she's got bette davis ????
how should i preface this?
i'm a lazy girl. i'm a vain girl. i'm a lazy, vain girl. but i'm also, dare i say..... cheap?
let me explain.
it's not my nature to fork over my hard-earned cash for someone to wash my feet and hands every week, when i can paint my toes for free.i do see a professional every month or so for cuticle overhaul and {let's be honest} THE foot rub, but my nail haunts are of the drop-in type; never the same place twice, the kind where the technician always asks my ethnicity, and then debates my answer, convinced my japanese father is really a vietnamese liar.
tissue-paper thin nail beds {a result of the gel craze}, and a nasty nick to my thumb, has only compounded my at-home polishing skills and conviction to save money .
another area where i find it difficult to spend whence i can do it at home for free is my eyebrows:
pluck, pluck, trim, trim, pluck, trim, pluck.
easy.
it's tedious, a little time-consuming, but come on? if i can brew my own coffee, i can groom my own, silly eyebrows.
yet, of late, i'll admit, the brows haven't been getting the attention they've needed.
unruly is an understatement. try disorderly and drunken. my eyebrows have been violating city ordinances left and right.
the thing is, tweezers involve dexterity, and like i stated earlier: i'm a lazy girl!
at the end of the day flossing feels like brain surgery. add tweezers? aaaaaaaah!!
early saturday evening i was driving home to my darling, most handsome husband. my hands at ten and two, i glanced down at what looked like an episode of intervention: my nails were riddled with chips and cracks, as if i, myself, had been smoking the crack. not wanting to look ugly betty for hunkiest, i u-turned polly into the first nail salon i saw: "Top of Nails Salon."
i swear to god that's what the sign says. the grammar alone should have been my first clue warning.
all i wanted was a polish change. my intentions were good. no wash, no massage, no flower. i even had my own polish. but, no i couldn't leave well enough alone. inspired by the sharpie drawn eyebrows of my nail tech, i casually asked if "top of nails" also offered eyebrow waxing. her hesitation should have been my second clue warning.
palms in the air as my top coat dried, i shuffled into a back room where another sharpie-browed lass slathered molten lava wax on my baby brows, after which she left the room to watch her version of a telanovela. at least that's how long it felt. i was tempted to pull the lava strips off myself, but seeing as she was the "professional" i kept them there and waited.
and waited, and waited.
when she finally returned the heat had subsided as did any feeling in my face. but upon ripping the wax off, along with three layers of skin, the feeling came back, as did my fluency in profanity.
thinking/hoping the scalding was more just a feeling rather than an actual look, although i WAS suspicious when medusa didn't offer me a mirror to show me her finished product, i paid the lousy $6 bucks, and hightailed it out of the fancy "sah-lohn".
much to my sadness, although 100% deserving, it looked just as bad as it felt. actually worse. where there was one set of brows, there are now two: one black, one cherry red. kind of like licorice.
i officially hate licorice.
i look RIDICULOUS!!! and it's all my fault. i am lazy, i am vain, i am cheap.
i am also in a ton of pain. these are deep burns. i am in a constant state of aloe vera application. i've researched, and aloe vera seems to be the call for the quickest, safest, no-scar healing antidote.
how excited will the director of this week's commercial be when he sees this hot mess walk on to set? not exactly the zen vision he hired. thank god for concealer.
any other beauty horror stories out there you care to share?
i think we can all agree this one's pretty awesome!!!
monday happy to you m'loves!
carbo load
sunday night hunkiest and i made our way over to balboa island for a stock, so-cal, summertime date night.
balboa island shines in the summer. dutch doors swing hello-to you wide; welcoming the wandering and strolling alike. an impromptu patio frolic is a common sight on every block. with beast in tow we ambled through the streets of houses and stores as she chased kitties and taste tested the various water bowls offered to her from shopkeeper to shopkeeper. the main avenue offers up colorful, seaside themed boutiques, non-chain restaurants, a killer candy store and ice cream shops offering the famous balboa bar.
for food we chose our favorite, red-checkered table-clothed, pop & mom, italian hideaway near the bay bridge. dark red cabernet for him, bubble water and lime for me, we cozied in a corner and imagined ourselves on a hot, sticky night in a roman trattoria.
perusing the menu of pastas, pizzas, calzones and secondi, i formulated my list of 4 acceptable items to order. i always choose four selections just in case my first choices aren't available. oh the miserable dining experiences i've had whence a panic order ensued following me not having a backup plan. miserable for me, and for those sharing said meal with me. such non-preparation has resulted in arctic dover sole, the bok choy salad, a watercress sandwich, ratatouille, and the dreaded steamed artichoke {hate those blasted things!}.
although it goes against the rules of etiquette, i almost always ask my man to order first, as if my order is the prize, the grand finale the table has all been waiting to hear, rather i'm still making up my indecisive, monkey mind.
and what will you be having for having for dinner? lisa, the waitress, finally asked me.
i was poised and ready with my 1 through 4: either the catch of the day, steamed mussels, steamed clams, or the caesar salad.
i'll have the fettucine alfredo, please.
!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?
{stunning silence}
yep. i ordered the fettu-muthafuckin-cine al-fatto, otherwise known as heart attack on a plate, and i did with a tone that said if you question me, "lisa", i'll take this chianti shaped candle, and shove it down your, up till now, pleasant pipe. i'm quite sure lisa had to check with the chef to see if he still knew how to prepare the pasta; the notoriously unhealthy dish is ordered so rarely. and i can put money on the kitchen running out to the local market for more sticks of butter.
after we found his jaw, and picked up off the ground, hunkiest and i deconstructed the mystery of my tourette order. did i have a stroke? was i possessed by my inner 6-year-old? what on earth had caused me, an exercise professional, a typically healthy eater, someone who likes her pants loose {and her bass down low} to order the most clogging of arteries and highest of fat and calories on the menu; the one item that not only needs to have the price, but also the local cardiac sprecialist's number listed next to it?
my answer was simple: it was the first thing that caught my eye on the menu, and no matter what i tried to distract myself with in terms of taste and health, i kept coming back to that damned fettucine alfredo! i know myself. had i ordered the fish, i would have eaten without tasting it, finished the whole damn thing and not have been satisfied, because what i really wanted in the first place was that oooeey-gooey white mess on a plate.
the dish came. in i went. literally. coming up for air i looked like i had been in a face painting contest with a benjamin moore windsor cream shellac.
i think there was dinner conversation.....i don't remember, my hearing was stifled with alfredo sauce that had trickled into my eardrums.
feeling my once, flowy trapeze sundress morph into a tight-fitting, herve leger-like casing for a sausage, i responsibly pushed my plate away even though i could have easily continued to eat the rest of the buick sized plate. when our nosy waitress came back to "check on me" i made her take away my fork; not my plate, my fork. i wasn't going to begrudge my fellow diner from the six sticks of butter still remaining, but at least without a fork i could no longer partake in the madness. at least not with utensils. you see m'loves, i have zero self-control when it comes to food. torture me, tickle me, beat me down; i can take a lot. but put a plate of cheesy pasta in front of me: uncle!!!
i'm not ashamed. i had a delightful, delicious meal. there's something about fettuccine alfredo that makes me feel like a kid. i ordered it as a child. it's typically the go-to order when we're with others' children. it made my husband happy too. he gleefully slurped up the creamy noodles with abandon, free of care.
afterward, we kept this caution to the wind mood going with a walk down to the ice cream shop: mint chip for him, cotton candy for me.
yesterday it was back to my delicious regime of salads, fruit, and no regrets. you did not break me mr. alfredo!
tell me loves, what are your forbidden foods? do you give in?
tuesday happy m'loves!
weekend happy
farewell my endless, carefree as a whisper, summer. i will miss you much.
i will miss the smell of your backyard barbecue. the silent, but potent neighborhood bell which beckoned the sunburnt, beach-cruiser riding puppies home each day from the sand.
how sad i'll be to bid adieu to my summer scents. one for day, a breezy, light, swing in a seaside hammock kind of fragrance; sweet and soft, not too strong, yuzu mixed with the pacific ocean. the other for night, a strong, night-blooming jasmine blended with a stronger honeysuckle, make this a true southern california scent; melissa flagg's oils conjure memories of late night, top-down drives, through the hot santa ana's.... trisha yearwood on the radio, young boys on the brain.
goodbye mr. panama hat. it's back to wooly bowler standby's for fall.
come tuesday that orange blossom love which has floated throughout the house for the last 3 months will morph into a spicier, less petal-like waft. i know i'll long for my dark, warm mornings where the gentle aroma of white flowers waltzing against a cobalt, blue sea guide me into my day.
so long to summer's fresh, off the vine tomatoes and california avocados. i'm wet duck lucky to have such delicious local candy at my fingertips.
an afternoon nap, just my beast and i, under the serenading whirl of ceiling fan. we keep cool, talk girl, and steal away from the silly outside summer antics. this ritual i may have to keep year-long.
so m'loves, did you have a nice summer too? what will you miss?
a weekend happy to you.
see you on the other side of sunday!
scenes from a sunday
in the words of martha & the vandella's, it was a heat wave!
hh, the beast and i took to the streets to keep cool and soak in the seaside life.
i love many things about my street: the big trees, the wide blocks, the whites pickets, but even after 12 years of residency, i still gallop giddy over the front door, ocean view.
we took our favorite loop with the beast: a jaunt down to pacific coast highway to see what newport's fanciest were up to.
we never quite make it passed our A market without a stop for "provisions".
nourishment.
hydration.
bottom-feeder.
we capped off a sunday dinner down at the sand.
louie the crab.
a hot august night indeed.
and just like that it was gone: today we woke to a thick, fog bank so heavy our neighbor's front door has disappeared.
share with me the snapshots of your weekend m'loves? you know how much i adore hearing from you.
twitch-gate
so twitchy has officially been with me for 6 months. if she were a baby, i'd be easing her into solid foods {oatmeal and rice- since they're more fiber rich and less constipating}, and introducing the sippy cup.
but she is not a baby. she is not something i birthed from the bliss of my happy marriage. nor did she stem from a deep need to create new life in the genetic ice blended of my husband and me.
this hooch just showed her unwelcome, irritating self in and up into my lower, right eyelid. she settled in, pulled up a chair, ordered a pizza, watched a little direct-tv, went through my clothes and made herself at home. and she's been there, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, save for a couple of hours, post mexican vacation bliss.
attempting to rid this unwanted houseguest, i went through a solid round of acupuncture. although soothing and calming, the needles were a bust. it was a bit confusing when my persian doctor would extol the merits of chinese medicine, but then tell me she was praying to jesus for my recovery. my meridians didn't know whether to make the sign of the cross, bow or kneel.
my potassium, magnesium, b-vitamin, and caffeine levels have all been checked too...i'm a big time supplementer as it is, but now, just for good measure, i'm a mega-supplementer. i'm my own GNC store these days. yet it's done nothing for the party bus in my eye.
two weeks ago, after a three-month wait, i finally was able to get in to see the wonder woman of eye specialty. doctor eye-fix-you-up was going to cease the six month mardi gras in lower right peeper.
as i was lead into the exam room i had to harness my deep, diaphragmatic breathing. i was excited and anxious. i was hopeful doctor-sight-for-sore-eyes was going to find twitchy a new home. i snuggled down into the large, vinyl reclining chair and waited to be cured.
three hours and 48 minutes later, i was still in the chair, still had not seen doctor-eye-have-better-things-to-do and was one month's salary poorer. rather than kill the wait time with the provided woman's day and runner's world magazines, i killed my bank account with ipad shopping. new shoes from net-a-porter, a doo-dad from 1st dibs and some potions from beautyhabit.com. i was getting confirmation receipts as well as s.o.s alerts from my bank wondering if my credit card had been stolen.
when doctor-eye-get-waiting-room-kickbacks-from-american-express finally appeared, i was so grateful for the shopping intervention, i couldn't get angry for the wait; and after all this was the woman who was about to work a miracle.
she shined blinding lights in my irises, checked my vision {20-15 thank you very much}, squirted some drops which made me cry, not tear, cry, and finished with 2 rounds of what felt like ping-pong paddles to my eyeballs. afterward, i had the disposition of declawed cat who had been given a cold, wet bath.
i was not a happy kitten. even with new fancy shoes coming in the mail.
dr. kiss-my-ass had determined that my twitch issue wasn't of a vision origin, and decided that the best solution was to inject botox into the trouble-making party. she also decided that somewhere down the line i should come back and get a "very simple, out-patient surgery, to remove the deep, puffy bags under {my} eyes."
doctor, you also should decide what kind of, in-patient, surgery you will need after i break your face!
although i was not exactly thrilled with the botox idea {a giant needle of botulism into my bottom eyelid?}, i signed the waiver agreeing to possible permanent disfigurement and loss of vision, betting my money {what was left} that this woman knew best.
in went the needle. i silenced my scream, but not my tears. twitchy did her version of a scream, and twitched in hammer-time. i actually felt a bit guilty for my 6-month old, baby twitch. doctor-i -hate-children told me the botox {did you know botulism means sausage in latin} takes a couple of days to take effect.
i stumbled out, hand covering my right eye, protecting my now beloved cub.
coming home, exhausted from the ocular rape, i fell into bed, and tried to nap my morning beating, to my bank account and my eye, away.
waking up, the first thing i felt was the absence of twitchy. she was gone! hand to cheek, that reverberation down my face had vanished. something felt strange though. was it just that i was so used to my eye fluttering, that "normal face" now felt odd. i ran to the mirror to check out my miracle:
yes, my twitch had fled my lower, right eyelid.
but the little minx had journeyed her way up to my upper, left brow.
awesome.
it has been three-plus weeks post socket assault. bitch twitch continues her artist in residence status. she's partial to my lower, right barker lounger, but occasionally spices it up in the high, left loft.
i'm at a loss. i go back to doctor-my-numbing-cream-sucks in september. stay tuned.
monday happy m'loves.
top of the hour: hunkiest!
no post on tuesday. i had a whirlwind trip to arizona to support hunkiest as he made his television début answering questions about the recent arizona fires. his company helps re-seed the land devastated by these natural and sometimes, manmade disasters. all in an effort to bring the beautiful country and wildlife back to what is was.
i have been to scottsdale many times, but i never get used to how stupid pretty it is...even through a car window.
although it's never a style i'd choose for my house {i accent color my all-white house with various shades of 0ff-white}, the hotel did have a cool, southwest aesthetic. these chairs were digging me.
to ease pre-camera jitters, we had drinks and two rounds of flirting at the onyx bar.
coaster riddles: hunky picked food, i picked rest. he won, we followed with dinner at talavera, and called it an early night.
h.d. tv isn't kind to sleep-deprived, puffy eyes.
we were up before the roosters rattlesnakes, to get to the studio before 6am.
i was supposed to be checking on the microphone placement. i was....sort of.
my man in action: he was superman handsome and batman cool.
i couldn't stop taking pictures. i was like a mom at a swim meet.
a romantic goodbye in terminal 3, and i am now back in southern california.
wednesday happy to you m'loves.
scenes from a weekend
how do you do m'loves?
it was a weekend happy indeed. oh my goodness, i hope yours was too.
here's a glimpse of how mine went down:
i added a new rung to my wrist affair.
saturday night i had the honor of attending my lovely friend, jill grogg's, lululemon, ambassorship party. yoga, pilates, spin, boccaccini appetizers-you name it. the girl does it all! with incredible kindness, grace and beauty....it's amazing we're friends. in fact, i may have to drop her. there's just too much wonder woman going on in that tall-drink-a-water for me. and she really is that nice. i'm hoping, behind closed doors, she's a weirdo hoarder or wears the same socks for weeks.....but she always looks and smells fresh as april to me.
pfft.
on sunday morning david hockney returned to southern california. palm trees in jewel-toned green against a sky of bahamian blue, hunkiest and i brunched outdoors to soak it all in.
tea for him, coffee for me, and omelets of asparagus, artichokes, mushrooms & gruyère {mmm hmmm}.
post brunch binge, we walked off our glut with some shopping at one of our favorite stores.
new shoes for katie and hunkiest bought a shirt which brings out the golden in his eyes.
i must say, out of all the sunsets, shorelines and mountaintops in the world, this view beats them all for me.
okay, enough about me. tell me about YOU! how was your weekend? don't you KNOW how much i love hearing from you?
monday happy m'loves.
weekend happy and a message from the beast
priscilla was feeling a bit neglected from goodniteirene of late, and has a few things she'd like to say:
[vimeo http://vimeo.com/27314400 w =600 h=400]
there.
her voice has been heard.
satisfied, for now, she has retreated into her pocket of priestess where she plans her next business of monkey.
victories: priscilla= 367, mommy= 0.
signing off for the weekend m'loves.
the beast and i plan to shower hunkiest with kisses and .......errands.
what's in your filofax of fun?
see you on the other side of sunday.
love,
katie and priscilla
buenos dias mi amigos
i'm back.
boo.
from the lack of posting and tweeting it should have been apparent i was removed and relaxing.
just what the 4 different doctors ordered.
here's what bliss looks like to me:
a patio with an ocean {hidden in photo} and palm trees wishing you good morning and goodnight.
sand, sea and salty friends making breakfast's finest companions.
in the distance our cabana beds await for afternoon napping and silly.
mexican coffee and huevos rancheros compete with the pacific's baby's blues.
no need to leave the resort for tours in punta mita's exotic wilderness or journey out ziplining adventure. the walk to our room alone was a trek through iguana-ville and a jungle in stereo sound.
happy girl.
happy girl. hunky boy.
not retouched. {kills me, cause i look like shit}
lobby love.
just plain, old fashion love.
sad girl leaving the hotel.
so my twitch actually went away. we arrived home saturday night, and then next morning when i awoke twitchy was gone.
sunday consisted of an all day celebratory family dance party {beast included}
unfortunately waking up today, twitchy has returned.
oh well, at least i had a beautiful week.
monday happy to you m'loves.
scenes from a weekend
this weekend, summer officially started her sun-sprouting engine in california.
shoes came off, knees were bared, frolic ensued.
here's a glimpse of how it went down here.
friday date nights call for silk scarves and red lips.
hunkiest and i tried out the newest, local oyster bar.
red for him, sparkly with a fancy garnish for me.
unfortunately neither of us losers eat oysters, luckily we had other options.
fish and chips for him {he at his fish...i ate his "chips"} and copper river salmon for me!! the last of the season!
if you've never had copper river salmon, please try it next year. it's only available {fresh} four weeks a year. and YES, it is that good.
post seafood sweet.
i limit myself to toppings. and only the crap kind.
saturday we strolled the coast-lined streets of our azure-skied town.
sunday morning coffees and pastries with the beast.
sunday, bloody mary, sunday night.
we beckoned the naughty vamps to come out and play.
a fine finale to a grand weekend.
so far, summer's holding the promise of sun, sultry and romp.
ching ching!
monday happy to you m'loves.
*all photos: goodniteirene.wordpress.com
scenes from a weekend
determined to fashion my black thumb a new green dress, i stuck close to home this weekend, and spent most of my free time in the backyard garden. we're in the process of renovating our yard, but in the meantime..
the lavender is bouncy and spa-smelly.
my succulents look large, colorful, almost pre-historic.
a fancy accessory here and there {thank you lovely lex}.
and e'er a beast to always keep watch.
it was such a nice weekend until hunkiest and i decided to finally attack the pontiac that had been delivered to our front yard last friday. i'm not kidding; a box literally the size of a small sedan was set in the middle of our front yard. they couldn't deliver it to our doorstep, because there wasn't enough room.
our backyard patio furniture had arrived. and part of the deal of me buying said furniture was that i'd make the purchase sans white glove delivery service, and extra fee.
big mistake!
although my afternoon view wasn't bad, and we had several stomach cramping giggle fits {one involving a 2 minute hostage situation with a 20' umbrella and me inside}; i still would have paid the extra money for assembly.
'cilla supervised.
and then became bored.
tada! a glimpse of one chair and a side table.
as you can see in the back, it looks like i'm sitting kandahar. we have a long way to go: gravel, foliage, trees covering our neighbors beautiful wall. but for now we have a lovely seating arrangement.
it was definitely weekend happy.
weekend happy
what's in your pocket for the weekend m'loves?
between fancy naps and bingeing on berries, i'll be working on my funding for marc jacobs' most recent resort collection for louis vuitton.
have you seen it?
mindblowing.
i jest not. the contents of my brain have literally been blown to bits from frocks o'fabulous.
hunkiest still needs more convincing on the necessity of a leather track suit, but i will get him there. smooches help.
see ya on the other side of sunday dolls.
homegirl
monday happy to you m'loves!
southern california had its first warm weekend in what felt like a decade.
the neighborhood bustled with the ringing bells of beach cruisers, the clinking of margarita tumblers, impromptu front porch, procescco parties, and the ever present, smoky, sweet aroma of a bbq, permeating our open doors from friday afternoon to sunday night.
glory! glory! awww-chew!!
yes, despite all the warmth and splendor around me i was sidelined with my first major cold of the season.
out. man-down. this was a knockout. friday night i slept a total of 16 hours only to wake up saturday morning exhausted and feeling hungover.
hunkiest and i laid very low, had to cancel dates, stayed in, and rented fabulous movies.
we diary'd our weekend happy en photographie:
hoodrats.
milkbraids for sick girls who hate washing their hair.
{and for flirting with hunky boys}
our back porch kept me busy and domestic.
i tended mr. basil and sassy lady rose,
and then attempted a taming of sally thyme and rosemary green.
all are welcome out back.
the toes got a fresh coat of pink.
we breakfasted on croissants and café au lait in honor of the french open.
for once, i saw the writing on the streets wall.
in hindsight despite the chills, headache, and runny nose......it was a perfect weekend.
pull my finger
lately i've had the brain and {cringe} mouth of a twelve-year-old boy.
pair those up with my mild case of turret's and i'm a walking, talking bah-dum-bum-CHING poster for crude.
the silliest, most inane, immature, off-color, quips kindle in my brain, and then WORSE!....escape from my mouth.
maybe it's the fact that hunkiest and i are childless.
there are no precious, impressionable ears around keeping us mannerly and genteel.
we've turned the household into a full-fledged judd apatow movie.
instead of our usual mushy texts and romantic phone calls to each other, we quote john c. reilly and now melissa mccarthy.
flirty and tender has taken a hiatus into frat-house hee-haw.
this vacation into vulgarity often snags me into the stickiest of predicaments.
tuesday at the market, my sweet friend edward, who has checked and bagged my groceries since he was 14 {i'm praying he's now 18}, was making his typical, polite conversation to me, captain foot in her mouth.
"did you see how big the zucchini is in that box?" he innocently asked.
scareeeeeeeeeeeeeech!!! my pen stops mid signature, my laundry list of have to's ceases to nag me for the first time in 48 hours, and my inner hamster of anxiety and worry halts on a dime.
it feels as if the whole market has come to a whisper halt.
oh no he didn't.
i could just let this go; ignore the easy set up.
but that would be like ignoring trash on the sidewalk; or a lost dog in the street.
it's a moral imperative that i follow through on the funny, right? at least that's what i told myself.
ugh!!!!!
head cocked, gaze fixed, edward locked in my crosshairs, i ask, á la anne bancroft,:
"what was that edward"? {knowing exactly what he had just said}
"the zucchini, in that box, it's HUGE." he repeats
more silence.
lot's of it.
and my stare.
i know exactly where i'm about to go and that i should stop it.
i call on buddhas, saints, wild horses. i conjure images of dead, mutilated, distracting kittens and i still can't rein it in.
i am powerless against my raunch.
"edward, this box doesn't settle for small zucchini."
{thumb to chest in best oc/cougar housewife impersonation}
yep. word for filthy word.
and poor sweet edward, eyes the size of airplanes, mouth wider than the nile; no ability to respond to my borderline pedophilia banter.
we silently finished the transaction; save for an eye contact avoiding thank you, and i was on my merry, lewd, humiliated way.
don't let the upturned collar and string of pearls fool you.
twirling skirts, peonies in pink, hugs not hate; they're all just micro bits in the batter of this freckled fruitcake.
deep down i have the mouth of a dirty whore and the impulsivity of a labrador puppy.
and you'd think i'd learn my lesson.
yesterday i was subbing a spin class. my regular crew is somewhat accustom to my tart tongue, but when going into a new class i try to keep on my toes: say very little, ease up on the hip-hop, and watch my verbage.
but there i go, three minutes into class, Jay Z ripping his mf'ers, and rather than saying "go faster" like a proper teacher, andrew dice clay here told everyone to, "spank it."
waiting for my termination notice.
happy weekend bitches m'loves.
desert bloom
today i leave for santa fe. an enchanted weekend away with hunkiest and the dearest of ones loved.
my bags are packed, my boots are shined.
my itinerary is a discourse in romance and relaxation.
from the doors of our casita, feasting on the beauty foothills of the sangre de cristo mountains, hunkiest and i plan to further feast on a gourmet breakfast in bed.
on friday, the boys will golf.
and the girls will spa.
my ayurvedic treatments promise to ease my third eye, nourish my soul, and revitalize my body.
screw the third eye, i'm happy just to hide out where cell phones are banned.
friday evening portends revelry and cozy with gang-wit.
no doubt giggle fits and knee-slaps will arise.
saturday i'll do my best to keep my tears to a minimum sob as two loved ones make it official.
kisses all around.
another evening of love, laughter, food, and drink.....maybe even dancing.
merrymaking for a marriage.
sundays are for smooching.
*{okay! okay! confession....because i surmise those who know me intimately will be calling "bullshit" on "breakfast in bed" plan. i say and imagine this whole idea of room service at fancy-nancy resort as something wonderful and decadent. each time we travel i intend for us to experience said rite of amorous treat. but never happens. i'm up at the crack, on the hunt for my crack coffee, with a face like joan rivers, and the energy of richard simmons. hunky hubby never knows i'm missing until two hours later when he awakens upon my return: paper read, smack fix seen to, breakfast in bed plan nixed}.
weekend happy
hello i love you won't you tell me your name?
what's in your pocket for the weekend lollipops?
tonight, i plan on losing my voice with mumford and son's.
tomorrow, more shouting {microphone assisted} with my gangsta's looking to sweat and crush the constant inner babble of our brains.
tomorrow night i plan on losing my mind in hunkiest's sweet talk and sugar kisses. hopefully with a grilled cheese sandwich thrown in the mix somewhere.
more holla' and calorie crush on sunday morning to help stave off planned damage from deep fisted, easter candy basket binge later.
i'm a sucker for pretty.
marshmallow, nougat, white chocolate, marzipan....flavors which normally produce an upturned my nose; belle them up in lavender, aqua, celadon, azure, a dusty pink?!?! and i'm a sticky-fingered walking mallomar.
so share with me..i adore your comments.
are there champagne brunches in your future? peeps? eggs to be dyed? or are you more: easter's here?
weekend happy to you m'loves!
boo
hunkiest and i are convinced are house houses a ghost.
a friendly ghost albeit. non prone to spooking, hi-jinks, nor treachery.
but said ghost has bewitched our dear truman.
lately we've been finding truman in the most curious rooms of our abode, fixedly staring at nothing? .
we've learned to respectfully wait these private moments out. previous attempts to cull truman free from these trances only sends him right back in hours later, facing another blank wall with an earnest interest and puppy-like joy we haven't seen in the last 10 of his 12 years.
we've checked the house for pests...{just priscilla}, and we've checked truman out with the vet.
all is good.
we can only conclude 'tis a ghost.
evenings are its most active hours.
all night long ghost friendly and pal truman gambol and escapade in the deepest, most unused corners of our, now, creaky home.
spilling down stairs and tag-teaming 'round the den;
truman and his friend's rousing romper room inhibit even the household's heaviest sleeper {again priscilla} from shut eye.
we've even tried to lock our oldest, best behaved of all beasts ever owned, in at night;
but all that's left us with is a scratched up bedroom door, and a new impression of our so-called golden boy.
for now we endure the new night time capers.
yes, it's disruptive and gives to an occasional scare or startle.
but that bump in the night seems to have brought new life into my old fella t-man.
bring on the séances!