OK, first of all I am sitting here, wearing two sweaters, sipping hot cocoa and listening to opera. Suddenly I have turned 82. What the hell is going on?
And yes, LA is cold. Really, really cold. For LA. Chris just called to tell me that there was snow on the side of Sepulveda Blvd. Snow. In LA. Well, actually, that may have been some left over hail. But he says snow, so I say snow. And I reminded him when we worked on the sixteenth floor we could see the snow before it became rain by the fourteenth floor. So, you know, it happens.
The real issue? I live in a 60’s apt. From before they decided that central heat was a good idea. Aside from suddenly becoming 82, my evenings now look something like “Little House on the Prairie” gone horribly wrong as James, the cat and I huddle around the pitiful little wall heater to keep warm. There are blankets everywhere (save the bathroom) so that if you have to hold still for more than five minutes you don’t freeze in place and I have been finding excuses to cook things in the oven just to warm the apartment up a little.
Hunh, thinking about it, the bathroom is actually the coldest room in the apartment. There is a little wall heater in there, it’s called a THERMADOR and it has a little picture of a matador on it. Basically it’s just an electric fire crammed in the wall and it has a tendency to set things ablaze, so I have a tendency to not use it. Call me crazy.
Brr. I am going to go get some more cocoa…and stick my feet in it.
p.s. For the record:
Brenda: I read Laurel K. Hamilton books too. I am not ashamed to read them as long as she is not ashamed to write them…although sometimes I think she should be!
A.C.: I didn’t speak to the dead poet, I don’t chat with zombies when I can avoid it. I’m not totally crazy…or am I?