date night
hunky and i continue the courting into our third year of marital happy.
we adhere to a strict date night rule.
{basically only that we have one, once a week}
me and him. him and me. face to face. well, more like my forehead to his chest. he is rather tall, my fella.
he talks, i jabber, he listens, i devour, he laughs, i shriek.
he smiles. i melt.
and although he typically misses the fashion fabulousness i bring to our evening's out,
he never neglects to make me feel choice and only.
maybe it was truffle oil frisée or the french fries with cinnamon ketchup?
but this weekend's date night still has me blushing.
robbed
nothing against the other nominees, but the the ivy must be serving funny mushrooms in that grilled vegetable salad.
how else could such colossal neglect have occurred?
the tom ford gown alone would have been enough to get her on the ballot you buffoons!
best dressed aside; she is, in my opinion, the top girl in her game.
has been ever since her as the world turns days.
{yes, i watched her even then}
never the same lass twice, and never forgettable.
well, my only hope is that since she now has the night of march 25th free; she'll be somewhere else, filming something even more fabulous for me to see next year.
my magic formula
today i have a 10am call time.
regrettably, last night's sleep count clocked in at a dismal 4 hours.
lucky for me there is a solution to the done in mess that is my face.....
hair
makeup
and fairy dust.
image for source
care for a twirl?
everywhere i look, emerald seduction.
yards of drapey, flouncy, twirly skirt;
flashing me in my most adored color.
katie-land {a more fetching word than brain doncha think?} is already fancying up story-lines where i strut this splendid swaddle.
scene 1
my meeting with the big guns:
armed with pluck and groove, i wordlessly say it all with my style.
get outta my way boys, i wear the pants in this room.
scene 2
when the boy i'm soft on turns up,
my shoulders and defenses come down.
i'll need pretty pleats that swish and sway for dancing slow spontaneously in the kitchen, or while waiting in line for peppermint ice cream.
he doesn't need music; i don't need a dance-floor.
scene 3
when the dames want to yuck it up with tequila shooters and 'woo to the hoo's' at the bar;
i'll have just the right sass and shake circling my hips to get that 4th round on the house.
scene 4
{yes, i know it's not a skirt. but it's fucking celine. make an exception here}
scene 5
she rarely comes out....but the vamp exists.
dark lighting, dark rum, and a dark, kelly green helps.
hold on to yer hats and glasses, her mouth is foul and her humor filthy.
scene 6
a fairy skirt for fairy-tale endings.
swirling fantasy and imagination from my ankles up to my eyes.
fabric so fancy miss scarlet herself would be itchy with envy.
i'm inspired to create, love, and kiss.
scene 7
this is the girl i long to be the most.
the explorer. the traveler. the nomad.
she's on a street somewhere, passport in her pocket; half on assignment, half playing hooky.
no blackberry, laptop, ipod, or watch.
the city is her soundtrack, the sun keeps her time.
the freedom.
it almost hurts.
thank you for twirling with me m'loves.
method of mourning
tonight is a big audition; a gut wrenching scene.
a september 11th survivor, a mother of a toddler, a woman bereft of her best friend.
i am none of these.
my preparation has drained me of all of light. i feel hollow and broken.
my condolences to the hand which tries to glue me back together.
i'll never know even a sliver of a real victim's agony.
thus more reason to honor them with every cell of my scene.
in gratitude.
image for source.
busted
i have a problem.
i can't stop eating the peanut butter in our house.
right there out of the jar.
heinous and uncouth.
please, if ever you are our guest, and are offered a sandwich with this said condiment, insist that we use a fresh, unopened bottle. otherwise you are subject to a peanut butter ravaged and abased with my passed, unstoppable spoon dips.
i try to qualify my food crime with buying organic, unsalted, sugar-free peanut butter. in the end though, when you're scraping the bottom of the glass, and your peasant blouse fits like lycra.....does it really matter?
last week i had had enough. i trash canned ALL the peanut butter in the house.
out of sight out of mind. out of my mouth.
{maybe the silverware will go next}
all was going so well until hunky hubby wanted his saturday peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
him: where's all the peanut butter?
me: uh. well, ah...hmm. ahh....don't i look cute in this dress?
20 minutes later my beloved returned from the market with a jar of.....skippy.
skippy?!!!??
skippy, in like annette funicello?
skippy, where the ingredient list has sugar before peanuts?
if ever a label could boast its hydrogenated oil content this one does.
remind me of this when i'm checking in for my bypass surgery.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dXxZufU13qQ]
happy monday m'loves, this youtube walk down memory lane has me major crushing on annette's hair; i'm dashing to the salon.
oh, and yes, i finished that goddamn jar of skippy too.
click image for source
happy weekend
m'loves, riddle me your plans of weekend treat.
i will be working the whole way through.
{giant, dramatic, lea michele sigh}
i hope you're getting a giggle from these silhouettes.
designer, wilhelm stahaele, handcuts these vintage silhouettes,
and then adds his own tasty dash of naughty and quip.
each had me chuckling louder than the next.
{ill advised when sitting alone, attempting to maintain that grunge, frustrated writer, coffee house look.but now that i think of it, my extra shiny penny loafers and cotton candy pink ribbon bracelet ridiculed any angst image i was trying to create}
who am i kidding? i'm a preppy poser at heart.
according to wilhelm's website, when he's not frightening small children with his disfiguring looks he schleps his works for profit.
i've saved my favorite for last.
shitstorm is a pet and prized term in our household.
we use it like mustard. and we put mustard on EVERYTHING.
{last night i had a touch of egg salad with my mustard}
happy weekend dears.
hey mr tangerine man, play a song for me
not much to say today.
other than:
orange you glad it's thursday?
images
a step back
oodles of ravishing shoes in our world.
fancy shapes, heights, and designs.
fetching to me may read utterly ridiculous to you.
we find beauty in our own way. it should be personal.
i tend to forget this.
yesterday i forgot my kinship to someone who is struggling.
why would that person act like that?! i would NEVER do it that way!!
{especially in such put together shoes}
but shame on me;
who am i to really know until i've walked in theirs?
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
lovin' me some lanvin
i know mr. elbaz's frocks size much too fancy for this simple girl.
it's a miracle if a finagle a cuff here, or a sparkle there with the current threads i'm sporting.
but this pre-fall line has me ah-yah-yah'ing à la christina aguilera with each look that pops up in my tmag slideshow.
i'm not a greedy girl. i'm not asking for a leashed panther.
{at least not yet}
but my closet would definitely make room for some of this lanvin finery.
happy weekend
tell me m'loves.
what's in your pocket for the weekend?
my dance card is full with basket after basket of laundry load.
{dryer sheets have been re-stocked}
over and out.
my girl
man she can boil her mama's blood.
nary a lass to nail naughty like my priscilla.
she is my high priestess of highjinks.
'cilla's latest nonsense involves a box of dryer sheets and a 3 minute lag in supervision.
needless to say she {and her internal organs} are smelling april fresh.
i've succumbed to leashing her at all hours...much like those moms who tether their children at the mall.
{i'm one hamburger helper purchase away from collegiate sweats and a scrunchy}
but on a dime she can shift my temper tame.
gaga even.
this crazy girl whom i found on the side of the road.
cracking my heart wide open, pulling it wall to wall, ceiling to floor.
a white blank page
white blank page.
clean slate.
excuse me miss, but do you sell disinfectant for my brain?
something to comet and pine sol the doubt and bitten lip memories loitering in my head.
rejections of ...... the way life used to be.
the jolly and jolt of acting is losing its luster with each no and not right.
telephone silence slashing and slicing into my ever diminishing kettle of pluck and nerve.
BUT
don’t mistake me for dreary or bleak; the opposite rather.
yesterday was a task in wrangling my inappropriate giggle fits.
and each hour i'm given moments so hallmark it's amazing i don't walk around in a 24 hour cycle of blubbering ado.
a phone call with my aunt char, edith piaf at a cafe', a sparkly beret on ella, bird of paradise in morning yoga, a woo-hoo from one of my spin students, feeding the hungry, twirling, howling beasts, texts from my dad, dinner with my 'family', a kiss goodnite from my hunkiest.
a deluge of delights flooding my life.
shame on me if i choose not to recognize them.
so for now i've scoured the deep cornices of my cerebral cortex.
clogs, snags, hindrances begone!
at least until tomorrow....{a girl knows her limits}.
click image for source
let's grow
a weekend not of dancing.
chins to our chest, eyes dark, throats lumpy, and stomachs sick.
we dispatch bundles of comfort and condolence to our arizona sister.
i share with you a video i'd been saving, but today seemed like a perfect fit.
beautiful. simple. remedying.
[vimeo http://vimeo.com/18305022]
with care m'loves.
put on your red shoes and dance the blues
my eyes are still burning bright from yesterday's magnificent fanfare.
i'm convinced the clouds, sun and blue sky were playing a game to see how many atheists they could convert into believers.
streaming beams of luminous love dazzling down every so often from pillowy puffs of white.
a stretched canvas of cartoon blue; fairy godmothers just waiting to cascade out from their corners.
it's these moments when i'm confronted with such grand grace and wide wonder that i feel the most.......small.
wee'er than small.
a speck.
a mite.
a dot dancing herself silly in this universal tome.
yet, i dare not shake and shimmy stag.
while i may not have you lovelies (readers) actually here with me cutting our rug on my makeshift dance floor;
you're on my brain and in my heart.
so let's dance!
happy weekend m'loves.
camera ready?
today i'm shooting the couture campaign for mary jo matsumoto.
nervous knots and fussy butterflies battle for space in my stomach.
hoping my inner crystal renn will emerge come call time.
wish me luck loves.
morning glory
minutes before my cranky alarm chimes her rallying eep
the warm aroma of my morning coffee has already kissed and coddled my gently awake.
the simple, pre-bedtime chore of setting my pot's timer rewards a million times over.
steaming, spicy perk ready for me with a smile as i stumble down to a mocha scented kitchen.
half of my brain still dancing with the mermaids and pucks on the pillow;
i'm wakeful enough to feel tickled and merry for my morning brew.
happy tuesday loves.
tick tock
the clock's second hand cracks like my very own desktop rapping headmistress.
my current peck and pace scantily permits playtime of any kind.
{although my daily fit of giggles somehow always find their way to erupt and emerge}
my list these days just seems more baseball field than bucket.
tis the first year this feathery, pink boa has started to constrict around my neck.
i've worked to shear the feuding and clashing hedges in my path,
but worry some of them may hold buds for tomorrow's bouquets.
my heart, the cadence of my candlelight, the drip of the coffee pot, the rain on the roof....
they all hear it too: tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.
the house beats in one giant, gentle, cruel pulse.
image
happy new year
a toast to you m'loves.
cheers to finding beauty in the blah, rooting clever from the dim, and seeing sparkle in the dull.
let's twinkle-light up our lives a bit, and shine our gaiety 'round.