My Answer

"Mommy, I have to pee. right. now. Mommy... MOMMY!!!"

My answer to my question from yesterday, that is… cesspool. Actually, that’s what the Major calls it. He has also said that Los Angeles is a boil on the ass of California, and has blamed the city for its very existence, made possible only by swiping water from the rest of the state.

Now before you get all huffy and defensive, let me say a couple things. First off, both the Major and I have some right to judge Hell-A, since we both lived there for 4 or 5 years while attending college. (No, we didn’t go to the same school. Our schools are cross-town rivals. And if you’re wondering, mine is totally better. Go Bruins!) Anyway, that isn’t the point. The point is that we know the place well enough to know that it sucks monkey balls.

And if you can step back from being all annoyed for a minute, then you might be able to consider a few other points about why L.A. is not a real city and should be removed from all “city” references, lest starry eyed European teenagers give up an education in hopes of traveling to LA to be discovered on Hollywood Boulevard, etc.

1. L.A. is not a well-planned city. There is no organized mass transit, few common public open areas, no real commitment to bike lanes or pedestrian accessibility.

2. It takes an hour to get anywhere. If there’s “no traffic.” I put that in quotes because there’s never no traffic. Sunday at 2am? Oh, hello four million cars on the 405 that just happen to be braking for NO APPARENT REASON. Tuesday at midnight? You betcha, backed up on the 5. Pick a number and I’ll show you a bunch of cars all crawling along at a snail’s pace. It sucks it sucks it sucks. Add a crying baby in the backseat. Then it REALLY sucks.

3. It is extremely economically segregated. Don’t get me wrong, I know that “real” big cities have ghettos and lower income neighborhoods, but in many, they blend right into the mediocre neighborhoods in a way that doesn’t make you fear for your life should you stumble into one.

4. (or 3b). Every neighborhood sees itself as an individual, independent city. “Oh, you’re from LA?” “No, loser. I’m from Orange.” “Oh, you’re from LA?” “No, loser. I’m from West Hollywood.” “Oh you’re from LA?” “No loser. I’m from Santa Monica.” Clearly, I could go on all night. If you don’t want to be a city, quit getting mad when I tell you that you’re not.

Yeah, so, I’ll quit. Maybe you can tell that I don’t like LA all that much. And still, we are headed there for a college reunion of sorts. We’re driving down and back in one day (we don’t want to stay over and risk being there when the Earth finally realizes that LA should be stricken violently from it’s surface). We are headed down to have lunch with some of my college buddies, to let Turbo and Lunchbox play with all of their kids for a while. Then we’re going to meet up with some of the Major’s friends from college and have dinner with them, again encouraging Turbo and Lunchbox to play with kids they’ve met only once before and may not see again for five years. And of course we’ll be all sad and distraught if they aren’t best buddies by the end of their forced play time. Frankly, I’ll be surprised if either of my kids avoids a screaming meltdown by the time all the shuttling around (ON the F-ing traffic-jammed freeways) and forced socializing is over. Should make for a pretty fun three hour trip home. But since we’re headed 3000 miles away pretty soon, it’s time to see the people we care about. Even if it means going to LA.

Six Word Sunday

I know, it’s supposed to be Six Word SATURDAY… I know. It’s been a long weekend. I promise there’ll be “real” posts later this week. And no, I’m not promising that in the same way that I promise that there will *probably* be time for more Dragon Tales after the bath and before bed. Oh, hey, look at the time… even Mommies can be wrong. Valuable lesson. Go to bed.

And now for the six words. And yes, I realize that the above kind of defeats the purpose of the below. Shut up.

House viewing Saturday… offer impending? PLEASE?

Once Upon a Time…

Sooo… I don’t know if I have mentioned that I’m sort of a writer.  I say sort of for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that saying “I’m a writer” is one of those things that kinda sounds snobby and self-important, a couple of things that I think I sometimes am but am really trying hard not to be.  It kinda sounds to me like saying, “I’m a model,” or “I’m a personal trainer.” I have definitely said the latter (I’ve had more jobs than Heidi Montag — just a totally different kind!), but not the former. ANYWAY, I’m kind of a writer because I don’t do it full time.  My “real” job, for a consulting firm, is as a “technical writer” (so technically, I guess I AM a writer).  And in the past I’ve been a freelance writer, working from home (which involves a lot of baking, television and laundry. Oh, and some writing.)  When I did that, I actually had work published in magazines that people had heard of and even a story published in a book, which was the first time I think my parents started calling me a writer.  And of course, I’m writing this. But since I don’t actually think I have any readers yet (due to a complete lack of mentioning to anyone that I am writing this blog and zero efforts made to publicize it), I’m not sure this counts.

Anyway, none of this is really important to the topic at hand, which is that I have found a new quirky love, thanks to Jen Lancaster, author of “Bitter is the New Black,” which I have not read. I have it on my Kindle (LOVE THE KINDLE) but got distracted by Jean Auel’s last book in the ridiculously verbose series, “Clan of the Cave Bear,” which I think I began reading when I was seven. And even though the last few books haven’t been as good as the first couple, I’m quite goal oriented and cannot stop reading a series unless I’ve gotten to THE. END. Alas, Jen’s book will wait. BUT her blog is wonderful RIGHT NOW! And recently she had a post about the six word story…

Supposedly the origin of this comes from a bar bet with Ernest Hemingway.  Someone said he couldn’t write a short story in six words.  Legend has it he countered with the story:

For sale.  Baby shoes.  Never worn.

I am in love. But can I write a six word story? Don’t know. Let’s see.

Platform shoes, steep driveway. Visiting hospital.

Lunchbox screams incessantly. Mother pours wine.

Guilt-inducing baby fall causes insomnia.

Hmm… mine are more like headlines. I will think on this a while… perhaps an easy way out of the self-induced pressure of writing a blog would be to decide that Thursdays will be SIX WORD THURSDAYS… wait, that sounds dumb. SIX WORD SATURDAYS! Yes! That’s it. Now you’ve got something to look forward to, dontcha?