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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Favorite Quotes:
"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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Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
I'm not sick. I'm not sick. I'm not sick.
Mantra failed.
I'm sick. I'm a sniveling ball of mucus. I'm producing snot in such quantities it's only a matter of time before it saps all moisture from my body, leading to possibly fatal levels of dehydration. Of course, it'll take some time before anyone finds my body. I'll be lost for weeks underneath the sea of snotty tissues rising around me.
Fortunately, I have plenty of energy to clean those up. I am, after all, high as a freaking kite.
Several months ago, my husband had a mystery illness that turned out to be mostly stress-induced, but for awhile, allergies were suspected. He was instructed to take a rather large dose of over-the-counter allergy/cold medicine every day. It didn't help and caused some unfortunate side effects, so he stopped. And we were left with enough high-octane cold medicine to alleviate damn near anything, possibly including leprosy.
I'm not generally one for too much medicine. A bottle of ibuprofen goes bad around here before anyone gets around to actually taking it, but after two days of mucus and very, very little sleep, I caved. I took the high-octane stuff.
Thirty minutes later, I felt much better. Much, much better. I felt so good, I took a shower and then I got dressed and then I put on some makeup and did my hair and cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed and did the dishes and dusted the baseboards and took out the trash and sorted the recycling, and then I hooked up the wet vac and shampooed the carpeting. I would've dusted, but I ran out of time. My husband came home.
He looked around and then at me, and then he laughed. A lot.
"You took the allergy stuff, huh?"
"Yes!" I was very enthusiastic. "And I feel grrrrreat!"
"You feel high."
"Noooo...I feel fine. I'm getting better." It's possible I started grinning like the Joker.
He shook his head. "That stuff made ME high, and I weigh twice what you do. You're loaded."
I looked around at the apartment and tried to remember the last time I'd shampooed the carpet.
I've still got this cold, and I'm still taking the medicine, which is why I'm going to dust and do laundry and mop and go to the grocery store just as soon as I post this. After all, I don't get sick very often. Have to take advantage of it while I can.
Mantra failed.
I'm sick. I'm a sniveling ball of mucus. I'm producing snot in such quantities it's only a matter of time before it saps all moisture from my body, leading to possibly fatal levels of dehydration. Of course, it'll take some time before anyone finds my body. I'll be lost for weeks underneath the sea of snotty tissues rising around me.
Fortunately, I have plenty of energy to clean those up. I am, after all, high as a freaking kite.
Several months ago, my husband had a mystery illness that turned out to be mostly stress-induced, but for awhile, allergies were suspected. He was instructed to take a rather large dose of over-the-counter allergy/cold medicine every day. It didn't help and caused some unfortunate side effects, so he stopped. And we were left with enough high-octane cold medicine to alleviate damn near anything, possibly including leprosy.
I'm not generally one for too much medicine. A bottle of ibuprofen goes bad around here before anyone gets around to actually taking it, but after two days of mucus and very, very little sleep, I caved. I took the high-octane stuff.
Thirty minutes later, I felt much better. Much, much better. I felt so good, I took a shower and then I got dressed and then I put on some makeup and did my hair and cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed and did the dishes and dusted the baseboards and took out the trash and sorted the recycling, and then I hooked up the wet vac and shampooed the carpeting. I would've dusted, but I ran out of time. My husband came home.
He looked around and then at me, and then he laughed. A lot.
"You took the allergy stuff, huh?"
"Yes!" I was very enthusiastic. "And I feel grrrrreat!"
"You feel high."
"Noooo...I feel fine. I'm getting better." It's possible I started grinning like the Joker.
He shook his head. "That stuff made ME high, and I weigh twice what you do. You're loaded."
I looked around at the apartment and tried to remember the last time I'd shampooed the carpet.
I've still got this cold, and I'm still taking the medicine, which is why I'm going to dust and do laundry and mop and go to the grocery store just as soon as I post this. After all, I don't get sick very often. Have to take advantage of it while I can.
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