post work bubbly
some fancy theirs in a flute, i prefer mine in a tub.
how do you unwind at the end of the day?
tuesday happy m'loves.
soaking in every last drop
sun is shining. weather is sweet. make you wanna move your dancing feet.
~bob marley
summer is winding down her sultry, breathe-easy visit. i will be sad to see her go.are you savoring each sunny moment like i am?
share with me how you're squeezing the last of summer's sweet juice into your cup?
wednesday happy m'loves.
we are now boarding.....
last week as i waited for my plane back to california, i was wide-eyed and open- mouth as i watched the various tents of the circus they call ‘terminal 3’.
for the most part when i travel, i trek happy, my skies are almost always friendly. following in the shiny-shoed footsteps of my parents, i always dress for traveling: a frock fit for sunday best. or rather, in my case, saturday night close second.
more often than not i’m in a skirt or dress. public restrooms are phobias of mine, and the thought of a long-legged trouser skimming a bathroom floor sends me screaming to pharmacist for beta-blockers.
with hunkiest’s delta status of late, we’ve been getting bumped into fancy class quite frequently. i would hate to feel schlumpy in sweat pants and tennis shoes while downing my sixth, hot from the easy bake oven, chocolate chip cookie...although the elastic waistband is nice.
summer airports feel different from their colder, more bundled, rushed siblings of fall and winter. less coats, more visors and hats of straw, t-shirts of states and cities visited. there are more families which can mean more childhood meltdowns {and one father}, more lil’ ones to watch for underfoot, and less politesse when boarding the plane.
the gate line up seems to always produce a giggle fit from me. there's something about getting onto that plane for some people that completely erases every manner learned or awareness of self, and turns them into hogs gone wild. suddenly their ticketed, undersold plane to orange county becomes the last flight out of saigon, with only three seats left open, and 300 caged fighters clamoring for spots.
one grown woman {in age, not maturity} told the flight attendant she was filing a complaint for the incompetency of the pre-flight boarding: she had to wait too long in the jetway, she was getting hot, hungry and her legs were tired. mind you, this was after she had already cut in line, knocking into a woman holding a baby, and bag-rolled over an open toed sandal without so much as an acknowledgement, let alone an "i'm sorry." within earshot i told the same flight attendant i, too, was filing a complaint about said complainer's ugly pants......making friends wherever i go.
the pre-boarding show wasn't as infuriating, mostly just families in various stages of energy levels:
there were the sun-burnt kiddies at gate 67, buzzing around like meth’d up bumblebees, sword fighting each other with their day-glo mini roller bags, knocking over fellow travelers’ laptop cases and starbucks trays. their mom, neck-deep in the latest issue of us magazine, starting the, i assume at one time threatening, count down of “1......2......3......” and then quickly losing count and interest upon turning the page to details of the upcoming kardashian wedding.
meanwhile dad, sitting two rows behind, practically at a different gate, alternating between a furious game of angry birds on his iphone and napping; oblivious to both his wife and precious baby bees.
in the northeast tent {gate 63} i watched the sweetest, young, first-time parents from tempe, travel, for the first time, with their darling bundle of gooey yum. taking their shifts on bucket duty, both dying a slow, little death over every cry and gurgle-still in disbelief noises could be so adorable. dying another slow, little death over those same cries and gurgles, worrying that fellow passengers won’t share their same affinity. baby, oblivious in his happy, fat-thighed, baby world, cooing back at his parental stress monkeys, flashing a tooth-less, gummy grin melting the tension and hearts of all of us fellow travelers. cry all you want baby boy you’ve just endeared 41 more for bucket duty.
but the family who took center ring took my heart as well. on a layover back to ohio from disneyland, emma cinderella still sporting her gown from the ball, danced charmingly and happily upon dad prince charming's toes as he fought off the urge to yelp and wince. exhausted from a week of non-stop disney intervals, dad, sprawled out in his terminal chair, let his cinderella stomp dance to her heart's content as momma sleepily looked on, and clapped to the imaginary orchestra who had been playing for the last two hours of their wait time. sucked dry on princesses and pool time, these dear parents nevertheless quietly continued the magic for their angel girl.
a fitting grand finale.
wednesday happy m'loves.
scenes from an audition
two fridays ago i thought i was home free: my classes were taught, my clients were whipped tight and firm for the weekend's scantily clad endeavors, the beast was shiny clean.
the first afternoon off in months, and just as i pulled polly into her cool, ensconcing garage my phone started blowing up like an illegal, fourth of july firework.
mayday! mayday!
i had a last minute commercial audition.
my role? ethnic mom #2. not #1, number TWO, and they needed me to be up in west hollywood an hour ago. which according to google maps traffic alerts yielded me there in 2.12 hours.
always armed with an emergency makeup kit, i threw polly in reverse and thanked the satellite radio gods.
here are some shots of the afternoon:
hair. check!
makeup. check!
land rover was casting a commercial as well. i had to share a waiting room with rugged, navy seal-looking model types.
note to self: next time bring my single girlfriends.
my post-audition reward.
my favorite coffee bean: sunset & holloway. more star sightings than a lakers' playoff game, ample parking and the baristas always remember your drink and name.
one caveat: even the filthiest, crack addicted, would-do-anything-for-a-buck-vagrant would still, even for a thousand dollars, not use their restroom. although shia lebouf......did.
i'm still waiting to hear about ethnic mom #2. i don't know think my scowl at crying baby #4 helped my chances. but for the record, camera wasn't rolling during said prima donna's subsequent meltdowns, so the kid should have kept it together.
i don't care what kind of "method" actor he was.
bellicose beguiles me
so here it is, after a hilarious and rife response to words that give us the ick, i give you:
~words that make me capsize with happy~
words when uttered or heard, wrap me 'round like a soft blanket of baby, mewing kittens.
like my earlier post, these words aren't necessarily about what they denote or depict.
for instance, as delicious as the confection is, fudge and brownie aren't terribly ambrosial words.
and, as pretty as it looks in a bouquet, an aster, feels rather artless rolling off the tongue.
fortunately our language pot brims full and redolent.
for example, i'm not a giant fan of popcorn, but i'll order it just for the opportunity to say it.
i'm not exactly sure what an apothecary is, but i love to work it into conversation:
"your honor, i believe the weapon was purchased at THE a-poth-e-ca-ree."
not certain we do it properly, but the beast and i prefer to frolic rather than promenade when out on our evening walks.
balls. love the word balls. always have, always will. a great replacement to my too oft' used f-word.
and just like sneezing with your eyes open, it's impossible to say fancy without smiling.
try it.
meadow, cotton, dulcet*, scamp, tomfoolery, noose, rabbit, bush, vestment, bandage, bongo, piglet, all words i wish i could bake a potpie {another favorite} out of and scarf down, no sharing.
and dap. dap is an all-timer for me. so cool. so classic. stand alone--no accessories needed; often the subject of scott schuman's shutter.
so here's your turn. tell me your favorite words....again, doesn't matter what they connote or define. they just feel good to say.
and don't you know how much i love hearing from you? maybe just tell me "hello".
monday happy m'loves.
*love that mrs burns uses this too.
one or the other
car?
or hair?
they both are filthy, both are in dire need of a washing.
i only have time for one, and yes my hair takes just as much time as a trip to the car wash.
which should get the bath today?
where do you weigh in m'loves?
weekend happy
i have been in a constant state of giggles for the last 2 days. i had no idea how much conversation safe word would spark. along with the comments, friends and family have been, emailing, texting, calling, and face-booking with their ick words; so many of them which i say on a daily basis. it's baffling what words drive y'all to drink.
here's a partial list of some of them:
fruitcake
doily
rally {as in to get up and go}
party {as a verb}
pork
soften
caramel {but only when pronounced “care-ah-mel”}
authentic {used as a describing someone}
pop-up store
freckles
mozzarella {but only when giada de laurentiis utters it; my friend this as ammunition to NOT learn how to cook}
jiggle
clog
encrusted
dollop
panties {especially when said by a man}
enjoy {when food is served}
golden
mastication
donzo
chill-alxin
ointment
oriental
scaly
now these aren't technically words, but there were big problems with the sayings: "it is what it is," and: "bring it in for the real thing," which apparently means "give me a hug".
then there were the more bodily ick words:
phlegm, pus, mucous, secretions, john boehner, and of course: vagina.
on that note, weekend happy to you m'loves. wishing you an ick free 48 hours.
see you on the other side of sunday.
safe word: cute
do you have some words that give you the ick? i don't mean profanity or bodily functioning words. i'm talking about completely acceptable words {to some} that for some reason, when you read, hear or say them, your body becomes a histamine releasing, shoulder shimmying, un-hostess-like vessel, sending you into bonkers-ville.
i do.
for example, i have a friend who cringes over “bev-nap”. we both share a disdain for “moist”.
i have recently launched an offensive against the use of “sunnies”, an absurd term seeming to have swept through the fashion blogosphere whence referring to one's sunglasses. i cannot control my own bile when i read this word.
face. i’m not a fan of the word face. it’s just so...... facial. although, for a word i dislike so much i will say i use it often.
trough. i detest this word. but more because of my incapacity to remember how to properly pronounce it. when read out loud i want to say “trou” as in rhymes with “cow”…as in “drop trou”. or i want to rhyme it with “tough”. if i see it up ahead in a sentence….even if i'm just quietly reading to myself, i'll start jonesing for ativan just to quell the rising anxiety of getting through the silly passage. i mean, come one? do we really need this word any more? when was the last time you actually saw an actual trough? lemme guess? were there pigs? can’t we just call it a feeding bin?
but the end all, banned from the house, say it and you’re sleeping in the car word is: sexy.
hate it! hate it! hate it!
always have. i’d rather hunkiest tell me i have an ass-face then tell me i am or look sexy.
just typing this, my hair follicles {ew…another non-fave} are starting to prickle, and my shoulders are trying to dodge right and left away from the discomfort i’m feeling writing said banned word.
i have others: soda, sneaker, preserves {more of a husband thing…he won’t have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, it has to be peanut butter & preserves wtf??}, guac {as in guacamole}, nudity.
not to worry m'loves. i see a psychiatrist regularly. two of my favorite words are: " i see."
do you have words?
wednesday happy to you.
joy is
a grilled cheese sandwich.
hide nap and seek.
finally scratching that itchy lust to wander.
popsicles.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRUGvArWXLk]
this song over, and over, and over, and over again. and again.
dreamier live version with johnny depp here {oh! my! god!}
first bites.
laundry fresh.
dates with deliverance.
what's making you happy m'loves?
do you smell that?
i did not follow the caylee anthony trial.
from the little i had heard of the case it seemed pretty open and shut. but who am i to deem innocence and guilt?
haven't we all faced false accusations?
i have.
it's a hands triple-tied behind your back, cat hair in your eye, trapped in a door-less, vent-less dark room kind of feeling.
all you have is your teeth and your voice.
in these circumstances i choose my voice. an inside voice. sometimes one that only i can hear.
but it speaks the truth and it prefers singing lullabies of peaceful resolution and understanding, rather than spitting spite.
baring teeth, taking bites...those are someone else's strappy sandals.
i can't even kill the cricket under the nightstand.
and. i. HATE. crickets.
but back to yesterday's verdict, i'm a bit perplexed.
from the snippets i saw casey anthony confuses me.
when i lose my car keys i meltdown to epic proportions: alarms are sound, tears are publicly shed, sirens sound, streets are closed.
when casey anthony lost her precious baby caylee......she went dancing.
i am not a mother. the closest i've come to that kind of love are my beloved beasts.
just thinking of my girl lost, taken or harmed by someone and i suddenly understand the word bloodthirsty.
if such event actually were to horrifically occur the above, lullaby, serenading pacifist would not only grow teeth, she'd grow neck ripping fangs, eye gouging claws and all bets would be off.
....someone comes after my child and yes, you may have to lock me up.
something stinks in florida.
and the world will live as one...
i see london, i see france,
i see moonbeams disco dance.
some hear sea and waves.
but for me, my friends, the seashells, spin tales and sagas on par with atwood and irving.
on any day a magazine moose becomes my afternoon confident.
how is he the only one so far who understands?
we later go for a bike ride in the andes.
each morning my lushy, warm backyard awakens like a wave unfurls:
piece by piece its heartbeat rouses and grows stronger; the beast and i make our rounds to our pals, the flowers, bugs and trees, offering them coffee and croissants.
my tub, my fortress in the forest of fairies, conceals me from the dragons and ogres wanted me to drink the local witch's kool-aid brew.
hidden and safe, i stop up leaks of doubt and floods of fear. my hoover dam is a conscience clear and an open heart.
beast by my side, petals lapping in rosy unison round the basin, candles flickering in time to the peaceful ballet of the nighttime nymphs who prepare the house for sleep.
fairy tales do come true.
my evening crew takes watch. keeping vigil over a bedtime that is all too often elusive and full of fret.
drowsy drunk on the night jasmine piping up through the bedroom window, my bumble bee brain begins to slow down.
i can hear the footsteps of mr. sandman. off to dreamland i go....let the true fantasies begin.
you may say i'm a dreamer....i hope someday you'll join me.
carry on my wayward soldier
you ever just know you're going to have one of those days?
those days where you just know you're going to find yourself face down in the bottom of a bag of kettle corn, licking the last remnants of salt, sugar and the wounds of the day.
the kind of the day where all you want to do is put your flannel lanz nightgown back on, hide under your laura ashley sheets, watch ally mcbeal reruns until you too, along with portia, courtney and calista, develop an eating disorder; and then afterward, get all "ironic" and emo with old alanis c.d's.
that kind of day?
tis the day i'm about to have. i can smell its prelude. but instead of black flying my chardonnay, i'm strapping on my boots, and facing this mutha head on. there will be no unisex bathroom in my future today.
tuesday happy m'loves.
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.
my twelve stages of grief
shock.
tears.
depression.
rage.
insanity.
a bakery visit. or two.
public display of insanity.
a brief 'loss of time'.
more sweet and safe.
taking to bed.
finding the perfect anti-depressant.
beauty school dropout
if you looked in my bathroom drawers, you'd think i'd be a wizard at the sun-kissed face, the glossy lip and the come hither eye.
but i have neither the skills nor time to keep a post hotel du cap summer flush, or nights in black satin stare.
i could open a mini-sephora with the potions and lotions and serums i possess. parabens and free radicals be gone...if only i remembered to apply.
and for the locks? oh my.
such the sucker for fancy, if it smells like catalina and promises to take the japanese straight and stubborn out of my hair, i'm slammin' that amex down.
but to be honest my home hair products {shampoo included} haven't been touched in over a year.
i've come to rely on my gym for my hair needs. their locker room product is kiehls. which is probably higher brow than the stuff i have under the sink anyway.
hunkiest, sweet as he is, is always encouraging me to take an hour or two to lady it up at a spa; get pretty and pampered.
i'd take him up on it:
a) if i had the time
b) if i didn't get so antsy pantsy
the last time i had a spa day i became so anxious {with all the calm and quiet} i got sick from emotionally eating all the dried apricots in the meditation room.
i always forget: a dried apricot is AN apricot; just because they're tiny doesn't mean too many won't make you vomit.
my nails are shorty short, like a nervous 3rd grader's. when i paint them using colors from my paint box of acquired polishes, it looks like i let my beast priscilla hold the brush.
{actually i may let her, she is quite deft when i comes to certain things: reeses peanut butter cups, pillows, pink sweaters}
i go to the nail salon where i am always taken to task for my lack of length. i have girlish shaped hands, but apparently mannish sized nail beds.
i don't bite my nails, i just prefer them super short. less room for dirt, germs, or hurt.
my town is brim full of just blown out, peaches & cream complected, coral lipped, matching coral nailed beauties.
most of them, at the gym, looking like this, on stairmasters, as i type.
not overdone, not cartoon-bravo tv types either.
these lovelies are A+ students in the everyday school of beauty.
always doing their homework, never missing a class or chance for extra credit {bright lips for spring}, they are always flawless faced, hair'd, fingered and toe'd.
as for me, i enroll every new semester, buy my books and syllabi creams and lipsticks, but then drop the class two weeks in.
i'm a lazy student. i have the melasma and short nail beds for proof. i wear my silly hats and sunscreen and giant tom ford's which practically cover me down to my chin. that's where it ends.
tell me m'loves which category do you fall into?