ahream

Okay, seriously people, that’s not funny.

I came home from my run to find a message on my answering machine from UPS “warning” me about a package that’s going to be delivered tomorrow. WARNING ME. I didn’t order anything. My husband didn’t order anything. What the hell could possibly be in a cardboard box that would necessitate a phone message left, I might add, in two languages?

Did Siegfried and Roy get tired of the tigers? Is it ticking? Does it have air holes? A “live animal” sticker? Is it from the IRS?

UPS has delivered a lot of stuff to my house over the years. Not once have they felt motivated to call ahead. I checked with friends. THEY’VE never gotten phone calls either. This can not possibly be a good development.

It’s probably bees. A big box of angry bees, and the guy in the brown shorts wants to be damn sure there’s somebody here to hand it off to because no way is it going back in his truck.

Maybe this is what happens when someone REALLY doesn’t like your book. They send you BEES.

Pray for me.

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 (5) Most Recent Twitters: Reading Tony Broadbent's book, The Smoke. It's too good. I'm losing sleep. Nocturnal pattern shot to hell. Productivity declining. L.A. Finds: The Denver omelet at Pat's in Topanga is sublime in its simplicity. Exactly what you need and nothing else, much like the restaurant itself snuggled smack in the middle of an old hippie community where the peace signs and tie-dye still reign. 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: The Smoke by Tony Broadbent 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		2007-10-30 3:46 PM I have to get one of those hats with the netting Okay, seriously people, that’s not funny. I came home from my run to find a message on my answering machine from UPS “warning” me about a package that’s going to be delivered tomorrow. WARNING ME. I didn’t order anything. My husband didn’t order anything. What the hell could possibly be in a cardboard box that would necessitate a phone message left, I might add, in two languages? Did Siegfried and Roy get tired of the tigers? Is it ticking? Does it have air holes? A “live animal” sticker? Is it from the IRS? UPS has delivered a lot of stuff to my house over the years. Not once have they felt motivated to call ahead. I checked with friends. THEY’VE never gotten phone calls either. This can not possibly be a good development. It’s probably bees. A big box of angry bees, and the guy in the brown shorts wants to be damn sure there’s somebody here to hand it off to because no way is it going back in his truck. Maybe this is what happens when someone REALLY doesn’t like your book. They send you BEES. Pray for me. Read/Post Comments (5) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top