the great white out
ok m'loves. i need your help. i finally got the nod to paint my brown walls.
they're actually benjamin moore decorator's white, but in my opinion, they have always looked brown, dirty dishwater brown to be specific.
can you brilliant minds suggest equally brilliant, bright, find-your-sunglasses, put your spf-30 on, whites?
here are some photos of whites i like:
although our home is nowhere near jonathan alder's funky-fresh vibe, his pop white is right up my alley.
i definitely want a cool, parisian tone. i can smell creamy and warm a mile away. pretty, but i've done it, smoked it, free-based on it, it's no longer welcome in my waterpipe.
this last picture here closest resembles my current brown white walls: dingy, sooty, drab, tan.
i need to pop a prozac just looking at them.
any suggestions would be much appreciated.
thank you darlings.
take that june!
if you continue with your doom and gloom...
i'll bring the sunshine here myself!!
and scene.....
i have a commercial audition today. they're calling for an upscale, asian professional girl.
okay?
well, i'm sure my competition {let's not kid ourselves that's what they are} will show up in smiles, skirts, kitten heels, hips matchstick slim; pretty and polite.
i could go my normal route: a witty {in my version}, freckle-faced, overly caffeinated, overly sweet, overly-hipped, half-jap. typically attired in jeans, a strappy sandal, stripey tank, and yummy, blankety sweater. more a fresh from the coast rather than straight from soho house.
but last week's acting class emphasized playing the opposites. working your unexpected.
i'm thinking liu wen fierce. nothing is more diametric or not in the cards. 
if i choose this detour, i'd wear my girliest man-suit and stilts for heels.
my attitude: aloof.
arms: akimbo.
mouth: vapidly ajar.
deeply digging into my mako shark japanese ancestry i'll tiger lily my competition out of said "disney hotel" spot.
yes. i said "disney".
maybe a quick mulan run through before my drive up might be more advantageous.
crushed berry velvet works so well in southern california june.
especially sitting in 405 traffic. 
who am i kidding?
i'll go into casting, like i typically do, a buffoonery of manners and a smothering of courtesy, wearing something utterly appropriate and identical to my fellow starlets.
asian cool, i don't have....but this little fantasy you obliged me was fun.
wednesday happy m'loves.
who wore it best?
last week, one of my favorite blogs, the red carpet-fashion awards, paired abigail breslin up against annalynne mccord wearing the the alice + olivia dawn jumpsuit.
who do you think wore it best?
well, not to sound like a puffy peacock, i think i wore it best...and here's why...
i thought the belt was terrible {snake-skin looked cheap}; i flipped it around, and took it to a tailor to make sure it didn't droop á la abigail.
the neckline was the prettiest part of the ensemble, i hate when necklaces/accessories detract from outfit. i limited my fancies to a woven gold cuff and geode earrings {i was in santa fe}. a vintage 70's taupe clutch rounded out the party. and my extremely flat, concave chest {the ultimate in vintage accessorizing} gave it that 1930's kate hepburn look i love.
regardless of whether i'd have received red carpet's nod of approval, hunkiest gave me a double thumbs up: giant win in this girl's dear diary.
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.
les chanteuses de 60's
as the weather gets warmer my music taste definitely brightens with the california sunshine.
lately i've been diving back into my sixties french pop.
10th grade, madame jester's french class: i was a goner with just one play of françoise hardy's "tous les garçons et les filles du mon age."
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1Y_7XjkJ0g]
since then i've been in deep smit with the french lassies of the yė yė movement: a musical style lead by females {yee-haw}, mostly in europe, during the 1960's. heavily influenced by the french radio show "salut les copains" where each week a new sweetheart would debut her new song, these girls typically sang sweet lullabies to love lost, love longed for, and all with the innocence of pigtails. these debutantes typically soared straight to number 1.
christine delaroche {this entire video needs to be a 10-page, glossy, fall editorial}.
chantal kelly {love this song: watch it buddy!!: fragile heart here.}
mireille mathieu {less pop, more piaf, but packs a punch nonetheless...great for sunday morning coffee}.
even if you don't fancy the music, the style alone of these damsels françaiseis enough to get lost in you-tube land and google-image country.
wednesday 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?
thank you
i can't thank you enough for the messages, comments, calls and gifts. losing truman was such a shock.
he went to bed last saturday night with {what we thought} was the health of a pup. he definitely had the demeanor and show of dog with at least 3 or 4 years left. he woke up sunday morning, riddled with cancer, ready to die.
my o.c.d., my need to plan and prepare for everything, has been knocked out of alignment. like a disc that's been herniated, i crave to put everything back in its perfect, scheduled, peaceful, non-heartbreaking order.
bitch twitch, who had disappeared, is back with full vengeance. if i knew where and what my chakras were, i'm supposing they're scattered in different counties, hamlets and cays getting their spring break on on my dollar and peace of mind.
i will emerge from my blue. i always do. usually i just had truman to help me.
tru blue baby i love.....
"truman"
beloved boy
march 6 2000-may 24 2011
where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. i miss you like hell. ~edna st. vincent millay
and the sleaze goes on....
i'd like to preface this post by saying i truly, sincerely wished friday's confession would be a purge of my somewhat sooty ways.
a press of the publish button and i had hoped class and sophistication to magically fairy godmother themselves into my manners and circumstance.
i so badly want to be that girl: nary a hiccup in dress nor a stumble in decorum. i want to trombone out beautiful, tasteful soliloquies of peace and love, all the while wearing pretty dresses and sparkly headbands.
well, as an ex of mine used to say to me, with the warmth of nurse ratched, {typically when my face was streaming with tears},
"it's good to want things."
so here goes my sojourn back into smut-ville:
it began with a text. not from me. to me. and to my friend alison*, FROM our mutual friend rachel*.
a photo text actually.
a banana.
with the caption "miss me"? underneath.
ok, we've all seen bridemaids by now; the cat is out the bag:
ladies can be just as salty as the gents....
obviously rachel wasn't asking for banana recipes from dee-jay burnt toast and sergeant take-out 7 days a week.
so we, the wilson phillips of harmonic obscenity, proceeded with our typical "reply all" racy text banter.
i think there was mention of lubricant.
and maybe a graphic reference or two to anatomy.
{my readership is dwindling by the sentence i know}
typical friday banter, mind you alison kept all of this up while volunteering in her youngest's first grade classroom;
talk about supermom.
thinking the filth-fest had run its course, all of us returned to our afternoon duties: carpools, work, errands, etc;
when suddenly an unidentified number rings up alison:
a man, fury in his voice, rage in his belly, demanding to know the source of the inappropriate texts to his wife!!!!!
as alison gets lectured on text tact, the same unidentified number pops up on our conversation chain reading:
"so nice to see what the wives do during the day."
in her eager-beaver desire for bawdy banter, rachel had accidentally included her HUSBAND'S!!! number in our girl's only chat.
obviously mr. rachel wasn't too keen on midday texts to his wife involving astroglide and i'm pretty sure the word vag {soft g}.
luckily it was all straightened out....and yes!! another lesson learned.
i think.
i hope.
there's always tuesday.
*names have been changed to protect the not so innocent
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.