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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"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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A stranger just peed on my leg (No, I am absolutely not kidding)
People who don't live in Los Angeles think that horrible things happen to you out here on a regular basis. On any given day, goes the common wisdom, you could expect to be car jacked, shot, inducted into a street gang and forced to get breast implants the size of volleyballs.
This is not true.
Well, okay, it's sort of true. Those things happen every day, but with a population of four million people the odds of it happening to you are 10-1 at best.
But then some days, you get peed on. Yesterday was a pee day.
My friend Eric Stone (www.ericstone.com - yes, someday I will figure out how to make a link work) invited me to the Thai New Year street festival in Hollywood.
I like Thai things. I like streets. What could possibly go wrong?
This might be a good place to point out that Eric is not the one that peed on me. I would have difficulty maintaining our friendship if he had. That's just not something you can overlook.
In fact, it's difficult to overlook no matter who is doing the peeing - even, say, a small child who has wandered down the side street where you have taken refuge to drink your soda and step out of the crowd. A small child who will stand behind you and, seeing the obvious lack of port-a-potties, whip out Mr. Winkie and proceed to spray down the street and the back of your leg in the process. Yeah, aiming? Not so much at four-years-old.
Here's the thing about getting peed on in a public place: There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Nothing. You just have to live with it - WITH PEE DRYING ON YOUR LEG - until you can get home and shower. A very long shower. With bleach. And steel wool.
And you really shouldn't expect a lot of sympathy from your husband on the way home either.
Him: "Meh, boys pee on themselves all the time. You get used to it."
Me: "We are clear here that I did not pee on myself, right? Someone else peed on ME."
Him: "You wanna do anything while we're out here?"
Me: "I have pee on my leg."
Him: "We could get dinner."
Me: "PEE ON MY LEG! STRANGER PEE!"
Him: "WELL, DON'T TOUCH ME WITH IT!"
This is not true.
Well, okay, it's sort of true. Those things happen every day, but with a population of four million people the odds of it happening to you are 10-1 at best.
But then some days, you get peed on. Yesterday was a pee day.
My friend Eric Stone (www.ericstone.com - yes, someday I will figure out how to make a link work) invited me to the Thai New Year street festival in Hollywood.
I like Thai things. I like streets. What could possibly go wrong?
This might be a good place to point out that Eric is not the one that peed on me. I would have difficulty maintaining our friendship if he had. That's just not something you can overlook.
In fact, it's difficult to overlook no matter who is doing the peeing - even, say, a small child who has wandered down the side street where you have taken refuge to drink your soda and step out of the crowd. A small child who will stand behind you and, seeing the obvious lack of port-a-potties, whip out Mr. Winkie and proceed to spray down the street and the back of your leg in the process. Yeah, aiming? Not so much at four-years-old.
Here's the thing about getting peed on in a public place: There is absolutely nothing you can do about it. Nothing. You just have to live with it - WITH PEE DRYING ON YOUR LEG - until you can get home and shower. A very long shower. With bleach. And steel wool.
And you really shouldn't expect a lot of sympathy from your husband on the way home either.
Him: "Meh, boys pee on themselves all the time. You get used to it."
Me: "We are clear here that I did not pee on myself, right? Someone else peed on ME."
Him: "You wanna do anything while we're out here?"
Me: "I have pee on my leg."
Him: "We could get dinner."
Me: "PEE ON MY LEG! STRANGER PEE!"
Him: "WELL, DON'T TOUCH ME WITH IT!"
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