ahream

A box arrived today. I’d been expecting it, and from the cardboard womb, I could catch the faintest whiff of ginger, rosemary and cayenne pepper. Food? No. Badger Balm, a muscle rub revered by even the craziest, hard-core runners. I’d heard rumors. Hard to find. Best to special order. And when it comes, find a quiet room and worship the little metal tin.

Clutching the box to my chest like a squirrel having found a particularly juicy nut, I ran into my apartment. Packing tape. Okay, no problem. Just have to rip...if I could get a corner....I pawed at it like a deranged woodland creature. No luck. Scissors. I sliced open the tape around the box flap, dropped them with a clatter and pawed some more. Nothing. If I could just get it started... work it up just a little bit...Teeth. I chewed on a corner, hooked an incisor on the flap, growled. Wet and slobbery, the glue held. Son of a...

“Give it to me! Give it, you mangey ferret turd! Give it!”

Claw end of a hammer. Pliers. Screwdriver. Power saw. Nothing. I pounced on it, held it in my forepaws and used my back feet to shred the cardboard. Turns out that works better for cats. Still the package held, the sweet scent of pain relief taunting me from within its depths.

I consider backing over it with the car. I am halfway out the door. I look down. “To open, pull tab.”

Mother f –

ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. 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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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (1) Most Recent Twitters: A 3-foot long alligator was found walking down the middle of the street in Venice Beach this morning. I love L.A. In case you were wondering, it is very difficult to get a hummingbird out of your house. They are irrational and prone to hysterics. L.A. Finds: The Nickel Diner on Main between 5th and 6th is a made-to-look-old, throwback of a place that melds into the old downtown and is, at the same time, part of the renaissance. They serve their burgers medium, their soda in bottles and offer all they can to locals in need. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: Attack of the Unsinkable Rubber Ducks by Christopher Brookmyre What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles		2006-06-14 10:01 AM Box 1, Me 0 A box arrived today. I’d been expecting it, and from the cardboard womb, I could catch the faintest whiff of ginger, rosemary and cayenne pepper. Food? No. Badger Balm, a muscle rub revered by even the craziest, hard-core runners. I’d heard rumors. Hard to find. Best to special order. And when it comes, find a quiet room and worship the little metal tin. Clutching the box to my chest like a squirrel having found a particularly juicy nut, I ran into my apartment. Packing tape. Okay, no problem. Just have to rip...if I could get a corner....I pawed at it like a deranged woodland creature. No luck. Scissors. I sliced open the tape around the box flap, dropped them with a clatter and pawed some more. Nothing. If I could just get it started... work it up just a little bit...Teeth. I chewed on a corner, hooked an incisor on the flap, growled. Wet and slobbery, the glue held. Son of a... “Give it to me! Give it, you mangey ferret turd! Give it!” Claw end of a hammer. Pliers. Screwdriver. Power saw. Nothing. I pounced on it, held it in my forepaws and used my back feet to shred the cardboard. Turns out that works better for cats. Still the package held, the sweet scent of pain relief taunting me from within its depths. I consider backing over it with the car. I am halfway out the door. I look down. “To open, pull tab.” Mother f – Read/Post Comments (1) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top