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1:01 p.m. - 2010-10-10
Life As I Know It

The boiler sprung a leak the other day. Not a major one, the overflow valve had gone screwy, so the heat still worked but there was a sweet little flood in the cellar. Shamefully there is a sloppy mountain of clothing that lives down there all the time. Wolf's outgrowns, my outgrowns, that other assorted weird clothing and the oddly shaped linens most people own- the stuff you rarely (or ever) use but seems 'too good' to get rid of. The mountain originated on a long dresser and a rolling cart dedicated to the storage of said 'too good' useless stuff, but as stuff piles have a way of doing, the mountain grew and grew and grew, eventually toppling over and ending up in a deliberately ignored heap on the floor.

And now it is soaked and stinky.

I am trying to take the uppy view of it and say it's the perfect opportunity to finally cull that pile and be rid of the excess. I'll be a good citizen and wash it and sort it and bag it and take the best of it to the Goodwill. The rest will be gotten rid of somehow. But doing at least 15 loads of smelly squishy laundry, most of which is stuff I don't even want anymore seems dumb and certainly not my idea of the activity of choice on THE most gorgeous autumn afternoon we'll get this year.

On the other hand, leaving several cubic yards of slowly moldering yuck on my cellar floor isn't appealing either. Even if it weren't a potential health hazard, the smell would quickly become an all-out stench and the last fricken thing I need is another stink here in the House of Many Stinks. (Cats + dog + teenage boy + cooking residue + 100 year old house = Eeeew.)

At least I have my bearer boys on hand to do the carrying for me. I'm healing up pretty well, but it'd be crazy and martyrish to lug all that stuff up the steep and chancy cellar stairs myself. I sort, wash, dry and fold. They haul things away. Fair deal.

Better than fair and sliding into pretty damn good was 'Life As We Know It'. Mick and I had a date last night. We returned to the Japanese place (which was a let-down, more on that in a mo'.) But the movie? A movie I was expecting very little of except to be entertained in a pleasant rom-com sort of way. Sure, it's not 'Citizen Kane', but really, how many movies are? 'Life As We Know It' had unexpected heft. Katherine Heigl and Josh Whats-his-face were almost too pretty and glossy for the story. A story that was bitey and grittier than the premise. Not distressingly so. It wasn't a hard movie to watch. But it was real-er than the previews led you to believe it was. Mick and I were pleased. I'd just wanted to see something fluffy and nice and Mick is still in full-bore "What Baby wants, Baby gets" mode. That we both walked out of the theater feeling like we'd gotten our money's worth was a nice bonus.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said of our meal before the show. We did go back to the same place we'd had that excellent meal and great service a couple weeks ago, but in the interim something weird happened and not for the better. After yesterday's lackluster food and execrable service, the sticky table and carpet that needed sweeping, man, I was bummed. It almost felt like we'd hallucinated our previous visit. How could things go so bad so fast? Even more disappointing than our 'meh' meal was the loss of what I thought was going to be our go-to place, a Japanese restaurant that was a total Baby Bear's chair. Just right, you know? Not too expensive or far away. Not a hole in the wall, but not too upscale for jeans. That it's right across the street from our usual movie theater…well, can you blame me for being bummed that it's not what it seemed to be?

Rule of three applies here. One great meal, one lousy one, so we'll give it a third go. Eventually. Either the place will redeem itself or I'll be looking for a new place to handle my tempura jones.

Another jones which will go unanswered is my suddenly fierce need for upping the glam. I'm feeling very pedestrian of late. How someone with such a bitchin' cool hairdo and enough scarves, shawls, and pashminas to stock an eastern bazaar, to say nothing of a wardrobe of earrings from the most classic pearl drops to the funkiest Upper East side artisan silver, can feel herself to be boring and ho-hum is kind of goofy. But there it is.

And where the hell do I go anyhow? I need killer boots and a Chanel-inspired tweed jacket to go to Shoprite? I need a zingy ensemble to run the Escort through the car wash? I get enough dirty looks at Wolf's school as it is. I really don't need to be swashing in there done to the nines to be glared at by the hardworking aides and teachers who get drooled and peed on every day. Hitting the bakery thrift outlet in a lamb's leather bomber jacket and Prada loafers is an affront to everything decent. "Excuse me, little old lady surviving on Social Security and food stamps, me and my $500 purse need to buy some day old pies."

Gross.

Ah well. Right now me and my ratty bathrobe have a date with another load of smelly laundry.


Distinctly unglamorous, ~LA

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