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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The Pee-Pee Talks to Him
"Austin!"
Any conversation that begins with my husband's name is sure to be problematic. It's either a rebuke or a cry for help. It's all in the tone. This time the tone was somewhere in the neighborhood of "Fire!" "Quicksand!" "Snakes on the plane!"
I had seven guests arriving for dinner, a metric ton of food in the oven and my garbage disposal had just ground to a screeching, gurgling halt, leaving a gallon of coffee grounds, potato peels and water floating in my sink with nowhere to go.
"Emergency! Emergency! Bring the penis!"
Politically correct? No. But I was suffering from an entertaining catastrophe, and there was no time to make anyone feel better about it. Like all the men I grew up with, all the men I am related to, my husband can fix pretty much anything - particularly if it has moving parts. Prior experience with said broken item is entirely unnecessary.
When asked about this during a previous snakes-on-the-plane moment, he has said with an entirely straight face, "The pee-pee tells me how to do it."
And you know what? I believe that it does.
He doesn't know when his mother's birthday is. Can't remember what foods he likes. Is absolutely, positively incapable of putting his own socks in the hamper, but he is a mechanical/computer/carpentry/engineering genius.
And at that moment, I desperately needed him to use the penis on my garbage disposal. Go penis!
He opened the lower cabinet, stuck his head in and sniffed. "Smells like brake fluid," he said.
I have no idea what brake fluid smells like, but it sounded serious. Uh oh, I thought. Better bring the big penis.
I started bailing coffee/potato water, and he went to work. Five minutes later, I'd managed to fling grounds in my eye and across half my bathroom (don't ask). He, on the other hand, had the disposal purring like a kitten.
He wiped his hands and strutted back toward the couch. Dinner party saved.
I was ready to de-pants him right there. "My hero! However did you do it?"
He blushed. "I, uh, found the reset button - but the pee-pee told me where it was."
And you know, I believe that it did.
Any conversation that begins with my husband's name is sure to be problematic. It's either a rebuke or a cry for help. It's all in the tone. This time the tone was somewhere in the neighborhood of "Fire!" "Quicksand!" "Snakes on the plane!"
I had seven guests arriving for dinner, a metric ton of food in the oven and my garbage disposal had just ground to a screeching, gurgling halt, leaving a gallon of coffee grounds, potato peels and water floating in my sink with nowhere to go.
"Emergency! Emergency! Bring the penis!"
Politically correct? No. But I was suffering from an entertaining catastrophe, and there was no time to make anyone feel better about it. Like all the men I grew up with, all the men I am related to, my husband can fix pretty much anything - particularly if it has moving parts. Prior experience with said broken item is entirely unnecessary.
When asked about this during a previous snakes-on-the-plane moment, he has said with an entirely straight face, "The pee-pee tells me how to do it."
And you know what? I believe that it does.
He doesn't know when his mother's birthday is. Can't remember what foods he likes. Is absolutely, positively incapable of putting his own socks in the hamper, but he is a mechanical/computer/carpentry/engineering genius.
And at that moment, I desperately needed him to use the penis on my garbage disposal. Go penis!
He opened the lower cabinet, stuck his head in and sniffed. "Smells like brake fluid," he said.
I have no idea what brake fluid smells like, but it sounded serious. Uh oh, I thought. Better bring the big penis.
I started bailing coffee/potato water, and he went to work. Five minutes later, I'd managed to fling grounds in my eye and across half my bathroom (don't ask). He, on the other hand, had the disposal purring like a kitten.
He wiped his hands and strutted back toward the couch. Dinner party saved.
I was ready to de-pants him right there. "My hero! However did you do it?"
He blushed. "I, uh, found the reset button - but the pee-pee told me where it was."
And you know, I believe that it did.
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