One year for Halloween, I was probably 4 or 5, the costume (plastic dress and coordinating mask) my mother had bought me, while exactly what I had wanted, was terrifying to wear. I couldn’t see. It was hot. I was claustrophobic.
So we punted. My mom basically let me put on whatever I wanted to out of my dress up box. So that year for Halloween, I kid you not, I was a “Pretty Lady.”
And what exactly does a “Pretty Lady” wear, you might ask? Good question. The answer: a burgundy velvet party dress with lace collar and cuffs, patent leather mary janes, plastic snap beads, a gold sequined tiara, and frosty eye shadow in a shade called “mint julep.”
I don’t think I have ever felt so pretty in my life as I did on that night. Oh, I totally looked like a whore-princess. But, man, did I feel fabulous.
Have resulted in fresh lemon curd and homemade lemonade. And a general feeling of domesticity and well-being. If this keeps going, I’m liable to clean the house wearing high heels tomorrow after I make scones.
When a chill starts to hang in the air, I crave warm beverages. I want to have tea and coffee and cocoa. And when I have tea or coffee or cocoa, I want to have a croissant or a bagel or a slice of decadent coffee cake or pumpkin bread to go with it.
Sometimes, when I have a day like today and feel way behind in life, like I’ll never finish my daily “to do” list, let alone achieve any of the goals I have set out to conquer, I like to remind myself of something: when I was younger and people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I often responded with “pretty.”
And, not to sound completely vain, but I think I just might have accomplished that.
I can chill out a bit. I’ve totally already achieved my life goal. Everything else is just icing on this pretty cake.
So indeed I got put on a jury. And while I can’t tell you what the case is about, I can say that during the afternoon session, I booked a freelance gig I’ve been trying to land for months, and it’s right in the middle of this case and I can’t move it. So I’m going to throw myself on the mercy of…
I spent 12 days of my summer serving on a jury. I missed out on a commercial callback and about $1000 worth of freelance work. The level of how fickle the LA Court System is with people’s time is infuriating. For example, we would be told to arrive at court at 8AM only to start hearing the case at 11AM. This happened more than once. At first the trial is boring, but once you accept the fact that you are indeed on a jury, it will become interesting or at least tolerable (kinda like a terminal illness but at much lower stakes).
My suggestions to make this bearable is as follows:
1. Your jury ID gets you into the LACMA for free. Surrounding yourself with priceless works of art will help dissipiate your rage for the court system, so go get your Pollock on yo.
2. I highly recommend taking the Metro if you live near a stop. It goes right to the courthouse and you don’t have to deal with traffic on the 101 or parking at the Disney Concert Hall. Best of all, they give you an unlimited-ride card for free.
3. I’m all for independent businesses, but the coffee at the snack bar next to the jury room tastes like it was brewed in a vat of sugar tar. Pony up the extra cash for the Starbuck’s outside. A good rule of thumb is that the more times you see the word “gourmet” on a to-go coffee cup, the crappier that cup of coffee will be. Ahem, I present to you Exhibit A.
4. Do not eat in the cafeteria in the Stanley Mosk Courthouse. If you want to suvive, you need to get the fuck out of that building. Even if you just go across the street to the cafe in the Disney Concert Hall, just get the hell out of that building and breathe. The best place to go is the Grand Central Market. Some of the stands are hit-or-miss, but the ambience can’t be beat. If you’re feeling frisky (and you will), do the Angel’s Flight. It’s only $0.50.
Remember to keep your eye on the prize. Do well and your civic duty might even get you one pf these babies. Wha what.*
* It wasn’t worth it. All that doing your civic duty will lead to (besides personal satisfaction) is people telling you at parties how they lied to get out of jury duty.
I think Mr. Babcock is forgetting that doing your civic duty (and not telling LIES to get out of it) also makes you completely irresistible to the ladies. Or maybe I’m the only one out there who has a thing for honesty and the manliness it takes to suck it up and just do the thing. But I doubt it.
I have already lamented to some how sad I am I will not get to carve pumpkins with this girl this year. For a second I thought SHE HAD ALREADY CARVED PUMPKINS WITHOUT ME. Turns out, this is a photo from our pumpkin carving escapades last year. Which were amazing. Although, I know at some point she is going to carve pumpkins without me, so I don’t know why it should matter to me so much if she already had…
Maybe I can convince her to carve pumpkins via video chat.
I am working hard on trying to get all my ducks in a row. This is harder than it sounds. Why, you ask? Because if you take the number of ducks that constitutes a row, and subtract five, that is how many ducks I have. And it’s not as if the ducks just wandered off or something…it’s as if I got mad a one and left it behind and gave another one away to a boy because he said it looked so cute and other stupid, irresponsible things along the way.
COME BACK, DUCKS. It turns out I need you.
But if I take a deep breath and don’t think about the mess my life looks like on paper and let go of all the stress about finding new ducks and lining up the ones I already have and stop trying to make weak metaphors last for too long…I am disgustingly happy. Funny how that works, isn’t it?
Huge thanks to everyone who came out to help me celebrate my birthday last night. Double thanks to the man in my life who drove me around all night and bought me tacos and showered me with gifts. (I KNOW. It’s okay to be jealous.)
I woke up this morning to a coffee cake on the dining room table that said “Happy Birthday Heidi” and a pile of presents my parents had shipped that made me squeal with delight. Apparently there was also a bouquet of flowers my father had sent that there was some delivery mix up with, but how sweet is that? My daddy sent me flowers! Am I a spoiled rotten girl, or what?? Later today I am going to force 58 kids to sing “Happy Birthday” to me in harmony. A girl could get used to birthdays like this.
As many of you know, my wife, Edan Lepucki, is a fiction writer. Her short stories have won a bunch of awards, and she went to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, which is still kind of a big deal in fiction circles. Anyway, all of this is to say that her first real book is coming out soon, and today is the first day that you can pre-order it.
She’s publishing this book, which is a long short story called If You’re Not Yet Like Me with a company called Flatmancrooked. They have published books by Emma Straub (who is awesome, by the way) and James Kaelan (who is also awesome and who recently rode his damn bike from LA to Vancouver for a book tour), and they have a very interesting strategy with these “launch” packages. Basically, rather than just sell you a book, they sell you the idea that you are helping to get a great literary career started. I’ve been a part of every launch so far, and I’ve always been happy to do so. And apparently others have been too, as every one of these things sells out.
For $12, but you get not only a little hand-numbered and signed book that will dazzle and amuse you, but also a special gift. For the more affluent among us, the “Super Launch” is really the way to go. You get two copies of the first edition of the novella, along with a copy of the second edition, which will include a bonus story (I will tell you that it will be one of my favorite stories of Edan’s, “I am the Lion Now”) as well as other good stuff (like a special gift). And that’s just $30.
And the story…well, you’ll have to read it, but I can tell you that involves the following things: granny panties, big dicks, personal pizzas, pinatas, and so much more.
I know that I ask a lot of you, Tumblrers. I ask that you re-blog my crappy posts about bookstores. I ask that you put up with picture after picture of my ugly little dog. I ask that you indulge my vanity on a near-daily basis. But today…today I just ask that you buy my wife’s book. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think that you’d love it.
I bought Edan’s book probably for a different reason than other buyer’s…it’s because I needed something to put in the empty spot in the shrine I have to her in my bedroom.
"One in six American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape in her lifetime" so chances are, you know someone who has been sexually assaulted. In fact, chances are, you are related to a woman who has been sexually assaulted, whether you know it or not.
I’ve seen a rape joke or two on tumblr since I’ve been on here (and have of course immediately unfollowed those people), and while you have the right to post whatever you like on your tumblr, or on the internet in general, think about your sister, your mother, your aunt, your niece, your friend, your girlfriend before you make light of a situation, that statistically speaking, at least one of those six have been through.