On the Couch (Or Confessions)

Remember LAST spring when I rented my place on Airbnb for the first time? Remember when I thought it was going to be a short-lived experiment?

Well, 15 months later I’m still renting it to travelers from Egypt to Australia and everywhere in between.

It takes a toll on me. I’m not going to lie.

Even though my friends are awesome for letting my big beast and me stay with them, it’s hard not to be home. Sure, I have streamlined my packing process and my after-hours check in procedures so I don’t have to wait for international travelers at all hours of the night, but if I’m being honest, I’m ready to stop for a while.

I’m ready to finish the repairs and upgrades my place desperately needs, to have a proper dinner party on my yet-to-be-christened mahogany table, and I’m ready to know all of my shoes are in my closet instead of a bag on the floor.

So, I finally rejected a couple of requests from Parisians and blocked a week off my calendar. Now I can stay home to deal with my place… and the mail that gets neglected when I’m living like a nomad.

I tackled the refrigerator upgrade last weekend with middling success (see injuries here), and now I’m ready to replace my couch.

My parents bought my current one for me when I graduated from USC, and it had two removable slipcovers back then. Four rescue dogs, 45 international travelers, and 13 years later, I’m down to one slipcover that is absolutely in tatters.

It’s time for an upgrade.

See?

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Horrifying furniture AND photography.

The challenge is finding a sleeper sofa I don’t hate for under $1,000. I found one that wasn’t bad at Cost Plus, but it didn’t have removable (read: washable) cushions, and it only pulled out into a twin, which won’t really work for a lot of reasons.

It was CLOSE to being right, but…

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Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

I found another option I don’t despise online, but it’s hard for me to commit without seeing it up close.

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OBVIOUSLY not with those atrocious throw pillows. Source

Also? It only comes in pebble which wouldn’t be catastrophic, but I think I want dark gray.

I’ve been scouring Craigslist for over a month, but that has been a bit of a bust thus far.

So… I confess I’m not quite sure what to do about the couch, I’m a bit sick of renters, I’m tired of living like a refugee… and my other confession?

I have writers block.

I know that sounds crazy considering I wrote two blog posts this week, but it’s really just procrastination because I don’t know what to do with my pilot, my second feature, or the first feature I’m converting into a novel.

I’m just not feeling that inspired.

Now that I’m home and rejecting rental requests for a while, I’m going to make myself write.

Hold me to it, K?

Thanks, internet.

Forehead and Forearms vs. Fridge (Or I Lose)

Eight years ago I bought a used fridge when I moved into my place. A few years into our relationship, I painted it with stainless steel paint to hide its glaring whiteness.

In the process of pulling off the handles for painting, one hit me in the face.

Hard.

I had a massive contusion on my forehead for a few weeks. (I had to buy a ridiculous hat from H&M to hide it.)

That fridge served me well for years (minus the forehead assault), but it has been on its way out for the last year or so. I refused to buy a new fridge for a place I’m renting on principle so I started scouring Craigslist for a replacement.

After a month, I found a candidate… in Compton.

Yes, Dr. Dre’s City of Compton.

Apparently, the guy had been trying to sell it for a while but everyone bailed on him when he told him where he lived.

People are idiots.

I mean, maybe I’M an idiot for driving 21 miles south to the hood to go to a stranger’s garage with him, but considering the deal I got on a stainless steel situation I’d say I won.

The only catch?

I didn’t have anyone to help me haul it.

I didn’t think that was going to be a big deal because I moved my last fridge by myself with a dolly. I figured I’d just rent a truck with a ramp and a dolly and I’d be fine.

Yeah, not so much…

I didn’t realize how heavy the fridge was because the guy who sold it to me put it in the truck for me. Maybe the grimacing and the sweat on his brow should have tipped me off, but he was kind of small, so I didn’t really think too much about it until it was my turn to haul that thing solo.

I struggled to tip it on its end to roll it, but I finally managed. As I held it at the edge of the ramp, I grimaced in pain as the weight of the enormous appliance rested on my forearms.

OMIGOD, it hurt.

Once I was sure I had the wheels aligned properly on the edges of the ramp, I started the slow descent to the street. By this point, my arms were aching, and I was grateful my thighs had the strength to keep the fridge (and me) from flying uncontrollably into the street.

I survived that ordeal and made it across the sidewalk, but I was absolutely out of breath. It turns out stainless steel weighs A LOT more than whatever my last fridge was made out of (clouds and cotton candy?!?).

Totally spent and in pain, I looked at the two small steps standing between me and my building. They weren’t that big. They should not have been daunting, but my forearms were already aching from the ramp. I couldn’t face steps alone.

So I started my SOS texts.

I generally try to avoid damsel in distressing it, but this situation was out of my hands.

My friend Lauren, who is an absolute angel, called me back and offered to come over. While I waiting for her to arrive, my neighbor Mel came upon me sitting on the steps, looking a bit bruised and pathetic.

It turns out his grandfather had owned a moving company back east and he offered to help.

Long story short (too late), Lauren and Mel are absolute angels and they bailed me out of a situation wisdom probably could have prevented in the first place, but now I have a fabulous fridge.

(I bought them gift cards to the bougie pet store up the street because I know when I’m indebted to incredible people, and they both have rescue dogs who deserve pampering.)

So, anyway, here’s the appliance that almost killed me and my arms:

Welcome home, fridge. Thank you for hosting my bacon and my beer.

Welcome home, fridge. Thank you for hosting my bacon and my beer. You’re worth it.

Now I’m adoring it while icing my arms because moving it all but kind of killed me.

Repurposing an already indispensable item = winning.

Winning with wine pacs.

If you can handle gore, this is why I need the ice:

Fridge > forearms

Fridge > forearms

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I swear the only abusive relationship I’m in is with a large appliance.

It’s actually a little worse today than it was when I took these pics last night, but I’ll spare you those pics

Instead, I’ll conclude with this: both fridges did damage to my forehead and my forearms, but I’m grateful for cold wine… and the angels who helped me haul the pretty new one into my place.

My crew rules.

Productive Procrastination (Or Life Goals)

I should be writing today. I mean this kinda counts, but not really. I should be working on my second pilot, but I did that yesterday. Or maybe two days ago. Either way, I’m not feeling that script today… or my second feature.

Today I’m feeling sausage, bacon, and truffle popcorn, but that’s not really news. I’m always in the mood for those things.

Do you know what is news?

U of M and Notre Dame will be rekindling their rivalry in 2018. That announcement made my day. I’m already planning a pilgrimage to Ann Arbor for the 2019 match up in the Big House. I put the entire crew on notice as soon as I woke up.

Know what else I’m planning?

A trip to Michigan for the Wisconsin game in October.

We haven’t played Wisco in absolutely forever, and it’s always a good time. Plus that game coincides with my Grandma’s birthday, so the trip is sort of like multitasking. #winningatlife

The other thing putting me in a good mood?

The rose I found at Costco for $12.69.

It’s delicious.

Also?

Any wine purchased at Costco is well-deserved and can be opened immediately upon returning home because procuring it generally involves waiting in line behind someone buying 4,000 diapers and 42 bottles of hand sanitizer.

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Costco needs an express line for single people. #truth

So, that’s sort of the latest. Oh, and I did a dialogue rewrite of a movie that starts shooting this week in New Orleans, so that was awesome.

In other news, I want to own a sports bar some day. I spend enough time in them that I may as well get a return on my investment, right?

In the spirit of learning the business from the ground up, I picked up a few shifts at a chill spot on the westside with good burgers and solid crew of regulars. I’m getting writing material up to my eyes, and I’m also learning things about city ordinances for grease lines, the importance of free goldfish crackers, and cutting off drunk people in baseball caps.

Plus? I’m having fun.

You’re not really living if you’re not having fun… or changing things up.

Speaking of changing things up…. I said goodbye to my stick this spring.

That may not seem like a huge thing, but I have driven manuals since I got my license, so it feels like the end of an era, because I’m not exactly 16.

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I’ll miss you, manual.

It was time, though.

I needed more room for the Bubba… and my 92,000 bags.

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Points if you can find the pup in the pic. #sorrybaby

It got the Mercedes GLA, and it may be a lot bigger than my last car, but the turning radius is TO DIE FOR. If you’ve ever had to pull an illegal U-ey in LA you’ll understand why this is key. German engineering is no joke.

So, things are changing.

And in the spirt of all that, here’s a song I’m into right now celebrating changes in the air.

 

Hark A Shark and Noah’s Ark (Or I Attend Another Baby Shower)

If someone asks me what I’m doing this weekend there’s a good chance the answer will be,
“Rewriting my script,” “Folding fitted sheets,” or “Attending another baby shower.”

Now, before you get offended, I’m not saying these things are the same. Though they’re all improved by a mimosa bar, the truth is they don’t have much else in common.

I actually love baby showers, and I’ve been to so many in the last three years it’s rare I don’t win the trivia challenges about human gestation, breast feeding, and dilation — or the guess-the-size-of-the-belly-with-string game because REALLY I’ve been to THAT many.

I love my friends.

They’re gorgeous… and prolific… and honestly?

Who doesn’t love creating a good gift basket filled with books and onesies? I know I do.

So here’s my latest.

It’s a shark/pirate combo involving Peter Spier’s Noah’s Ark, The Cat in the Hat’s Hark a Shark, and a mostly gender neutral onesie for the surprise baby arriving August 21.

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Books, bows, and jammies for pirate babies.

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The headless shark onesie was not supposed to be creepy, but it might be. #oops

Oh, and  in case you’re wondering… that is my new table. It’s mahogany — and looking at it almost makes me feel like an adult. Or something…

Aye, Aye, mates!

 

 

Resurrection Wednesday (Or I’m Back to Blogging)

So, it has been almost a year since my last post. In that time I have finished a feature script, an original television pilot, a sample episode of Jane the Virgin, and at the moment I’m halfway through a second feature, a second pilot, and a bottle of Kim Crawford.

I’ve gained and lost the same five pounds 14 different times by accident, I’ve driven across the country with my enormous dog twice, and I’ve had stitches in my head along with the requisite drugs associated with slightly massive skull contusions.

Oh, and I went to Vegas… with my mother.

I’m not even sure I know where to start with the pictures or the stories, so I’ll start here.

With this:

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Lion sex

Awkward, right?

One of my best friends just got back from Africa and sent me that pic.

(She took it. Obviously.)

I’ve been dying to go on safari for like ever, so I was super jealous — but also happy for her — because her pics were awesome… and my time will come when it’s right.

Right now, my time involves planning a blood drive at my church in July and finishing the feature, the pilot, and the bottle of Kim Crawford.

I’m off to have a planning call now to figure out the blood drive logistics, but before I go, here’s a pic of my bubba on the road.

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What he lacks in navigation skills, he makes up for in handsome.

Later!

LoveYouBye!

Get Your Glue Gun (Or Everything is Better with Plastic Sharks)

I’ve been reading through old screenplay drafts this week, and it’s almost like reading old diaries. There’s something really satisfying about tracking your progress as a storyteller this way.

It’s kinda cool.

But let’s not talk about that. Let’s talk about glue guns instead.

I had a small picnic recently and because I’m into being budget conscious at the moment I decided to recycle elements from my nautical birthday party two years ago.

My stenciled buckets made a comeback, among other things.

I bought these at Target and used my Martha stencils like a DIY goddess.

This is a pretty terrible picture of them, but you get the idea. 

It would not have been a challenge to just pull old party props out of a closet so I decided to throw some sharks into the mix. (That’s where the glue gun came in.)

See?

I glued a shark on a jar. Get excited for me.

I glued a shark on a lid. Get excited for me.

Actually, I glued a lot of sharks on lids.

More sharks on lids. Amazing.

So many pretty ocean predators. 

Riveting, right?

If you’re wondering what I did with the jars, I’ll show you.

Pea soup. Pea soup and sharks.

I put pea soup in them. 

This is the recipe for the pea soup, in case you want it.

And now I’m going to relax because someone told me today is the start of a holiday weekend.

Or whatever.

I’m Into Pretty Again (Or I Pretend to Be a Florist)

I don’t want to start all of my posts with an apology, so let’s just skip that part. Let’s pretend it’s acceptable that I’ve been ostensibly absent for an absolute eternity and get on with happy, pretty stuff like flowers and cupcake towers, K?

K, good.

If you’ve been following me forever, you might remember my unattractive meltdown about doing my own flowers for my Peter Pan Party. If you haven’t been reading that long, consider yourself lucky. (Self pity is not attractive.)

I’m like a new person now or something.

ANYWAY…

I recently went to the flower district downtown and almost died from a peony OD.

See?

They even accidentally matched my shirt.

Legit peony mainlining.

If you’re wondering how someone who hates one-way streets and $5-an-hour parking meters ended up downtown, I will tell you.

My friend Susan needed help with the flowers for her mother in law’s birthday dinner, and for some reason she thought I could help her. I love Susan so super much that I got over my issues and went with her to the warehouse in the hood.

It’s pretty amazing to go from nearly curling up in the fetal position at the thought of putting poppies in a vase to having someone ask you to do floral arrangements for their MIL’s 70th. I blame thank God for the 180.

Truly.

I’m not even being facetious.

And now that I’m done preaching, here’s how things turned out:

This was one of three identical arrangements.

I’m almost a florist now.

Or something….

And just for fun, I also did an arrangement for myself in honor of my friend’s Sarah’s upcoming 80’s party.

See?

#rad, #dude

I made the cupcakes too ‘cuz I just can’t stop.

So, that’s me and my flower update.

And now I’m going to leave you with a song someone sent me last night. I woke up at 3:45 am, found it in my inbox, and got up to tackle today like a boss even though EVERYTHING’S uncertain right now. #warrior

Okay, NOW I’m really done preaching.

XOXO