sweat & tears
top of the morning monday to you m'loves.
how did miss weekend treat your tender hearts?
i popped back and forth across the emotional ping-pong table of my precious aunt's latest hospital stay.
we yo-yo'ed between tears of hysterics, like on friday when we listened for hours to patient, in bed #4, hold the nurses hostage with her "diaper" in exchange for more oxycontin; to sunday where tears of frustration poured over her white blood cell count.
i pity the yoga mat, spin bike, and in this weekend's case, the water rower, who bared the brunt of my unleashed sadness.
led by master trainers, jay blahnik and josh crosby, yesterday i took the fantastic teacher training for indo-row, a crazy-fun, group fitness class that gives you a killer cardio workout AND strength and flexibility training. you can't say the same for spinning, treadmill classes, etc.
it's a team spirit atmosphere, building community and camaraderie; which i think we can all use in these divisive times, no?
it was definitely a new fitness experience for me and challenged me to the point where i hadn't gone to in a long, long time. i had scary flashes back to running "the apple" in junior high, coming in last, looking silly, etc. indo-row is NOT like that, yet it does inspire a youthful, competitive spirit. that post race feeling with my team felt exhilarating, and the longest stretches of hard work never lasted more than 90 seconds.....if that. you can bet each paddle, each stroke was for my aunt charla.
i'm so excited indo-row is coming to my club.
tell me, m'loves, what gave you goosebumps this weekend?
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!
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.
coastin'
monday happy m'loves.
today is a busy day of spinning, tucking, twisting, curling, and smiling.
the fall silhouette is long and lean {tuxedo suits and long skirts} and i'm off to get my clients ready.
a giant "THANK YOU" to coast magazine for my recent write-up, and an even bigger "THANK YOU" to ralph palumbo, magician photographer, for making a flu-ey katie camera ready.
and so on
yesterday was a definite case of the mondays.
more like a baker's dozen.
i rpm'd my quads afire; only to find myself in the same spot at the start of my playlist.
at the market, i stood behind a real life orange county t.v. housewife.
actually i stood behind her giant breasts.
i thought maybe she was the fancy, new dairy case; dispensing milk in her free time for extra cash.
i'm all for a great set of jugs, but 3 o'clock in one's afternoon is a teeny, tiny early for nippleage, no?
4:30 and you can pop that areola right out honey!
i'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt. maybe when she left the house she didn't see her blouse was missing.
it's hard to see when you're false eyelashes rival jet planes.
this is a trend that is getting more severe and common 'round here.
the lashes are getting longer and thicker and heavier.
how much more can those lids take? it's not sustainable is it?
my pilates business is going to have to include post-rehab exercises for lash use.
soon, the poor little OC eyelids are going to need their own support groups and reach-out hotlines.
shopping carried on {me sweets, her chardonnay}.
then i had another round of tuck & squeeze and spin class.
not my typical classes. i brought my nervous, knotted stomach with me into sub.
i know it's evening and our gym does have a bar....
but the amount of makeup and done up hair had me longing for my own face-robe.
designer bags to match dictated personalities.
once again i feel apart, cast out, {flat chested}, not belonging, in this town i call home.
weekend house
sunday afternoon, when my work week is finally done, i identify my target {bed}, lock in, aim body, and fire in for my long-awaited {well-deserved} nap.
the sounds of our house stir me into sweet compose.
at first blush a baby might even find the silence too still and lull.
but sit a moment.
eyes closed.
the house breathes, beats and reverberates a peaceful lullaby:
from our bedroom i can hear harbor boats blast their booming, deep hulled tenor as they signal around the bay; soulful hellos boasting their years here on the water.
downstairs the percussion pants of de-conditioned beasts unaccustomed to neighborhood walks in the springtime sun, beat time to creaking, cracking ankles of the beast walker; no longer the tennis star he was in his youth.
snip, snip, snap sound the garden sheers of my neighbor miles. retired, he tends to his japanese boxwood with the love and care of an old-fashioned courtship. next he attempts to tame his wild, unruly, hot-pink, tea roses who crisscross his white pickets with the sass and rebellion of a teenager. sadie, his portuguese water puppy, plays bunny-rabbit throughout the yard, greeting all who walk by with a lick and a hop.
a sleepy smile escapes my slumber when i hear my beloved sock slippering the hard wood halls, office to den, to check an occasional basketball score, and scour the pantry for something chocolatey and sweet.
squeaky wheels peep from the kids on their cruisers pedaling home from the beach. cheeks burned, sand in their suits.
weekend coming to a close. just like my nap.
i've always thought i looked my best after a nap. even with my eyes a little puffy, hair a bit here and there. i'm my most katie after my naps. especially on sunday afternoons.
especially in the quiet of my house.
housewife happy
first off, i seriously hope this is the closest i ever get to fur.
but many thanks to the folks at locale magazine for asking me to take part in their 'actual oc wives' story.
much to bravotv's chagrin we aren't all velour, track suit donned, trout lipped, twilight obsessed, back-stabbing wrecked trains.
some of us work 'round the clock, would rather go naked than wear bebe, and can sit for hours {in fantasy world there'd be that kind of time} discussing everything from yesterday's bahrain protests to our local homeless veterans, and how we can help them {sometimes just a hug or a cup of coffee}.
this past weekend i told hunky i am ceasing fire on orange county.
although a native, for as long as i can remember i have blitzed my hometown for its superficiality and conservative tendencies.
never feeling comfortable in my own O.C. skin i've always gravitated toward san francisco, los angeles or new york.
my grit quota never quite being met in land o'la-la.
but i've called a truce.
some of the most wonderful, like-minded people i've ever met live right here in my hood.
a hood with the most beautiful year 'round weather anyone could buy....a lot of them do.
my loved ones are just a car ride away; i can see the ocean from my front door.
my hunger for culture, knowledge and stimulation is constantly sated.
it's me who just has to stay eternally curious.
orange county didn't suck. my attitude did.
the heat is on
whilst the rest of the country is enjoying flurry and frost,
we're bikini-clad and burning up in california.
balls to boiling temperatures in january.
i'm one of the few who actually dislikes this warm weather botch.
give me back my stormy, grey, blustery winter stat!
off to find a weatherman.......
image*disclaimer: i know i used the 'we' pronoun earlier. but this girl is in no way shape or form bikini-clad. more-like 'blazer, knee-socks, jeans, and hat'-clad.signed,always freezing no matter what the temperature says
you're here
tap. tap. tap.
tap. tap. tap.
the sweet rap of raindrops scampering across our roof come three o'clock this morning.
my two crusty beasts and their surlier human all barked disgruntled disfavor to the interrupted slumber.
as hostess of the household it was my duty to welcome and usher in our new seasons' alms.
i robed up and received the first hints of fall:
big, giant gumdrops of rain, a charcoal sky, and 60'F (tee hee).
so maybe i'm not wearing a parka, but at least the flip flops are put away {for a day}.
happy puddle splashing.
after hours
an evening of hobnob and passed baby burgers makes katie a stiff girl.
bravotv film crews galore.
chatter of blowouts, spray-tans, and lash extensions-
i haven't washed my hair since tuesday, my eyebrows act as peppery lid shadow.
no, i'm not the newest housewife....have you seen my aaaa cup, 12 year old boy breasts?
california dreaming
good morning sunshine.
my lips still yearn for creamy, coconut, costa rican cocktails, but my california palms sweetened out their span extra wide today.
welcome home!
work recommences. alarms are reset. vitamins are taken (again).
i didn't bring home a tan (spf 800). or souvenirs (the beasts don't need any more shot glasses).
i did bring home a hunky hubby whose a little less eyebrow furrowed and a little more sillier in spirits.
for me i haven't figured it out yet. i'm rested, yes.
but i feel like i forgot to bottle up the peace piece of mind i had found underwater last week.
i get caughtupinthemomentandiforgettosaveitforlater.
i'm going to find sometime today to go back out with the palm trees. they seem to have the right attitude:
wiggle waggle in the sunshine, open up your arms to all!
happy monday.
swanky saturday
so cassie, my friend of all things in the know and fabulous, scored a much desired invite to c magazine's luncheon honoring derek lam for his collaboration with tod's.
me in mj, cassie in the raddest alexander wang (helps when you have a body like that); we were good girls (for the most part) and stuck to sparkling water and lime.
mr. lam couldn't have been cuter or sweeter.
here's cassie and i looking for presents, checking out what other people are buying, and playing dress up.
my one regret!! i have wanted to buy this lavender bag forever. but didn't think it was the right time to talk to derek about fashioning the piece in an eco-friendly, non-leather fabric.
evil evan (the photographer: who looked more like a model-hence: my silly, flirty school-girl smile) kept baiting me to buy the piece anyway. or at least walk around as if it were mine for the hour.
cassie and i moved onto sunglasses instead. she bought those bad-ass, purple-y, i'm too foxy for the rest of you shades.
cassie runs smarty oc which is is a community of entrepreneurial women. SMARTY provides resources, education and inspiration. their members get business done, they just don't sit around and talk about what they're going to wear once they meet oprah (her words).
we made new friends. this is sweet, beautiful bri. she's a new transplant into orange county. she has skin like milk and honey.
marche moderne served us a perfect spring lunch finished with the most heavenly strawberry shortcake and macaroons i'm still dreaming about.
and THE best swag!! tod's skinny, pebbled, studded bracelet! yippee!
i'm trying to elegantly scour the table for more macaroons.......... i'm like a great white shark amongst a bay of surfers.......where is that last macaroon!??!?!?!
From true friend to celebrity parasite
I have a feeling that's what I'm about to become people. And I'm totally fine with it. Let me explain.The d-bag factor in Orange County is extreme. I have to be tip toe light, lest i step in the way of your canary yellow H2 Hummer, as you drive adorned in your storm rider, True Religion, boot cut jeans in a deep shade of "body rinse," with your painted on Buffalo graphic, rock star rivet, long-sleeve tee, and obligatory (thank you John) Ed Hardy hoodie. Costumed up like this, you guys merely waste time driving around Newport at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday afternoon, smoking cigarettes and blaring Nickelback. Except for when you, oh so mannerly, turn the volume down trying to get girls' cell phone numbers at stop lights (cuz that works.) And you always seem to end up at cougar den Javier's so you can have an audience to see you bark "park my baby up front." (I swear to god, EVERYTIME i go there some jack-ass says this to one of the hardworking valets.)Don't these men know they scream: "Look at me!!!! Look at me!!!! Over here!!!! Over here!!! I'm absolutely TERRIBLE in BED!!!"?
What's sad is this is the standard here. Apparently, I'm the snarky biznatch with no sense of humor or taste. So when I do find those rare, fetching fellows like my love, Marcos Prolo, I hold on for dear life and cherish every knook and cranny of time spent together. Yesterday, we were able to play work together on a shoot for Avia shoes. It will be his last anonymous day. Tonight he premieres, and I want you all to watch and fall in love just like i have. Although as we know with these shows; editing is key. Up until now, I've refused to watch this show due to the fact I live in this ridiculous bubble everyday. Isn't television supposed to be about escapism? But I'm supporting my original kitten. Because after this when he's a big star (as he should be) i'm hopefully still going to happily be his little bitch, sycophant, or like i said earlier, star-sucking parasite!!!Here's some shots of today:
un bain chaud agréable
Amongst my friends it is well known that I spend most of my free time in my giant, crockpot of a bathtub. I LOVE taking baths. Due to my profession I'm constantly having to rinse off, and re-emerge powder fresh for my next client or class. Bathing is really part of my job stability when you think of it. I could make it a humdrum formality with a quick shower and a bar of Zest. But I'm the girl who brushes her teeth AND sprays on perfume before bed every night; any chance during my day to create a mini-Cleopatra experience i'm going to take it. My dear friend Aurora* asked me to blog about what makes a perfect bath experience.The Egyptians were the first people to document themselves taking baths. That infamous Ptolomaic queen, known for her exquisite skin, was known to bathe in milk and honey: milk a natural exfoliator and honey a provider of many minerals, vitamins, and anti-inflammatory ingredients. I, myself, am no queen (well in some circles,) but I do require certain must haves for my underwater ritual.Candles!! Candles!! Candles!! I'm a scent whore. Those people who say they can't stand too much fragrance or cologne; I don't speak that language. The stronger the scent the better (except for Thierry Mugler's Angel, can we please put a moratorium on this overexposed, has been, former child star perfume?) My favorite candles in the world are Seda France. You can smell them for hours even post snuff. My favorite scents depend on the season: Clementine for Autumn, Nutmeg Vanille for Winter, French Tulip for Spring, and Verveine for Summer. My second favorite line is Belle Fleur. They're a little harder to find locally, so I have a hard time keeping them in stock.Second, I must have some sort of condiment; be it salts, bubbles or oil. We've determined a heady bouquet is a moral imperative to my happiness, therefore it is essential for my lavation additions to be fragrant. Who better else than Jo Malone to deliver the BEST in scent and luxury. I love Jo Malone's bath oils. I don't wear body lotions or creams (such a time commitment,) but I find if i use bath oil i'm moisturized enough (for me). Jo Malone's bath oils are extra fun because they become slightly foamy under the water, like you're bathing in Champagne bubbles!!!
As for bubble bath Deep Steep which is 100% vegan and paraben free is the best for bubbles and makes your skin smell like a farmer's market afterward. It's also very pocket book friendly.
Bath salts are a little tricky. Depending on what time of day or night you're taking your bath should determine your choice of bath salt. I have dreamily soaked in many natural salts comprised of lavender sprigs, rosemary leaves, hibiscus blossoms, and cloves only to find myself two hours later on a spin bike feeling a sprig of lavender making friends with my Lululemon wonder unders. So just giving you the heads up, if you dabble in the wild bath salts, make sure you rinse and repeat!!!! Because of my bath salt incidents i now lean toward the less exotic ingredients, and go for the basic dead sea salts from Ahava. Their Pure Spa Line are 100% pure Dead Sea Mineral Salts infused with essential oils of Syringa and Green Apple. YUM!!!
Happy scrub a-dub-dub-dubbing!! Love, Irene*name changed
Ready to Wear
Oh Bottega Veneta, what happened to you? You've forever dazzled me with your handbags and shoes, but my my my, leather-goods be damned if you're not now dangling yummy frocks under my nose. Thomas Maier if i sent Christmas Cards you'd be added to my list this year. You've created a Fall collection with the prettiness and promise of renewal that only comes with Spring Lines. 
Now if only i could work these beguiling accoutrements into teaching a mat class. I might be able to pull off the cropped, lilac, shearling jacket with the GIGANTIC bracelet sleeves on a spin bike. But the willowy yards of yummy milky silk; they'd for sure catch on a reformer spring.It's times like these where i reconsider a deal with the devil. Maybe a night at The Island Hotel fundraising, for god knows what terrible Orange Country conservative cause, wouldn't be so bad as long as I was able to wear my new Bottega Veneta dress??? hmmmmmmm..............