime factories look suspiciously poisonous. The last picture is of a baby monkey frog. It's the size of the tip of a human finger. I imagine it loose in the house, crawling up my leg at night under the covers. I nearly have an epileptic fit sitting at my desk.
Ewwww doesn't even begin to cover it.
Then I get the following series of instant messages. Again, I am not making this up.
Him: "Teehehe..."
Me: "Yes?"
Him: "I looked at that picture of the baby monkey frog again. It makes me smile and giggle."
Me: "I love you."
Him: "And I love you."
That's pretty much when I caved.
According to the Humane Society, there are 65 million owned dogs in this country. I have a sinking suspicion 64 million of them were acquired after a similar conversation.
Don't worry, he says, it's going to take me awhile to work up to the frog. I want to get the terrarium going right first.
To me, this sounds a lot like, "I'll feed him and walk him everyday. I swear."
*No, dear parents, I don't know when. Don't ask. I have to raise frogs first.
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