aged and confused
i sit here, and can feel my face age as i type. the back of my brain sloping up and over my forehead snuffing out my eyebrows. with my iris' in tow, my temples have strung themselves out on opposite sides of the room giving my geisha heritage more facial real estate. no amount of la mer is going to remedy this hot mess. best to bid all a good day. and start fresh anon. a bientot mes amis.
"a single man"
bated breath.
tom ford's directorial debut: "a single man."
julianne moore can send me into the fetal position without uttering a word. corpse blue, she still manages to outperform her peers. heard colin firth already took home best actor honors in venice. and sorry, if ginnifer goodwin doesn't make you, licking batter out of a bowl, happy; our friendship stops right here.
pre-screenng, i plan to steep in monsieur ford's black orchid till my pores bleed patchouli and vanilla. then i'll saran wrap his 1996 black matte jersey dress (after i hunt one down) over my sandalwood scented body, and pair his 2004 spring/summer palace rhinestone t-straps with said frock.junketing for the l.a.times, captain ford resolves his foray out of fashion and into film down to a simple midlife crisis. "midlife is when you get to the top of the ladder, only to realize you've had the ladder against the wrong wall." he sees this film as a "personal reaction to the prevalent culture of more, of almost always thinking life will improve with a new job, or a new pair of shoes."
i'm on pins and needles to take that small sabbatical from improving my life shoe shopping, and escape into this visual candy land.[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eafJ4jvf-sY]
Blue Springs Home
i had a silly good time with susan and tania at blue springs home. i finally saw, in person, the tumbleweeds, susan had been bragging blogging about.
pretty! pretty! pretty! like crinoline and tulle peaking out over baskets and buckets.
only susan could make dead, roadside weeds into something splendid. she sees tumbleweeds and envisions something stupendous for her coffee table. i see tumbleweeds, and am reminded to call my bikini waxer.
below you can see what i've done with some of my wonderful finds from Blue Springs Home. All through the end of the month they're offering 20% off all furniture, bedding and accessories in their store?!?!?! crazy!!
susan is sweet enough to bring to me some of my own tumbleweeds. my plan is to crumble and sprinkle them throughout the house like tinsel. i know the beasts will like it. maybe dust a few in the pink tree? BAM!! i have ornaments. fa-la-la-la-la- la-la-la-lah.
To the Loonhouse
swear to god this virginia woolf bitch is kicking the shit out of me. furiously, red read the same page nine times last night. three entire sheets of paper dedicated to paint strokes ten years passed. i'm the one ready to put stones in my overcoat.and my does ginny love her drawn out sentences. the following (sentence) numbers 260 words:"The gruff murmur, irregularly broken by the taking out of pipes and the putting in of pipes which had kept on assuring her, though she could not hear what was said (as she sat in the window which opened on the terrace), that the men were happily talking; this sound, which had lasted now half an hour and had taken its place soothingly in the scale of sounds pressing on top of her, such as the tap of balls upon bats, the sharp, sudden bark now and then, "How's that? How's that?" of the children playing cricket, had ceased; so that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts and seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again as she sat with the children the words of some old cradle song, murmured by nature, "I am guarding you--I am your support," but at other times suddenly and unexpectedly, especially when her mind raised itself slightly from the task actually in hand, had no such kindly meaning, but like a ghostly roll of drums remorselessly beat the measure of life, made one think of the destruction of the island and its engulfment in the sea, and warned her whose day had slipped past in one quick doing after another that it was all ephemeral as a rainbow--this sound which had been obscured and concealed under the other sounds suddenly thundered hollow in her ears and made her look up with an impulse of terror."this sentence can also translate into: "mrs. ramsay, while not fully engaged in the hurly burly of her busy house; nevertheless craved it for her sanity." BAM!!!! i did it 20 words.
with sixteen pages to go i was just now advised tis not the novel to bury oneself in come bedtime. hmmm. so, between gathering my own firewood, making homemade bread from scratch every day, feeding the homeless, cleaning the chicken coop, teaching lotte, walking the beasts, and keeping my hair shiny & voluminous; i'm supposed to set aside morning "FREE" time for stream of consciousness analysis?! methinks no.if i had seconds to spare they would be spent laughing, dreaming, or kissing.committed i stay. i'd rather drink draino than read the twilight books. off i return to the lighthouse.image1 image2
Miss Lanvin
i'm a seasonal girl. living in southern california where we are seasonally challenged i like to over-emphasize the calendar with my soundtracks, attire, throw pillows, and scents. tis the time for lanvin's eclat d'arpege. lavender hued, lilac scented; a messed up mashup of fruit and amber. hot earl grey tea matched with clementines. gay and.......somber. ballroom gown in combat boots.fragranced, i'm less cuckoo in comparison. no?when i cry during saturday night live or giggle during requiem for a dream... those discrepancies merely marry my perfume.big smile.image
oh boy iomoi!!!
holiday goodies running amok at iomoi.
tariffs run pricey to thrifty. all show and feel ritzy.
i've been giddy stocking up on hostess gifts, presents for clients, and maybe a little something something for the homestead.
their website alone is a wonka factory feast for the eyes.
happy shopping!
Say Cheese
last gig bought momma a new camera. nudity would have paid for photography lessons.
renting fur in hopes i'll osmotically channel a little diane arbus, minus the razor blades. remember, red scares me.
fingers crossed lens cap is really just gratuitous baby's breath. whereabouts already unknown.
we're still courting, camera and i. not even a little foreplay. snap. no love or lust. i will assume responsibility for this unfulfilling relationship. tis what i do. seize the blame!! i swagger in my ability to fall short. let me call my foul first and loudest; lest you call it afore. hey passive! it's me aggressive, can you hang out?
i digress. camera. i'm calling her alice. the courtship continues, but we're keeping it in a familial kingdom.
the christmas bells that ring there, are the clanging chimes of doom.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jEnTSQStGE]once i hear this song, my christmas season officially begins.it's 1984, i'm 8 years old wearing my "CHOOSE LIFE" 
t-shirt watching the making of Band-Aid over and over again. my dad was able to snag a bootleg copy, and i watched that fucking thing on repeat for 25 days straight. rewinding each time the bananarama girls appeared on screen. i wanted to be keren (she was the brunette.) would try to mimic her portion of "wishing you a happy christmas." very cool, very shy, very skinny......all that i was not.george michael would appear all feathered and hunky in his oversized, black & white geometric, unbuttoned, collared shirt (chest hair amply displayed.) i couldn't hide my love. when watching the video with others (especially parents and adults) i'd try my damnest not to smile back at him. but he'd appear, and i'd lose my self. i'd later cry not understanding why George Michael couldn't come into my life and make it less sad. my mom and aunts would tease me. i hated them. i hated myself more for wanting to escape with a man who talked funny, but who made my stomach swish. so what if an 8-year-old wants to marry a closeted gay man (might turn out better than some of the hetero marriages going on.)george and i have gone our separate lifestyles ways, but it still doesn't change the fact that he's still part of the greatest christmas carol ever (in my opinion.)every time i hear "Feed the World" i truly want to grab a stranger's hand and twirl around the market square yelling Happy Christmas to All!!!!! What songs get you in the christmas spirit?Let's put the song on repeat, turn it up loud, and dance together (sort of.....-you at your screen, me at my screen) around our computers!!!!!!! silly. happy.Ready???....GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Gutty Little Bruins
Biggest game of the season today!! Even though I can't stand our crook coach, I'll be 8 clapping my Bruins into victory. Our arch-rivals are blood thirsty, we haven't played well for years, it will get ugly.But at least we have the hotter cheerleaders.
Check out the Food Librarian's super Martha-y tailgate. Loving the support!
Go Bruins!!!!! Happy Weekend Everyone,Katie
cold
double wool up to my knees. down zippered jacket worn under the covers. two golden retrievers valiantly striving to thaw my feet and chest. the fire cackles worthlessly. why can't i ever get warm?maybe my parents did adopt me from a gecko family?i can feel frost form over my bones. lying down it's an icier chill; less stoke for body heat.don't you dare close that window!!! the cold makes me ache for the honeyed warmth i so greedily took for granted.moving into the cold just for today. 
images
Frocks a Fancy
better than the meal is dressing up for thanksgiving. dinner isn't for another 6 hours, yet my mother is already walking around in her hair rollers. embracing my x chromosomes two, i fantasize having endless access to accouterments couture, you helping me pick which frocks to don. i imagine the following finery tormenting us to make a decision.
pebble
sunup with my boy. cinnamon on my coffee grounds. 27 hours without msnbc, and so far no vomiting, cold sweats, tears (public), or sleep difficulties.
banking my sleep for the rest of the year. for one week, naps take on the intensity of an olympic trial. hh fancies me spoiled at the spa, but i fret such a privileged picnic will take away from precious afternoon dozing.
the beasts bank their activity for rest of the year full, fledged sprints into the wind on the fairways. priscilla leaving her tongue on the tee box. favorite partials strolling with mother.happy days.
Like Celine says...........
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gg9WZ2PFq-w&feature=related]well, we're here. it took us 5.75hours. we stopped 3 times because i insisted on recreating some of the highlights of celine's performance. specifically, the one-legged air guitar ending in a lifted point-flex, point-flex. the calabasas 76 station got the left to right peace sign across my eyes, as i bobbed my head off beat, front teeth to chin. when i had to pee, and didn't want to use the public restrooms i'd just borrow celine's quick, little, grapevine steps around the car; totally solved the problem. the only time things got awkward was when i held her tyrannosaurus rex (1:17) move? HH and the beasts started barking at me to stop, locked me out of the car, and refused to let me in until i promised to cease my homage to miss dion.i complied. but i must say, the ride was definitely not as fun. hmph. gobble gobble.
We're on a Road to.........Somewhere
the car is packed. the playlists are complete. this evening, after my last class, the beasts, hh and i will depart for a 7 hour road trip.tonight begins my favorite week of the year. pebble beach.my entire family under one roof for 6 days. thursday we'll feast at the lodge. i think i've had halibut the last 5 years. no mom's stuffing, no aunt charla's pumpkin pie, no dad carving the turkey. and thank god, no marshmallows amidst yams???!??! (seriously, are you kidding me with that?) this thanksgiving tradition is the only i know, and i crave it all year.13 of us in one house. a lot of ativan prescriptions.divorce. reconciliation. secrets. court. businesses. loans. illnesses. death. this is family. this is my family. this is my beautiful, perfect family. for all the painful tears shed, there have been more tears cried out in hysterics playing cutthroat matches of michigan rummy, or spilt over mugs of coffee during marathon morning fireside funnies. pretty much all my brother has to do is look at me a certain way, and any beverage i'm drinking squirts out my nose in convulsive laughter.
don't get me wrong. i'm sure we will always tote along our buckets of bitterness and "our" versions of the past, but it doesn't change the fact that i bloody love these people to death. and, for this one week when we are together, i have a smile in my stomach, and my face, and i twirl from my eyes to my toes.*images: www.flickr.com/photos/bobmerco/4021421641/www.flickr.com/photos/anezmablack/4126787098/in/pool-blackandwhite
aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
my rope. end of it. me. hello.yesterday's first french press: 4am, first spin class: 6am..........end of last class: 9:40pmcomplete sentences ceased around noon; caveman tongue takes less energy and faculty.spin class: gear...more.....bike..........must go faster........... pilates class: stomach ......be flat...... leg......lift higher........good.......last week a girl fainted in my saturday pilates class. we were doing standing leg series at the wall. i swear i saw brain as her eyes slot machined back into her forehead. i haven't been able to shake the fear of someone fainting now. every time i ask them to stand, huge waves of panic crash over me. i'm convinced they're all going to faint. all at the same time. dominos. instead of watching pelvic girdles and ribcages, i'm looking at everyone's eyes terrified they're about to lose conciousness. they think i want to make out. i will if you PROMISE not to faint!!!!thank god i'm able to push the morphine starbucks button every two hours: more coffee!! more coffee!! more coffee!! more coffee!!! venti! venti!! venti! maybe if i say it in russian or chinese they'll go bigger than the venti?!?!? i'd like a giant ass'd, extra-hot, mutha-fuckin, black, non-sweetened, no-room for cream drip......please.(twice) i, furiously, busted out of my driver's seat, only to be thwacked right back in by my seat belt.........of course with others watching.so here i go again, on this last day of the week. second french press of the day. my hair doesn't frizz, but i'm convinced my eyeballs do. frizzy eyeball girl. tis moi. all i know for oprah-sure is that i can't stop buzz~buzz~buzzing; and all i want to do is drown in creamy, white sheets.for now, i'm going to just sit here for a moment in my "hand" chair and regain a little composure.happy weekend,katie
the weeping buddha
my weeping buddha needs a week off. hand-carved from a single piece of mahogany, soothing the sorrows of our family, four-legged and two. this is his story as told to me:
according to legend, there were two warriors who confronted each other in numerous battles. both of them wore masks and never saw each other's face. after many such encounters the older warrior killed the younger one. upon removing his mask he discovered he had killed his own long lost son. the weeping buddha is the warrior filled with sorrow. by touching the back of the weeping buddha, people can pass all of their sorrow to the weeping buddha, thus making life a little better. 
the weeping buddha soaks up the sorrows and worries of the world and brings peace and compassion to all who rub his back. in other words, the weeping buddha cries so that no one else has to. 
i only wish i could give him an hour or two tear free .i found my weeping buddha at my favorite, gift boutique, fleur de lys. they give you the accompanying story with your buddha.peace,katie
shhh
find me a field for napping today.
no bid for a blanket beneath; the grasses and dandelions bend kindly for sleepy guests. gossamer clouds drift me dreamily into an afternoon reverie; their fleecy cotton shade my face. cadenced buzzing of the bees quiet what yoga couldn't. i lay undisturbed.here, i'll move over. napping fields open unbounded for the warm-hearted. *image Luca Patrone
So Precious
i was fine. it was just a saturday night movie. sat between three i love, the rest strangers. i was fine. i ate my peanut m & m's. got good and cranky at the twits behind me talking during the previews. made a mental note to see penelope cruz's new movie.movie started. no surprises........ i knew. i was fine. mo'nique will certainly win the oscar. i think........ how did she prepare? who was her coach? what did her trailer look like?........ technical things.............. lenny kravitz didn't seem to have a line on his face................. gabourey "gabby" sidibe has the whitest teeth............... i think paula patton and i have a mutual friend.i was fine. it was a hard movie, but i was fine. actually felt a little let down at the flatness i felt. thought the movie would have moved me more. hmmm?sunday morning. tree decorated. laundry folded. errands to be run. i reach for my necklace beads. i start to cry.i see her beautiful, precious face and those sad, sorrowful eyes. those eyes. eyes lidded so heavy with pain they don't blink, widen, or tear. i see her wearing her necklace beads, each day a different color strand, matching her massive sweaters and jackets; a small effort, but an attempt nonetheless. anything to help diminish the horror of her reality. a reality that i know exists for so many.all around me i know there is the silent suffering an abused child.i can't stop crying.i feel stupid. i am spoiled. i feel stupid and spoiled.
I Succumbed!!
well, if HH doesn't want me putting up a bubble gum pink, Christmas tree (again,) he should be a little more courteous whilst primping for his Sunday 6am tee time.as he channeled his inner John Daly, whacking the silly white ball through the dragon's mouth, the early awakened beasts and i begrudgingly made the most of our unexpected wake up call. we decided to yield to madison avenue, the malls, markets, and plain ol' holiday madness. the four of us surrendered to starbucks: their evil eggnog lattes 1 friggin day after Halloween?!?!!?! we put up the christmas tree.two french presses later, we four were cutting a rug to Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass Christmas Album (a must for tree decorating) and erected the pepto bismo-like sapling.why such a hue for a Christmas tree you ask? well........my mother IS Christmas. i think last year she had 7 trees? each more beautiful than the next with tulle, crystals, feathers, fresh flowers, real life fairies, etc. Preston Bailey would have pee'd himself. one gigantic wall in her house just........nutcrackers (giant, wee, grisly, angelic, russian, asian, ???) there isn't a room in her house that does not emit clover, amber and orange spice. the woman knows how to stage a holiday home. one walk through jane's house during christmas time, BOOM!!, osama bin laden, on his knee's, saying the apostles' creed, giving his life up to jesus. she's that good people.anyhow, i know my time constraints: limited. and i know my talent for being crafty: nil. i need a tree that requires zero ornaments that comes pre-lit!! and what girl doesn't want a pink tree?!?!?! i may not convert muslims with this tree, but i may help some boys come out of the closet. it's the season to give people!!!!!!TA-DA!!!!!!