THE TALE OF THE FREE LOVESEAT OR HOW I GOT RIPPED OFF, MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS

On the first day Christmas, I got ripped off by Levitz Furniture.

Let me explain. Back in September, I bought a new sofa and love seat combo. After searching high and low, I found an incredible deal at the aforementioned furniture store. Buy the sofa get the love seat free!!! I also paid for a ten year warranty covering the fabric (with three cats,I figured, what the hey). At that rate, the warranty would probably outlive the stupid furniture. I even made it simple for the store. I paid cash.

Ha! I'm such a good customer.

However, Daughter #2 (more to the point, Big Tim Bronco, her fiance) warned me against it. Vehemently. He had his own miserable experience with Levitz. But did I listen?

The sofa was delivered, no problems. Due to the sale, so I was told, the love seat was on back order, but I'd get it around Thanksgiving. Uhm, okay.

Shortly thereafter, it was announced in the local paper that Levitz was filing Chapter 11. I was concerned, but not so much. After all, I had paid for my stuff and I had a delivery date. I mean, they wouldn't stiff people who had already paid, right?

Ahem.

When I called to confirm the delivery date, I was suddenly told that due to a "production problem" in the warehouse, the love seat would now be delivered on December 6th. The friendly and helpful customer service rep assured me that I would get my love seat on that day, and also insisted that their filing Chapter 11 had no bearing on my order.

Like a fool, I kept the faith, even after I learned that not only was Levitz filing Chapter 11, they were also shutting their doors forever due to the trickle down effects of the sub prime mortgage mess. If people can't afford their homes, they sure as hell aren't buying new furniture.

Of course you know what happened. I spend all day waiting for my love seat that never arrives (and a delivery that Levitz, in their infinite wisdom, called to confirm the week before).

Royally pissed, I call the 800 number. The helpful and friendly rep is now replaced by a recording.

In desperation, I call the store where I bought the stuff. The staff is about as friendly as a rabid pit bull. When I complain to the store manager, the asshole blows me off by whining that everyone is in a lousy mood because they are all losing their jobs and infers that the day I get my love seat will be a cold day in Tahiti.

Adding insult to my injury, the very next day Levitz runs a full page ad in the local rag touting their tremendous "Going Out Of Business Sale" ! I fume at the absurdity. I can't get my free fucking love seat but they are still trolling for customers.

After days of dialing, I finally get ahold of a real live person in customer disservice, fat lot of good that did me. Now the story is that they are still getting merchandise, but they don't know if they will be able to fill my order and won't know for a couple of days, maybe.

But they are not able to fulfill my order because they are in Chapter 11.

Oh no. They can't fill my order because they are going out of business.

So I ask the harried and downtrodden customer disservice rep what is my recourse if they can't deliver my free love seat for which I have already paid for in cash (including delivery and that goddamn worthless warranty) she says to me, no kidding....

That I have to file a claim in Bankruptcy Court along with all the other creditors (i.e. suckers).

On the second day of Christmas I lost my mind.

CATASTROPHE

So the Psycho Cat sauntered up me after she finished sipping her milk and wanted to know what was up with the WGA strike. (Although we are not WGA members, it is due to the WGA that I get measly but very appreciated foreign residual checks for MY HORRIBLE YEAR).

Psycho Cat: So how can I become a scat? I can write as good as any monkey. And I'm here in the good ole US of A. Then movie moguls don't have to go to England to get mongrel scats.

Me: What the hell did Granny put in your milk?

Psycho Cat: You know what I'm talking about, you asshole. Scats!

Me: Oh....you mean scabs. Trust me, you don't want to be a scab.

Psycho Cat: Why not?

Me: Because you can never join the WGA and get health benefits and all the other

nice perks if you do. Besides, it's not nice.

Psycho Cat: What do I care about health benefits? You took me to a cheap vet when I had worms. And who said I was nice? I'm the psycho cat. All I'm asking for is a chance. I can write better crap than CAVEMEN.

Me: So can I.

Psycho Cat: But you're not a cat. Hey, How about a remake of MICE AND MEN?

Change the men to cats, get Angelina and Clooney...I smell bling!

Me: I smell kitty litter.

SOLIDARITY

I'm not in the WGA, but I support the strike. I'd sooner cut off my right arm than be a scab.


www.theartfulwriter.com
www.unitedhollywood.com

Yeah I Know

Time slips away when you're having fun.

It's been a long, strange summer. Just starting to catch my breath and assimilate, meditate, hesitate and procrastinate.

Hopefully things will settle down soon and I can get back to doing what I love best.

Until then...Go, Red Sox, Go!

Independence Day

What, no aliens?

Alive and chugging away like the little engine that could. And waiting and writing and waiting and writing, not necessarily in that order.

Memorial Day

Cloudy. Blech. But tomorrow is supposed to be gorgeous.

I am very confused as to this new Blogger-Google thingie. It appears that I have two separate accounts, and I can never remember the e-mail/passwords to either of them. They couldn't have left well enough alone.

Otherwise, I've had a full plate this month: still working on my father's estate, Heather's graduation, Adrienne's strep throat, Stephanie's home for the summer, trusty little Neon finally died after years of loving abuse and was carted off to the junk yard, various other hassles and oh---still managed to work, write, work, write, sleep, bake, in no particular order.

Not a bad month. Now I just need to shake some more trees in June and hopefully resolve some long standing issues.

I Be A Bad Girl

I know, I know. Times flies and all that crapola.

I've been busy. Really. Writing, life, all that good stuff.

Otherwise, I'm still here, plugging away. Keeping up appearances.

Larry finally has the baby. I'm delighted.

Paris is going to jail. I'm devastated. No more TMZ updates?

Still not watching AMERICAN IDOL.

Waiting for HELL'S KITCHEN.

Hated TOP DESIGN.

Wondering why they didn't get Farrah for SHEAR GENIUS. What, she was too expensive?

No more BLOW OUT?

When is PROJECT RUNWAY coming back?

Fuck JERICHO.

Media Overload

I'm loathe to admit it, but yes, Anna Nicole got to me. How could it not? It had everything and then some: sex, money, mystery, drugs, and unending court battles. I haven't seen Greta have so much fun since the Natalie Holloway days.

Larry King (looking very cadaverous) played host to a vast array of characters and charlatans, but by the time of Anna's delayed burial, even Larry looked tired of the whole sordid affair.

Where was Maury when you needed him? He would've settled the paternity circus in one half hour show.

Now I am in Anna Nicole withdrawal, at least until the next court date.

We have a war going on and all the media can do is fall over itself to cover the funeral of a drug addicted, C-celebrity (and this doesn't even take into account Britney's woes).

Clearly, I've made a mess of my life. I never abused my kids. Hell, they even profess to like me. I'm not high on crack. One Bud Light puts me under the table. I'm still married to my first and only husband. Worse still, we sleep together.

I've never done anything in my life, not one single thing, that could even be remotely considered scandalous.

I'm a complete, abject failure.

Oscar Post Mortem

Boring and bloated. There, I said in three words what took almost four hours. I hate to admit it, but I was praying that the telecast would've been interrupted by something fantastic like Anna Nicole rising from the dead, just to break the monotony.

Ellen was "too" nice. Yeah, she had two nice bits with Marty and Clint, but otherwise, she was as bland as tapioca pudding.

What the fuck is up with Jack Nicholson? Is he auditioning for the title role of a biopic on Marlon Brando? He was almost unrecognizable, save for the sunglasses.

Jennifer Hudson's stylist (or whoever made her wear that silly metallic bolero) should be boiled in oil.

Anne Hathaway and Meryl Streep didn't take their Prada roles to heart, apparently. Meryl, it's okay to be size 14, however, you don't have to dress as if you were size 16.

How on earth did Cameron Diaz go to the bathroom in that gown? Maybe she didn't. Maybe she got her hands on some of those astronaut nappies.

Will somebody please take a microphone away from Ryan Seacrest? The only good thing was that Billy Bush was nowhere in sight.

Now onto the good stuff...

As for the awards itself, I'm of two minds. It was great and well deserved that Marty got his Oscar, but one gets the feeling that this year, he could have been nominated for directing traffic and he still would've gotten it. Plus, he was nominated for a film that was an adaptation of a Japanese film...does that carry the same weight as an original like RAGING BULL or GANGS OF NEW YORK? I'm not sure. And wasn't it a huge tip off on who was going to win with Spielberg, Lucas and Coppola presenting the award?

Hindsight has shown that often, the Academy bestows the little golden man for reasons other than who was the "best" that year. How else to explain AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS and THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH winning for Best Picture? Hell, Elizabeth Taylor admitted that her Oscar for BUTTERFIELD 8 was undeserved. She hated the role and did everything she could to get out of it, reportedly. But during the Oscar balloting she was gravely ill with pneumonia and nearly died.

I predicted pretty much all the major winners. Just before they announced Best Supporting Actor, I told my hubby that it was Eddie Murphy's to lose, and sure enough, he did. What a kick in the teeth. In retrospective, following his plum role in DREAM GIRLS with NORBIT now seems like a really dumb move.

As for Helen Mirren and Forest Whittaker, they basically won for impersonation. Whittaker seems to have mainly won for being a truly nice guy who turned into a beast on camera. Not taking anything from Whittaker, a marvelous actor, but you should see my husband when he discovers that raccoons have gotten into the trash or when somebody cuts him off in the Stop & Shop parking lot.

What was up with nominating BORAT for Best Adapted Screenplay? Was that some kind of inside joke?

Yay for President Al Gore!

Really, they should hand out all the special effect awards on a separate night. Just give the people what they want: the red carpet and Brad Pitt.

Soap Opera Overload

Anna Nicole Smith and Britney Spears. A match made in Celebrity Heaven. A paparazzi dream come true.

Anna Nicole was a train wreck in progress. While her death was shocking, given her age, it wasn't surprising, given her lifestyle. She wanted to be famous, well, she's more famous now in death than she was in life, the legal saga goes on, and we still don't know who fathered little Dannilynn. Is it Howard? Larry? The Prince? Elvis?

What was this cab driver turned Florida jurist auditioning for, his own half-hour sitcom on Spike TV? I thought it was a court proceeding, not a group therapy hug.

Then you have Britney's excruciatingly public breakdown. At first glance, this seemed to come out of blue, but there were signs all along. Her breakup with Justin, the sudden hookup with Kevin, getting pregnant back to back, then the failed marriage, those sans underwear photos, the constant partying with her new BFF. With two babies under two years of age, where does she get the energy? Maybe I shouldn't ask.

Beyonce vs. Jennifer H.

Am I the only one in the western world who thinks that Beyonce agreeing to appear as the cover model of this year's Sports Illustrated "swimsuit" issue is nothing more than a bitchslap to Jennifer Hudson?

Reality check: Beyonce is a star. Jennifer H was dumped from American Idol too soon. Beyonce is thin. Jennifer H is curvaceous and well-endowed.

DREAMGIRLS was supposed to be Beyonce's movie, but it's not, thanks to Jennifer stealing it from under her nose (what's next, Jay Z?).

Jennifer is getting all the accolades and the awards that by all rights should have gone to Beyonce. It's understandable that Beyonce might be jealous and resentful. Still, can't Beyonce's advisors think of a better way for their charge to upstage Jennifer than exposing Beyonce's Golden Globes?

Girlfriends, c'mon, why can't we all get along? Retract those claws. Meow! Meow!

I'M BAAACKKKKK!!!!!!

C'mon, you didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily?

After a couple of tumultuous months, I've regrouped, taken a deep breath, loaded up on high potency vitamins, flushed my meds down the toilet and decided that if not now, then when?

A new year brings new beginnings, new hopes, new dreams and desires. 2006 was an awful year and I'm more than ready to kick it to the dustbin of history. I figure, 2007 can't be any worse (well, yes, it can, but I'm going to remain optimistic). I feel like I've jumped out of an airplane without a parachute. It's exhilarating yet scary at the same time.

Okay, so I'm never going to win an Oscar. I'll never meet George Lucas. And maybe, just maybe, I'm a third rate writer who had her chance and blew it.

Then again...maybe not. Karma, if I ever needed you, it's now.