I've been having buyer's remorse for an item that I can't return - my laser treatments. Not that I don't love my skin - I do! It's smooth and even. So beautiful. Unfortunately, the car went back into the shop, I still owe this month's rent, I had car insurance/registration to pay this month, and, (gasp!) I got a ticket...for jaywalking! $190!!! Even after I get my alimony check I'll still be in the hole for last month. Things are getting real, financially speaking.
I did have the chance to debut my beautiful new skin at my cousin's kid's wedding this weekend. It was at Wente Winery in Livermore, Ca. Ugly name for a beautiful area. I guess you could call it the eastern Bay Area wine country. I had to pay for my room ($93) and transportation ($117), putting me further in the hole. My cousin and I aren't all that close but her daughter married a rich kid and they invited, like, 600 people - everyone they knew, apparently, who were on the west coast and not away on some far flung vacation or basking in the cold wind at their Hamptons summer houses.
It was beautiful, as all weddings are (in one way or another.) The flowers were exquisite - peonys, roses, hydrangeas, stock, and dusty miller - all in the most delicate shades of peach, cream and pink. I snagged a couple of bouquets to take home and made four large arrangements which I've artfully scattered about the apartment.
The bridesmaids, all 12 of them wrapped in slightly different peach silk chiffon dresses, looked like tall, fluffy flowers themselves. Dinner was salmon, harcots verts, mescalun salad, and tiny roasted potatoes, followed by big slices of spongy white wedding cake filled with lemon curd and topped with a froth of ivory tinted buttercream. The dancing lasted long into the night, lubricated with oceans of wine, champagne and microbrews.
By 10 am the next morning, 27 people had come down with the flu. Today I'm queasy, but it's probably just the nauseating reek of dying flowers.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Sunday, June 9, 2013
From the Headlines
OMG! did you read about that guy, Papa Joe Aviance, who lost a ton of weight eating from the '99-cent' store!? What did I tell you guys? It's an awesome place to shop, and it's not all about the junk food, either. You go, Papa Joe!
File this under 'what-the-hell-is-happening-to-us': Santa Monica College, where five people were gunned down on Friday, is about a mile and a half from my apartment. It's as if the 'nice-guy-suit' that most people walk around wearing is beginning to fray and split at the seams. I mean, violence is a constant, I get that, and stuff like this has been happening all along but it seems to me that more people are boiling over faster and bringing down more victims more often. Is is just me, or does it seem that way to any of you? So many people are unemployed, and a growing percentage of them aren't even being counted because they've just given up. They live in friend's garages, on auntie's couches, in tents in their ex's backyards, or in walmart parking lots in their cars. And those are just the 'homed'; let's not even start on the 'homeless'.
It makes me ashamed of my recent whining, and all the more determined to get a job. Or make a job, or something...
File this under 'what-the-hell-is-happening-to-us': Santa Monica College, where five people were gunned down on Friday, is about a mile and a half from my apartment. It's as if the 'nice-guy-suit' that most people walk around wearing is beginning to fray and split at the seams. I mean, violence is a constant, I get that, and stuff like this has been happening all along but it seems to me that more people are boiling over faster and bringing down more victims more often. Is is just me, or does it seem that way to any of you? So many people are unemployed, and a growing percentage of them aren't even being counted because they've just given up. They live in friend's garages, on auntie's couches, in tents in their ex's backyards, or in walmart parking lots in their cars. And those are just the 'homed'; let's not even start on the 'homeless'.
It makes me ashamed of my recent whining, and all the more determined to get a job. Or make a job, or something...
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Namaste, Bitches!
Ok, just how did you bitches (and you know who you are) read 'homophobe' into my last post? I've had an onslaught of flack about Mark and my 'attitude' toward him. First, I didn't call him a weirdo. I said "we ALL" are weirdos. Humans, it seems to me, are all a little skittish, twisted, dangerous, and demented. Every one of us, in one way or another. Mark was very forthcoming about his fetish and I listened politely. I didn't try to talk him out of it or suggest a 12-step group. I just listened and nodded occasionally - that's what friends do. We support each other. Besides, Mark's not gay...exactly. He's maybe bi, he thinks, but he's not sure because his only gay affair lasted just a couple of weeks when he was in high school. Whatever...point is: as long as it doesn't include kids, animals or dead people I really couldn't care less who Mark, or any of you all for that matter, do the nasty nekked with.
I do, however, care who I do it with. And I haven't done it in quite some time. So I'm a little bit tense and snapish. Sorry. Peace out.
I do, however, care who I do it with. And I haven't done it in quite some time. So I'm a little bit tense and snapish. Sorry. Peace out.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Blood Orange Pinkberry
Remember Mark, the former lawyer I met on the bus? The one who used to work for my lying cheat of an ex-husband? Well. he called last week to say that he'd remembered something about Barney's business dealings, something he thought I'd like to know. We met at Pinkberry yesterday. He bought me a Blood Orange frozen yogurt (with chocolate chips) and dished a little dirt about Barney. Apparently he was shuffling assets around while claiming to be broke while he waited out the statute of limitations on a few debts he'd stopped making payments on. The companies he was defaulting on pursued him, even started judgement proceeding, but he slipped through their hands like a greased pig. Mark has a lot of paperwork and notes and stuff. I haven't really wrapped my mind around it yet but I know there's something there that I can work with.
Mark and I talked about how our lives have changed in the past year or two. We used to have 'everything', or we thought we did. Now we're both taking the bus. I asked him about the transvestite thing. He said it started when he was still working as a lawyer. His job was seriously stressful and sometimes at work he'd have these panic attacks, which he had to try and hide from everyone. He'd always been fascinated by women's underwear and had a few pairs of satin panties hidden in his drawers at home. He never wore then, just took them out and looked at them every once in awhile. Well, this one day things were getting pretty tense at work and he felt an attack coming on so he went to the men's room and locked himself in a stall to calm down. He checked his jacket, looking for a cigarette, and discovered that he's stuffed a pair of pink thong panties in one of the pockets. He began to stoke the material and noticed after a few minutes that he'd calmed down. Something about fingering the fabric made him more relaxed. He started carrying a pair around at work. When things got bad he's just slip his hand in his pocket and stroke those panties for a minute and it would pass, kind of like a security blankie, I guess.
Things escalated from there. He started to wear the panties to work, always being careful to avoid letting any of the other guys see them in the bathroom. The constant feel of that soft fabric kept him calm most of the time. Soon he needed more stimulation to keep the attacks at bay so he bought a long blonde wig which he took to wearing around the house after work. He'd sit at the computer and stroke the long nylon hair while wriggling around in the panties. It was a short leap from there to wearing the stuff out in public occasionally. Anyway, it was interesting to hear him tell it.
What a bunch of weirdos we all are, us humans. I have no tips or recipes tonight. Just a splitting headache and a slightly peeling face.
Mark and I talked about how our lives have changed in the past year or two. We used to have 'everything', or we thought we did. Now we're both taking the bus. I asked him about the transvestite thing. He said it started when he was still working as a lawyer. His job was seriously stressful and sometimes at work he'd have these panic attacks, which he had to try and hide from everyone. He'd always been fascinated by women's underwear and had a few pairs of satin panties hidden in his drawers at home. He never wore then, just took them out and looked at them every once in awhile. Well, this one day things were getting pretty tense at work and he felt an attack coming on so he went to the men's room and locked himself in a stall to calm down. He checked his jacket, looking for a cigarette, and discovered that he's stuffed a pair of pink thong panties in one of the pockets. He began to stoke the material and noticed after a few minutes that he'd calmed down. Something about fingering the fabric made him more relaxed. He started carrying a pair around at work. When things got bad he's just slip his hand in his pocket and stroke those panties for a minute and it would pass, kind of like a security blankie, I guess.
Things escalated from there. He started to wear the panties to work, always being careful to avoid letting any of the other guys see them in the bathroom. The constant feel of that soft fabric kept him calm most of the time. Soon he needed more stimulation to keep the attacks at bay so he bought a long blonde wig which he took to wearing around the house after work. He'd sit at the computer and stroke the long nylon hair while wriggling around in the panties. It was a short leap from there to wearing the stuff out in public occasionally. Anyway, it was interesting to hear him tell it.
What a bunch of weirdos we all are, us humans. I have no tips or recipes tonight. Just a splitting headache and a slightly peeling face.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Red Faced and Broke
There is no way to soft-pedal this so I'll just spit it out: I sold the brooch and spent the money (plus some) on fractal laser treatments.That sleazy UPS driver-slash-MLM wrinkle cream huckster really rattled my cage. I stewed about it for days then finally grabbed the pin out of the safe deposit box and hightailed it to Aram, the Armenian jeweler. He's got an elegant little shop off Melrose where he sells estate pieces, makes custom jewelry for exclusive clients and, on occasion, buys baubles off desperate old ladies. He and my father go way back, I mean waaaay back - all the way to Yerevan, in the old country. He was pretty generous, I think, and gave me a more-than-fair price for the aquamarine brooch. I should have put it in the bank, or paid my rent through next month, or paid off the credit card. Anything but have my skin blasted off with a ray gun. I mean, no matter how dewy my face looks I can't change the fact that I'm still thirty-six. That's about fifty-eight in Hollywood years. I must have been temporarily insane.
Nadia, god bless her, gave me a deal on two sessions - $3800. I got $2900 for the brooch and cleaned out the bank account to come up with the rest. So now I'm hiding out in my apartment for a few more days while the swelling goes down. I started another project - a decorated box for my bathroom counter. I found the box in the alley. It's really a drawer from an old dresser. I painted it with the last of the white shoe polish and painted big roses on it with nail varnish. I glued some rhinestones on it then decopaged the inside with a paper party napkin printed in an allover rose pattern. I think it looks pretty cool.
Recipes and Household Tips for the Recently Impoverished #6
Look at everything with new eyes. People throw out the most useful junk. That beat-up wooden drawer can have new life as a bathroom oragnizer.
Nadia, god bless her, gave me a deal on two sessions - $3800. I got $2900 for the brooch and cleaned out the bank account to come up with the rest. So now I'm hiding out in my apartment for a few more days while the swelling goes down. I started another project - a decorated box for my bathroom counter. I found the box in the alley. It's really a drawer from an old dresser. I painted it with the last of the white shoe polish and painted big roses on it with nail varnish. I glued some rhinestones on it then decopaged the inside with a paper party napkin printed in an allover rose pattern. I think it looks pretty cool.
Recipes and Household Tips for the Recently Impoverished #6
Look at everything with new eyes. People throw out the most useful junk. That beat-up wooden drawer can have new life as a bathroom oragnizer.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Nip and Tuck...STAT!
Oh...my...GOD! I don't even know where to start. Ok, so I went out for coffee with Larry, the UPS driver. He was so sweet. We talked about how much we both love animals, working out, and skating along the strand. He's also from the Central Valley so we had similar childhoods in common too. Things were going along just swimmingly for about twenty minutes then, out of the blue, he asks me about my skincare regime.
Skin care regime? Really? The guy whips out his business card and a sample of a wrinkle cream he's selling via some cheesy MLM scheme...scam, whatever. He started blathering on about peri-menopausal skin care. "You know, as women age you really need to protect against the effects of reduced hormone production. Especially you blondes." He actually used the term 'peri-menopausal'. I'm thirty-six, not forty-six! I didn't know whether to slug him or sink throught the floor. I was actually speechless. I grabbed my keys, jumped up out of the chair, and left him sitting there with his big, dumb mouth hanging open. Before he could even say a word I'd hit the door and was sprinting for home. At least I was smart enough not to tell him where I live!
Wrinkle cream. I want to cry. I miss Nadia (my cosmetic surgeon) so much I can barely stand it. She's wonderful and we were just about to do another fractal laser treatment when Barney kicked me to the curb. Two grand for beauty treaments used to be nothing - chump change. Now it's miles beyond my reach.
I've got to get a real job. The canvassing continues but it's getting old quick. People are so rude! I've been holding on to one last piece of jewelry, sort of as an insurance policy. It's a beautiful old pin - they used to call it a 'brooch' - that my great aunt left me. It's in a stylized flower shape, made of three colors of gold, and has a large aquamarine in the center. I think it was made in the 1920's. My good angel keeps telling me to leave it in the safe deposit box for a rainy day. My bad angel says "It's raining cats and dogs, girl! Go ahead, cash that sucker in! It will just about pay for the fractal treatments. Think about how good you skin will look! So creamy, so flawless! It's an investment, really. You can lie about your age and pass for 25...27, tops!"
I need chocolate.
Skin care regime? Really? The guy whips out his business card and a sample of a wrinkle cream he's selling via some cheesy MLM scheme...scam, whatever. He started blathering on about peri-menopausal skin care. "You know, as women age you really need to protect against the effects of reduced hormone production. Especially you blondes." He actually used the term 'peri-menopausal'. I'm thirty-six, not forty-six! I didn't know whether to slug him or sink throught the floor. I was actually speechless. I grabbed my keys, jumped up out of the chair, and left him sitting there with his big, dumb mouth hanging open. Before he could even say a word I'd hit the door and was sprinting for home. At least I was smart enough not to tell him where I live!
Wrinkle cream. I want to cry. I miss Nadia (my cosmetic surgeon) so much I can barely stand it. She's wonderful and we were just about to do another fractal laser treatment when Barney kicked me to the curb. Two grand for beauty treaments used to be nothing - chump change. Now it's miles beyond my reach.
I've got to get a real job. The canvassing continues but it's getting old quick. People are so rude! I've been holding on to one last piece of jewelry, sort of as an insurance policy. It's a beautiful old pin - they used to call it a 'brooch' - that my great aunt left me. It's in a stylized flower shape, made of three colors of gold, and has a large aquamarine in the center. I think it was made in the 1920's. My good angel keeps telling me to leave it in the safe deposit box for a rainy day. My bad angel says "It's raining cats and dogs, girl! Go ahead, cash that sucker in! It will just about pay for the fractal treatments. Think about how good you skin will look! So creamy, so flawless! It's an investment, really. You can lie about your age and pass for 25...27, tops!"
I need chocolate.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
White Noise
My mind has been a blank lately. Nothing but white noise. I used to be so proactive and efficient - a real little problem-solver. Nothing got me down. Now I feel like I'm just treading water in the sea of life, waiting for something to happen. Either I'll get rescued, drown, or become shark food. The canvassing job has another few weeks to go and, quite frankly, it's kicking my butt. I've lost a little weight but it seems to be slow going, even though I'm eating next to nothing and walking miles each day.
Aurora told me that Harmony is sporting a big, honking diamond. Apparently she's planning a wedding. We're not even legally divorced yet and Barney can't wait to tie the knot. Again. This makes number four. I almost feel sorry for her.
But all is not tears and sorrow chez Alexis, because...(wait for it)...I'm going on a real, live date! I went to an art opening tonite at Christopher Grimes Gallery in Santa Monica. The installation was interesting, although I didn't quite get it. Something to do with spaces, and windows, and the spaces between windows...whatever. It was free and included tapas.
So I started making small talk with this guy. He's cute, has a nice personality, and - bonus - he drives a truck for UPS. I mean, it's a pre-req that all UPS drivers are hotties. Anyhow, we're meeting for coffee next Wednesday. Good thing, too, because I was beginning to wonder what might be wrong with me. Do I have 'Desperate Divorcee' scrawled across my forehead in red Sharpie, or something? Maybe I've just been giving off touch-me-not vibes. I'm going to go facebook-stalk him now.
P.S. No recipes or tips tonight - I just can't muster the energy.
Aurora told me that Harmony is sporting a big, honking diamond. Apparently she's planning a wedding. We're not even legally divorced yet and Barney can't wait to tie the knot. Again. This makes number four. I almost feel sorry for her.
But all is not tears and sorrow chez Alexis, because...(wait for it)...I'm going on a real, live date! I went to an art opening tonite at Christopher Grimes Gallery in Santa Monica. The installation was interesting, although I didn't quite get it. Something to do with spaces, and windows, and the spaces between windows...whatever. It was free and included tapas.
So I started making small talk with this guy. He's cute, has a nice personality, and - bonus - he drives a truck for UPS. I mean, it's a pre-req that all UPS drivers are hotties. Anyhow, we're meeting for coffee next Wednesday. Good thing, too, because I was beginning to wonder what might be wrong with me. Do I have 'Desperate Divorcee' scrawled across my forehead in red Sharpie, or something? Maybe I've just been giving off touch-me-not vibes. I'm going to go facebook-stalk him now.
P.S. No recipes or tips tonight - I just can't muster the energy.
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