ahream

I was lying in a pool of my own sweat, clutching ibuprofen in one hand, allergy drops in the other and desperately grasping for the bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade just out of reach. I smelled of corn dogs and sunscreen, and “It’s a Small World After All” was playing on a loop inside my head.

My little brother, all of nine years old, leaned over me and demanded, “What are we doing next?” He smelled like corn dogs, too, but somehow that works better when you still have to stand next to the yard stick that says, “You must be this tall to ride this ride.”

We’d been up since six. I rode the Teacups, Space Mountain, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Pirates of the Carribean and the Indiana Jones jeep thingy. I watched “Honey, I Shrunk the Audience” in 3D, ate a $15 hamburger and sat through the twice-a-day family fun parade.

My early morning enthusiasm had met head-on with my 30-year-old reality. I needed a drink. Bad. By seven o’clock, I had to remove and discard my contacts while standing in line for the Star Wars flight simulator. They had become so coated in Pluto fur dander and airborne cotton candy residue that I could not stand to have them in my eyes for one more second, even if it meant negotiating Fantasyland in a near-sighted squint.

As it turns out, once one has reached the point of attempted Cinderella-cide, walking around like the fourth blind mouse is preferable. Takes the sting out of the forced frivolity. It does not, however, take the sting out of your sunburn.

“What are we doing next?” turned out to be go-karts, mini-golf, beach, pool, Pirates of the Carribean – the movie, baseball, endless hours of cartoons, video games and enough chicken fingers to sicken Col. Sanders. It turns out nine year olds eat only chicken fingers, much like my car only takes unleaded gasoline. And they will not think twice about scowling at the dinner you just spent an hour fixing and saying, “Does this have onions in it? I don’t eat onions,” which will cause any normal adult to swig the cooking sherry.

So that’s where I’ve been for the past week or so. I love him. I do. He’s pretty awesome as far as nine year olds go. But right now, I need a nap, a bottle of vodka and some birth control pills.

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 (2) 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		2007-06-19 9:13 PM Cinderella-cide and other stories I was lying in a pool of my own sweat, clutching ibuprofen in one hand, allergy drops in the other and desperately grasping for the bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade just out of reach. I smelled of corn dogs and sunscreen, and “It’s a Small World After All” was playing on a loop inside my head. My little brother, all of nine years old, leaned over me and demanded, “What are we doing next?” He smelled like corn dogs, too, but somehow that works better when you still have to stand next to the yard stick that says, “You must be this tall to ride this ride.” We’d been up since six. I rode the Teacups, Space Mountain, Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Pirates of the Carribean and the Indiana Jones jeep thingy. I watched “Honey, I Shrunk the Audience” in 3D, ate a $15 hamburger and sat through the twice-a-day family fun parade. My early morning enthusiasm had met head-on with my 30-year-old reality. I needed a drink. Bad. By seven o’clock, I had to remove and discard my contacts while standing in line for the Star Wars flight simulator. They had become so coated in Pluto fur dander and airborne cotton candy residue that I could not stand to have them in my eyes for one more second, even if it meant negotiating Fantasyland in a near-sighted squint. As it turns out, once one has reached the point of attempted Cinderella-cide, walking around like the fourth blind mouse is preferable. Takes the sting out of the forced frivolity. It does not, however, take the sting out of your sunburn. “What are we doing next?” turned out to be go-karts, mini-golf, beach, pool, Pirates of the Carribean – the movie, baseball, endless hours of cartoons, video games and enough chicken fingers to sicken Col. Sanders. It turns out nine year olds eat only chicken fingers, much like my car only takes unleaded gasoline. And they will not think twice about scowling at the dinner you just spent an hour fixing and saying, “Does this have onions in it? I don’t eat onions,” which will cause any normal adult to swig the cooking sherry. So that’s where I’ve been for the past week or so. I love him. I do. He’s pretty awesome as far as nine year olds go. But right now, I need a nap, a bottle of vodka and some birth control pills. Read/Post Comments (2) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top