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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Put the bowl down, and nobody gets hurt
There are now six construction workers who are afraid to come into my apartment. And I'm having trouble feeling badly about this.
They started out demoing the pool, tennis court and spa just outside my apartment window and above my parking garage, which is attached to the building itself. Should you wish to experience the sensation of having a pool, tennis court and spa attached to your building demo-ed try this fun little at-home experiment. You'll need three friends.
Step one: Friend One puts ice cubes and drywall screws in your blender, straps the blender to your head and turns it on.
Step two: Friend Two takes the dust trap out of your vacuum cleaner and dances gleefully around your living room shaking out the contents like allergy-inducing fairy dust.
Step three: Friend Three straps you to your office chair and shakes it from 8 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. with the union-mandated one hour lunch around noon.
But because I'd only developed a facial tick on my LEFT side (along with the need to circle the dining room, following the walls and talking softly to myself), they thought it might be a good idea to rip out the drywall in my bedroom, closet and living room to run "new wiring." Wiring for what I have no idea.
I was informed that I'd have to move half of my possessions away from the work area for six days. Now I don't know if you've ever lived in a one bedroom L.A. apartment but "fucking move it WHERE?" is a fair question.
On day one, I managed to maintain a small rat-sized path to the bathroom. On day two, six guys who looked like extras from Conan the Barbarian invaded my living room and informed me that they were going to move my seven-foot bookcase full of family heirlooms, pictures, my husband's art and about 14,000 pounds of books. And they were going to do it NOW with it FULL.
Full disclosure: I'm not a very big person - just over a hundred pounds. I have a blonde pony tail, a Midwestern accent and bear a strong resemblance to your kid's kindergarten teacher. I think they thought they could take me.
They were wrong.
"NO, YOU WILL WAIT! YOU WILL FREAKING WAIT A DAMN MINUTE!"
I stood barefoot and crazed between them and my bookcase. Then I brandished my great aunt's Mexican art bowl at them.
"BACK OFF!"
Nobody said anything. Everybody took two steps back.
I'm still clutching the bowl just in case they try to come back.
They started out demoing the pool, tennis court and spa just outside my apartment window and above my parking garage, which is attached to the building itself. Should you wish to experience the sensation of having a pool, tennis court and spa attached to your building demo-ed try this fun little at-home experiment. You'll need three friends.
Step one: Friend One puts ice cubes and drywall screws in your blender, straps the blender to your head and turns it on.
Step two: Friend Two takes the dust trap out of your vacuum cleaner and dances gleefully around your living room shaking out the contents like allergy-inducing fairy dust.
Step three: Friend Three straps you to your office chair and shakes it from 8 a.m. until 4:30 p.m. with the union-mandated one hour lunch around noon.
But because I'd only developed a facial tick on my LEFT side (along with the need to circle the dining room, following the walls and talking softly to myself), they thought it might be a good idea to rip out the drywall in my bedroom, closet and living room to run "new wiring." Wiring for what I have no idea.
I was informed that I'd have to move half of my possessions away from the work area for six days. Now I don't know if you've ever lived in a one bedroom L.A. apartment but "fucking move it WHERE?" is a fair question.
On day one, I managed to maintain a small rat-sized path to the bathroom. On day two, six guys who looked like extras from Conan the Barbarian invaded my living room and informed me that they were going to move my seven-foot bookcase full of family heirlooms, pictures, my husband's art and about 14,000 pounds of books. And they were going to do it NOW with it FULL.
Full disclosure: I'm not a very big person - just over a hundred pounds. I have a blonde pony tail, a Midwestern accent and bear a strong resemblance to your kid's kindergarten teacher. I think they thought they could take me.
They were wrong.
"NO, YOU WILL WAIT! YOU WILL FREAKING WAIT A DAMN MINUTE!"
I stood barefoot and crazed between them and my bookcase. Then I brandished my great aunt's Mexican art bowl at them.
"BACK OFF!"
Nobody said anything. Everybody took two steps back.
I'm still clutching the bowl just in case they try to come back.
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