Posts from March 2009

Not My Friend

This dude showed up and I was really glad that it had been hours since I’d drank out of it, because then I could pretend that it wasn’t in there when I was drinking it.

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posted March 30, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 9 comments on this post.
filed under: photos

I'm SO Helpful

Last week I went to a Quaker event hosted by Yvonne. I was totally prepared to be awesome and give back and all that stuff. I mean, I AM THAT PERSON. The one that wants to buy local, organic food, conserve water (I turn the water off while I brush! And I only condition once, bleached, colored, damaged hair be damned!), ride a bike instead of a foul beast of a van (I don’t really do this one. I don’t own a bike but I do own Bessy, my black Astro Van that consumes more fuel than a launching rocket ship and kills us all by destroying the ozone layer. Why is it so expensive to not kill us? I want a hybrid.) and use my eco-friendly reusable cloth grocery bags when I go shopping and wants to help the baby puppies and the wild, jungle animals, and the charities that help with micro-loans and the Toys for Tots and help at the Soup Kitchen and make quilts for the homeless (I did this only one time but I’m still counting it.) So. You can see why when Yvonne wanted me to help out at the LA Food Bank, I was all over it. I like to recycle, people!

The thing I didn’t plan on happening was this stupid cyst thing that made me into a frail, whiny, limp-noodle of a person. A few days previous my left ovary said, Hey! I’m bored! I’m going to see what happens when I poke one of these cysts! And then a slow stream of cyst fluid (What is in there, anyway? Maybe I don’t want to know.) began its exit and made it’s way into every pain receptor in a 5-mile area. And sometimes it whispered ‘fuck you’ in a tiny, ghost of a voice behind my back, just loud enough that I could hear it and not get comfortable for hours and then suddenly it would be all, HEYYOUMOTHERFUCKER! I OWN YOU, BITCH! and I would drop to my knees and die.

So, back to the day of the Quaker event, my ovarian cyst was just very uncomfortable as apposed to an 11. So, I figured, dude, this is no big thang. I’ll drive there, be awesome with all my giving back and shit, and then go home. Easy-peasy.

Who’s bored? Do a little stretch at your desk, wake yourself up and come back. I’ll wait.

OK. So. Everything was fine. I found the place with no errors. There was a parking spot up front. I found Yvonne right away. Smooth Sailing, my friends. But, then I had to walk up two flights of stairs to use the bathroom and that was all it took. My ovary used a voice synthesizer to sound like Satan and laughed and laughed at me.

I went downstairs and tried to act like nothing was wrong. I looked in the direction of talking people and tried to smile and look interested. And then the tour of the facility started and we walked up those same two flights of stairs. Again. Another time. Did I mention it was one more time? But, I was already there! Why leave now? I wasn’t going to give up. I was going to be STRONG.

The nice lady walked us through different warehouses and talked about food distribution and companies who give the food and who picks it up and lots of other interesting (really) stuff and I listened enough to write this sentence. A nice guy showed us some backpacks and told us to wipe them out to clean them and then we would fill them with food for some kids. Helping kids, y’all! I started wiping. And I was in pain. And I felt like a failure. And I was in pain. And then Yvonne came to the table and started cleaning backpacks by me and I thought, ok, I’ll just tell her I MIGHT have to leave. Not that I am because maybe I won’t. But I should mention that I MIGHT have to. Yvonne told me going home was the obvious thing to do. And I realized that DUH, it was what I should do and then it happened. I started crying.

My eyes welled up. My face turned red. And Yvonne was all, Leah! Why are you crying? And I was all, Bluh Bluhbluuuuh. And she said, Seriously, you should go now. And I said BLLUUUHbluh in a loud whisper. And I looked for a way to get out of the room without it becoming a big deal and headed that direction. But I couldn’t find the door and I walked though isles and whispered bluuhbluh and then there was a guy and I gestured and pointed, trying to act out a door. He sent me the right way and I got downstairs and just about had my crying under control. Then I realized this was not the place we had come in and I had no idea where I was. There was a long hallway of doors and offices and it seriously got longer and longer while I looked at it. I started walking and randomly opening up doors trying to find an exit until a nice lady in a red suit came out. She looked at me, blinked and then turned into my Aunt Murtle. With her arm around me, she shooed me softly out the door and said (I SHIT YOU NOT) ‘We all have bad days, dear. Buy your self a fresh, new pack of Twizzlers.’ And then with her left arm, she pointed towards a building where I should go.

WELL. Anyone need more stretching time? Maybe head banging on the wall time?

I walked in that building, in burning pain, head held high, crying a little, mascara smeared on only one side, and bumped into an older gentleman wearing overalls. He started to tell me I was in the wrong place and then looked at my face. He ‘oh deared’ me and offered me a handkerchief, changed his mind, handed me a tissue. I tried to ask him where the GOOD parking lot was where my VAN was but he heard bluuhuhuBLUHHHuuh? And he asked a man who was working on a forklift doing actual WORK to stop, climb down and walk me through two more warehouses and to the parking lot. Not only was I not volunteering but I took a person who was ACTUALLY WORKING off his forklift. The kids should hate me, y’all.

He tried to make polite conversation until he realized I was mute. He started pointing out a few things as we walked through the rooms but then stopped when he realized I was too fragile of a flower to bother with all that businessy food real-life stuff. He took my arm and walked me around a pool of water and then warned me when we came to a speed bump. When we exited to the right parking lot, he asked me if I saw my vehicle in a voice that meant he wasn’t sure if I should be operating large machinery. He glanced at both my wrists and neck for some kind of medical tag and emergency number, but found none. I assured him I was fine. FINE. And he watched me climb in my van, only tripping twice, turn the ignition on a second time and make that horrible grinding, whining noise that indicates a newbie driver, fumble with my sunglasses and blow my nose. He waved to me as I pulled out into the street. I pulled over about a block up the road and really let it all out where I hoped he couldn’t see me. And then I drove home.

posted March 26, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 15 comments on this post.
filed under: in the car

Interview, Josh Bazell, Beat the Reaper

Catch Josh at Book Soup this Thursday, 3/26/2009 at 7:00 pm!

Synopsis:
Hitman Pietro Brwna enters the Witness Protection Program and becomes Peter Brown, an emergency room doctor. A Mafia associate from his past ends up in the hospital on his shift and turns his entire protected life upside down. Packed with medical information and footnotes, the story of Peter’s past and the story of his present intersect beautifully during his last 8 hours at the hospital. Beat the Reaper is Josh Bazell’s first novel.

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First, I should tell you that I was completely surprised at how much I liked Beat the Reaper. I’m not much for thriller/action-type novels, but, seriously, from about page two I was completely hooked. And although the ending was one of the most disgusting and painful endings I’ve ever read, I enjoyed it and I will never forget it. That’s what you’re looking for in a good book, eh?

Josh Bazell has a unique writing voice that reminds you of an old, gritty 40s detective movie. Some scenes get to the point so quick with limited dialog that you are taken off guard (and maybe disappointed they didn’t linger longer…) and some have a twist and you can’t believe you just read what you read. But, in all cases, Josh made the right decision on how he worked the story and I’m eagerly looking forward to the second installment of Pietro Brwna’s story.

Josh Bazell came to San Francisco for the hospitals about three years ago. (Did I forget to mention he’s also a doctor?) He’s single (ahem) except for his Boston terrier, Lottie. On the average day you’ll find him sitting around in a Tshirt and doing all the usual human stuff like drink beer, speed race and herb window box gardening (I may have made those last two up) and listening to “America,” by Spinal Tap; a demo version of “Birthday,” by the Sugarcubes; “Wrecking Ball” by Emmylou Harris; and “Gypsy Eyes,” by Hendrix.

How much of you is in Pietro? What’s your favorite characteristic of his?

What I like most about Pietro is that he’s always looking for ways to be moral that don’t require innocence. I’d like to think I do that too, but I definitely don’t put as much energy into it as he does.

Sex can be a difficult thing for people to write well and not indulge into porno-land. Was it hard for you to write the sex scenes?

I didn’t really think about it. I grew up on books like Jaws, that had tons of sex in them. So to me it would feel unnatural to write an entire novel in which the characters don’t think about or have sex, or they do but I can’t be bothered to mention it. Granted, asexuality (or rather the confinement of sex in fiction to pornography) is the trend. Remember when young adult fiction meant Judy Blume and Lois Duncan, and was read by kids? Someone should write a young adult novel called I Am Disappointed In and Afraid Of Sex, so that adults who read young adult fiction in public won’t have to worry about people not getting the message.

Part of the book is set in Russia. Have you been to Russia? Is it in your family roots?

Some of my ancestors were from there. I’ve never been. Russian history reminds me of the alleged Chinese curse, “May you live in interesting times.” I’m hoping to get a chance to visit when Beat the Reaper comes out there.

Who is your target audience with Beat the Reaper? What kind of response have you received?

I try to spend as little time as possible thinking along these lines, but I tend to feel that people’s responses to books are so personal and idiosyncratic that pretty much anyone who reads Beat the Reaper deserves my appreciation. If they’re entertained by it and/or can relate to it, obviously that’s a good thing, but if they loathe it that’s strangely entertaining as well. I don’t know why. It’s infantile.

How did you do research for the Hitman part of the story?

I read every memoir I could find by people who have been through the Federal Witness Relocation Program. There are a lot of them, and they’re difficult to read because they’re poorly written and often morally repellent. But if you’re looking for sordid, they’ll give you sordid.

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Did you learn anything at Brown that has become invaluable in your writing?

My attitude toward my writing education at Brown varies. I read a lot of books there and got time to write, and I met people who took literature seriously. On the other hand, the writing workshops I took there never discussed structure, or any other concern beyond the “quality of prose” on the page. And there were no classes at all on long-form writing, which is what I’ve always been interested in. Since structural rules are easier to learn than style, and since the idea of structure has been so tarnished by bad screenwriting instruction, I understand not spending a lot of class time on it. But some would have been nice.

The business side of health care you describe is almost too hard to read and sickening. How much of that is the truth from your experience and how much has been fictionalized? If you were God, (I’m not saying you aren’t) what would you do to change things?

Clearly the U.S. healthcare system is in trouble, since it’s crazily expensive and primarily serves the interests of the insurance, pharmaceutical, and (to a smaller but real degree) personal industry industries.

Just as clearly, to fix it (and a lot of other things) we probably need for legislators to not take money from the industries they’re supposed to regulate. Tom Daschle was taking more money from for-profit “health care” corporations than he would have made working 60 hours a week as a general practitioner. And if he hadn’t cheated on his taxes he would now be Secretary of Health and Human Services.

Is the part in the book about the Auschwitz connection to Aventis, Agfa, BASF, and Bayer actually true? If it is true, I feel so dirty.

It is true: check it out here.

What impresses me about these companies is their foresight in predicting how quickly world anti-Semitism would rebound after WWII, and how easily they could therefore sell an image of the Holocaust as exaggerated and excessively talked about. Worldwide, this is now the popular consensus, though it’s losing ground to feelings (and statements) that the Holocaust never happened at all, or else did but was justified.

I loved and hated the character Skinflint about equally. You’ve written him in a way that defies someone to not feel compassion for him. How do you feel about him?

It’s pretty much a hate the sin and love the sinner situation. How can you hate someone too weak to fight his instincts?

The theme of the book is about a person being able to change and getting redemption. Have you experienced that in your own life?

Most people I know spend a lot of time either wanting or trying to change themselves. So yeah — I think most of us like the idea of redemption, and don’t seem to mind the judgment it passes on the lives we’re living now. It’s the tension between satisfaction and ambition.

I was annoyed that the footnotes were there and then I was annoyed that I kept wanting to read what they were and I enjoyed every annoying minute of it. As a writer myself, it seemed like a tricky thing to get right, a kind of hook that you gambled on that paid back in a big way. Were you worried about using them?

Yeah, the footnotes. The idea for them came from formatting the novel almost as an “as told to” memoir. And they turned out to be surprisingly useful, since they represent a subtly different voice (and timeframe) from the central narrator. But they were never necessary. It would have been easy to put the information in them, such as it is, in the text, and I was prepared to do that if either my agent or my editor felt strongly that I should. But they both liked the footnotes, and now I’m stuck using them in my next book because so many people have complained about them. By the way, one of them is intentionally irritating so that you’ll remember the information in it later, and all of them are skippable. (Ed. Note: But, you won’t want to.)

Whose writing style to you love to read?josh

James Ellroy, Joyce Carol Oates, Denis Johnson, Thom Jones. Anybody whose work is really alive.

Any book(s) to recommend?

I almost never do that, because, like I say, books seem so personal. It’s like universally recommending a particular girlfriend or something. I did just read Winter World, by Bernd Heinrich, which is about how woodland animals survive winter, and I really liked it. It’s observational biology in the style of Konrad Lorenz. It’s beautiful, and it makes you feel like you just spent a weekend in the country.

If you are 80 and living your dream life, what is it?

I really need to nail that down. It’s probably really helpful.

What interview question(s) are you so tired of answering and how many did I ask you?

The really bad ones only come from people who haven’t read the book. They’re all variations on “I haven’t read the book I’m interviewing you about. Please relieve my anxiety and embarrassment about that, and also entertain me.”

Thanks, Josh!

posted March 23, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 7 comments on this post.
filed under: book,fiction,interviews

Awesome Etsy

posted by leahpeah. there are 2 comments on this post.
filed under: art,crafty,friends

Liz

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posted March 19, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 4 comments on this post.
filed under: photos

Try Handmade

Have you seen Try Handmade? It is only one of the most darling sites out there in the world wide web. They highlight items from different people that make handmade goods. And the best part? They’ve asked me to do interviews for them.

The first one with Kitty Empire is up today. Go check it out!

posted March 17, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 2 comments on this post.
filed under: art,crafty,interviews,try handmade

A Decision

And then he started yelling No! His face turned dark red and his hands squished his cheeks forward, moving all around his head, messing up his hair, then back to his cheeks. He was so overcome with emotion that the only word he could get out was No! No! He nearly lept out of his skin – I saw it begin to happen and then recede. His body could have charged a car battery.

I watched in disbelief, then horror. And then I refused to see it anymore.

posted March 16, 2009 by leahpeah. there is 1 comment on this post.
filed under: hard!!

Drink Up, Los Angeles

Speaking of social events (weren’t we?), I went ahead and booked the uWink in Hollywood for June 13 at 8pm. They are open until 1am.

I know it’s early to plan this, but my summer gets filled up real fast with kid activities, so I have to be all Ms. Planaheader to make this happen. I can’t wait to meet you! Invite a friend or two!

If you want to sponsor the event, email me here.

PLEASE RSVP over here.
xo

posted March 11, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 3 comments on this post.
filed under: drinkup,friends,snappy

Morning Light

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posted March 10, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 3 comments on this post.
filed under: photos

But, I Didn't Pee My Pants

I started this week by inhaling the essence of the Queen of Sheba up my left nostril and was all, Oh, I only walk on 3inch padded long nap ecru Persian rugs and If you don’t peel my grapes, I’m going to banish you to a life of only reality television and morning radio shows and I’m thinking we’ll paint the walls golden bronze, straw, ochre, saffron or amber and it’s really important you tell me which one you like the best because they are ALL SO DIFFERENT.

In other words, I was awesome to be around.

This could be because I was overcompensating my lameness of the weekend previous. The one where I drove to the OC with my son, Devon. And it took three hours and I had a soda. A very large Dr. Pepper that went straight to my bladder and starting dancing the Hustle at the speed of light. But we were almost there! And there was nowhere to pee! And there was traffic! Never have I wished so hard for anything as I did for an adult diaper at that moment. And then we turned on some roads and passed some signs and stuff and OMG I had to go pee!!

So we finally got to the street in Laguna where Heather and Jon were staying and I saw their condo on the left and went PHEW! DEVON PARK THIS HEAP WHILE I RUN IN AND GO PEE! So Dev makes with this really heavy sigh (BUT HE HAS NOT HAD 4 KIDS so he doesn’t know what that does to your body. KEGELS!!) and a few eye rolls and says Really? NOW? but I didn’t even notice because ZOMG THE PEEING I needed to do. I swung open the door and jumped about a foot down to the ground. (FORESHADOWING) But I didn’t trip and fall and I was very proud of that. And then Devon climbed up a few feet (AGAIN FORESHADOWING) closed the door and I started walking away and then I heard this awful noise like tires spinning. Because the TIRES WERE SPINNING. Because the streets in Laguna go up and down the hills at about a 50% grade. Just kidding! It’s only about 25%. (REALLY) And I had pulled into this driveway that had more major angles than Blagojevich. And only one of the back tires and one of the front tires were touching the ground and the back one was just touching enough to make this really awful burny smell.

So, I looked at the van, perched and wobbling as it was, and I almost forgot I had to pee. Almost. And I looked at the van some more. And I realized that I had left the van in the MOST awkward and unsafe position possible and in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the van toppled over on its side. (REALLY) And in fact (AGAIN), I believe Devon said something like MOM THIS VAN IS GOING TO TIP ON THE SIDE! And I just kept staring because I remembered I had to go pee but I knew if I left, my son would end up lying on his left side, head in the gravel or he would try to move the van backwards again and the van would IN FACT move forward and slam into the truck about 6 inches in front of him. And the van, that beast that weighs about a million pounds, would just go faster and faster and careen out of control, crashing into cars and houses and people on both sides of the street including a baby in a stroller in there somewhere and then slam into the busy 101 where the van would kill a family of six, (a RELIGIOUS family of six, that included a 13 year old piano prodigy that was on his way to a concert where he was raising millions of money for a cure for cancer and THEY WOULD HAVE DONE IT, TOO!) and then roll over and over until Devon was almost dead and with his last breath he would ask Why didn’t you just go at the Shell station in Irvine, Moooooooommmm…….

But I still had to pee. And then, suddenly Jon was there. Yay! It’s Jon! It was better than the 2nd coming. And he asks how it’s going and I almost want to pinch him because HELLO! How does it look like we’re doing? But, actually, I’m SO GLAD TO SEE HIM that I almost forget I have to pee. But not really. Because although it’s awesome to have someone like Jon on your team when trying to get your van that is teetering like it’s on top of a spike out of immediate danger, your body, when you REALLY have to go pee, won’t let you forget it. I actually considered just letting it go. You know, whizzing in the street. Letting the yellow river flow. Watering the plants with my electrolyte leftovers. But then I didn’t, because it would totally ruin my boots.

SO THEN. I realized that Jon had actually come from the other side of the street. (How fun would that have been to run into the wrong place, frantically trying to use the bathroom? Eh??) From further up the hill. And I could see Heather, glowing (pregnancy looks so good on her!), in the window looking out and giving me the strangest look. AND THEN. I realized I was going to have to walk up the hill about 50 feet, not peeing. And then Devon is really concentrating and I’m telling him to turn the wheels all the way one way and Jon is telling him to turn the wheels all the way the other way and Devon is getting frustrated and we’re all a little freaked out and the smell in the air is like we’re lounging around a tar pit on fire and finally Jon goes – Hey Leah! How about you go up to the house and go pee already. – and I can see in his eyes that he would really like it if I wasn’t telling Dev all the wrong stuff to do (JUST MAKING HIS JOB HARDER) (REALLY NOT HELPING) and I heard in his voice that uber-patient tone that you use on the nearly deaf and very young children. The same voice he used when I got lost on the way to their home in SLC and he had to guide me in. Every time. And so I turned around and carefully/quickly walked up the hill and found the right door. And Heather was all Hey! How are you? What’s goi……. And I ran past her and into the bathroom and THE HEAVENS OPENED AND THE ANGELS REJOICED!

As I sat on the throne, my arms wrapped around my knees, my head resting on my legs, relishing every last drip, I tried to remember what I had been so concerned about just a few minutes ago. Hmmm. Was it something about the economy? Or…..maybe I forgot to pay the electricity bill? And then suddenly, I remembered my son was about to die, the van was about to crumple and Heather was in the hall wondering what the hell was going on, her hair blown back from the speed at which I’d passed her.

By the time I’d finished with the bathroom things, (ahem) and run into the hallway, Dev and Jon were back inside. Everything was going to be fine. No one died. The van didn’t crash into anything. (The solution? Leave the van parked haphazardly half in the street and inches away from the truck in front of the van and wait for the owner to come home and move it 10 feet forward. And it worked.) And then we all held hands and swayed left and right while singing Kumbaya.

Leta, who is secretly a fairy, pronounced that my favorite princess was The Princess and the Pea and used her magic to read incredibly long and complex words that no child her age should be reading. Unless they are a genius. Which she is.

The Burrito King came and we got the most delicious food we’d ever tasted. Even our taste buds sang. And we laughed heartily and merrily with our heads thrown back and our hair flowing down our backs and thought how lucky we were to be lottery winners and how much fun we were going to have when we all owned our new Vespas and buzzed around town in our matching purple Polo shirts and Birkenstocks.

And later, when Dev and I got ready to leave, I used the bathroom. Twice.

posted March 6, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 7 comments on this post.
filed under: friends,in the car,kids,loser!!

True Mom Confessions

I have an essay, a confessay, if you will, in the book True Mom Confessions coming in early April. It started as a website created by my friend Romi and grew from there. It’s nice to sometimes have an anonymous place to put your innermost secrets that you can’t tell anyone in real life.

I’m pretty proud of my contribution to this book. I think this essay is one of the best things I’ve ever written.

posted March 5, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 2 comments on this post.
filed under: book,friends,writing

Eavesdropper #2

“Let’s do the whole cocktail thing, shall we? Hello! I’m Drake. I’m 36. I’m a scientist and I build things that don’t exist and won’t exist for years. I actually work in the future.” Drake thrust his hand forward in an attempt to look confident. It was at the precise moment his hand accidentally jabbed her breast and he looked more perverse than confident, or worse, clumsy, that he wished he could rewind about seven seconds and have a do-over.

She was taken aback for a tick or two, but recovered nicely. “I’m Cynthia. Cindy. Whichever.”

Her detachment to what someone might call her spoke volumes to Drake. After all, Drake was a name he had given himself after pouring through books and online forums and author’s names. He had carefully considered Chance and Chase and Shane before deciding on Drake. And for someone named William but forever called Willy, the name Drake made him feel instantly strong and in control. Like a man should feel.

Cindy continued, “I’m 28. I have two kids under six. I love being a mother and during…” But, Drake had stopped listening. A mother? Of two kids? Under six? Um, sorry to be so judgmental, but no. Just, no. She probably took two years off to drive around the country like a hippie and then went to only half a year of community college before getting knocked up and stuck at home with babies. Her dreams and aspirations probably include someday knitting an entire outfit from blue yarn and decorating the older kid’s room in a jungle theme. Plus the guy, (or guys!), had obviously left her. What’s up with that? What else was wrong with her?

No, not a good match at all, he was positive. And as Cindy continued to talk, his eyes wandered to the two chairs on the right to see the lady coming to his station next. She looked cute. Pretty, even. And she seemed nice. Just look at the way she gazed at the guy across from her. Like she was really interested and really getting whatever he was saying. And she wore glasses. He couldn’t wait to meet her and hoped, prayed, crossed his fingers, that she would be interested in science or at least be really smart. He needed someone almost as smart as him to be with for the rest of his life.

Drake checked the timer on the table between them. Thirty seconds left. He looked Cindy in the face and realized she had asked him a question. “Oh. Sorry. What was that?” It was a shame she wasn’t smarter. She was one of the prettiest women here. “I just wondered what you were doing at work at the moment. In the future, I mean.” Cindy smiled. “I’m currently working on significantly raising the temperature by forcing deuterium gas under pressure into an evacuated cell containing a sample of palladium dispersed in zirconium oxide, which causes the deuterium to be absorbed by the palladium sample, resulting in a denser deuterium, with deuterium nuclei that are close enough together to fuse! My last test resulted in a temperature increase for almost 50 hours.”

Ding! The timers went off, resounding and echoing around the room, chattering in his ears. He stared at Cindy, unable to speak. He had been so wrong!

Cindy, taking his silence for disinterest, grabbed her purse from her lap and stood up. “Well, nice meeting you, Drake. Good luck with….whatever you’re doing.” And as Drake watched her, mute, she walked to the next station on his left and started talking to a man in an Armani suit. A man named Peirce. A man with manicured hands and shined shoes and undoubtedly a large stock portfolio. A man that was everything Drake wished he himself was. (Peirce? PEIRCE? Why hadn’t he thought of Peirce?)

His attention was suddenly pulled to the woman in front of him. She giggled and brushed her long bangs out of her eyes with her cherry-colored acrylic nails. From this close distance he could see that her glasses were for show. A part of her outfit. “I’m Bitsy.” she giggled. “I’m starting an internet business. I make these really, really adorable doggy sweaters. Everyone loves them and my Aunt Cherise says I’m gunna make a ton of money.”

It was at the precise moment when she asked if he liked karaoke night at the bowling alley and told him she had a glow-in-the-dark bowling ball with the phrase ‘Here’s a bit-O-Bitsy‘ on it that he wished he could rewind about two minutes and have a do-over.

Editor’s note – This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone you know is purely coincidental and kind of cool.

posted March 4, 2009 by leahpeah. there are no comments on this post.
filed under: eavesdropper,fiction,writing

LA Metblogs Interview (Two Things)

David Markland from la.metblogs.com did a fun email interview with me the other day about my involvement with Tara. You can read it here.

There is something about this Neil Patrick Harris site that is really, really funny to me. (Nato, don’t click that link. Liberal use of the F word ahoy.) If you don’t mind salty language, this is one of my favorites. And this one, too (because I hate that word and that somehow makes it hilarious). This one? Makes my brain explode.

posted March 3, 2009 by leahpeah. there are 3 comments on this post.
filed under: interviews,two things,United States of Tara