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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The sofa that ate Manhattan
I've spent the past two days moving furniture. Okay, technically my husband moved the furniture, but I vacuumed behind stuff for him.
Not that he wanted to move furniture. My husband would live in a cave just so long as it had an Xbox and a never-ending Cheez-It supply. (And don't even try substituting the off brand. Even if you put them in a Cheez-It box, he will know and refuse to eat them.)
But it turns out the thing he likes even less than moving furniture is listening to his wife kvetch for a week and a half about how our apartment looks like we graduated from college five minutes ago, and so-help-me-God-if-you-don't-do-something-about-it-I-will-
go-crazy-and-take-you-with-me.
So he moved the furniture and got rid of some of the more offensive crap - bookcase purchased from Wal-Mart in 1989, anyone? But the thing about getting rid of some crap, is that the remaining crap looks even more obviously like crap.
I give you: The Sofa.
I am, at this moment, in possession of the ugliest sofa known to man. It is - and I am absolutely not making this up - tufted brown velveteen embossed - yes, embossed - with a snake skin pattern. And the special bonus? Two, count 'em, La-Z-Boy recliners built into either end. In case you're very lazy or, I suppose, have bad hips.
It's the sort of sofa you might buy for a crippled old person with very bad taste who, it turns out, is also blind. Every time I walk past it, I die a little inside. So I did what any normal person would do, I went shopping - online, of course.
Turns out dying a little inside? Not so bad. Compare that to looking all over for the espresso-colored leather sofa with the not-too-big arms and not-too-weird feet, finding it and then looking at the price tag.
Did you hear that? The thud? That's the sound my body makes collapsing onto the floor after the massive stroke. And then, because I was still taking a few raspy, shallow breaths, I looked into having my dining room set refinished. It was worse than the sofa.
Anyone who wants to lacquer my table for less than a couple grand, call me.
Not that he wanted to move furniture. My husband would live in a cave just so long as it had an Xbox and a never-ending Cheez-It supply. (And don't even try substituting the off brand. Even if you put them in a Cheez-It box, he will know and refuse to eat them.)
But it turns out the thing he likes even less than moving furniture is listening to his wife kvetch for a week and a half about how our apartment looks like we graduated from college five minutes ago, and so-help-me-God-if-you-don't-do-something-about-it-I-will-
go-crazy-and-take-you-with-me.
So he moved the furniture and got rid of some of the more offensive crap - bookcase purchased from Wal-Mart in 1989, anyone? But the thing about getting rid of some crap, is that the remaining crap looks even more obviously like crap.
I give you: The Sofa.
I am, at this moment, in possession of the ugliest sofa known to man. It is - and I am absolutely not making this up - tufted brown velveteen embossed - yes, embossed - with a snake skin pattern. And the special bonus? Two, count 'em, La-Z-Boy recliners built into either end. In case you're very lazy or, I suppose, have bad hips.
It's the sort of sofa you might buy for a crippled old person with very bad taste who, it turns out, is also blind. Every time I walk past it, I die a little inside. So I did what any normal person would do, I went shopping - online, of course.
Turns out dying a little inside? Not so bad. Compare that to looking all over for the espresso-colored leather sofa with the not-too-big arms and not-too-weird feet, finding it and then looking at the price tag.
Did you hear that? The thud? That's the sound my body makes collapsing onto the floor after the massive stroke. And then, because I was still taking a few raspy, shallow breaths, I looked into having my dining room set refinished. It was worse than the sofa.
Anyone who wants to lacquer my table for less than a couple grand, call me.
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