Friday, June 30, 2006
I met Yves in 1976. Oddly, we met in a gay bar. He could switch from one sex to the other, almost religious-like. Instead of a date, he asked me to tea the following day. I was so intrigued, and the irony of meeting someone in a gay bar was too much, so I said yes.
When we had tea the next afternoon, he wasn't feeling well. He was depressed about his Russian collection, and could not produce ideas fast enough. He began to stare at me in my black turtleneck. I remember he said I seemed Russian to him as well, everything took on a tone of his collection, regardless of the actuality. Eventually, I had to drag the designs out of him. That was years later. Pick up a pencil, and the miracle of the moment makes him study my face, and a dress follows. Suddenly, without plan, pure creation, a surge of thought. Finished, he lights a smoke, and reviews. No one is more surprised than he, no more amazed, the happiest I've ever seen him. Giddy, almost. Then immediately he must stop drawing and do something else.
In those days everything was a time of crisis. He is less scared now that we're together, but he was always afraid about his own fears. Afraid that his fear was unjustified, and the overwhelming aspect of it just tortured him. Day after day, his fear overflows. He's very self-critical, and he hurts himself. He tortures his own mind over those unjustified worries, and he always has.
We were at ease with the tradition, and yet bucked it. We were in love with everything that was a little bizarre, dangerous, black leather-like...we were players in our own minds. Seducers. Passionate, intellectually sophisticated, but also telling big common jokes, the punch-lines of which everyone knew.
He always used to quote, "I prefer honor to honors" and it really is true. He's the most honorable man I've ever met. That's why we're still together.
"The style is what counts" he says. "Fashion fades, style remains". His style will always remain. The classics: the bow in the back, the color connections, the check patterns. The classic safari coat, and the color hued ruffled blouses. The trousers. Always the trousers. He will be remembered forever for that simple act of making women's trousers fashionable again. That's because his style originated in the early 60's with men's clothes. He always used to say that men's clothes gave them earthly confidence, but women did not have such confidence. So he transferred this self-confidence to women in the form of figure, in the form of trousers and suits, and an air of equality. I've worn his pants almost every day since.
To him, fashion is a change in attitude. His favorite attribute of men and women is confidence. He idolized Coco Chanel. Marilyn Monroe. Rita Hayworth. I think that's why he was drawn to me. I attempted to be all three rolled into one for him, and I added in my own weary fearful outlook on life. He saw himself as a woman, in me. Perhaps he saw through the outside, into my inner Marilyn? He could always lean on my arm, looking back at me. Observing the way I stood, the way I moved. The fact that he enjoyed it made me so very happy. I've never had a man just look at me and take it all in. Not sexually, not with any agenda, just pleasing to the eye and palette. That was Yves. He was the only one who could look at me like that.
He once told me "to reach light, you have to go through the clouds", and when he started Saint Laurent, there were so many harsh years of difficulty. Burgeoning couturiers are in high supply. He stood out as a man who truly understood women, inside and out. And now, we've moved on, and we've found each other and success. It's been such a short time that we've been together, but I've loved every second of it.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
...to meet George Clooney.
Ok. Less to meet him, and more to just marry him. We can actually skip the meet alltogether, and go straight to the marrying part.
While attempting to keep up with the world of movies that I'm no longer in (ha! - although I do now know a lot about Brad Grey thanks to LA Magazine) I just read that Ocean's Thirteen will be filming next month on 5 stages here by my house at Warner Brothers. That's within walking distance. In fact, that's 1 minute walking distance.
I really think Mr. Clooney and his gang (Brad, Matt etc...) will probably go to the local Taco Bell for lunch. I mean, they seem like that type, right? I totally think if I hang out there every day for the next 2 months, I'll run into them.
I mean, if I can run into Matthew Fox (married) at the grocery store, then I should fully deserve to run into George Clooney (unmarried) at Taco Bell. And he'll be so smitten with me, we'll immediately retire to his Italian Villa where we'll engage in non-stop physical activities not appropriate for this blog which is read by my mother.
I am so hotter than Krista Allen. Stop laughing. I'm serious.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Stopped in at a new Starbucks this morning, one I hadn't been to before, just to cross it off my list of 'Continental US Starbucks', since I'm attempting to see them all.
And in honor of this new 'bucks, I decided to get a new drink. Since I've become addicted to the 'bucks in 1993, I've had every drink on their menu. And I still know how to order ones that aren't on their menu. So I tried the new Banana Coconut Frappucino. And I just about died.
From their official website, here are the contents : The Banana Coconut Frappuccino blended coffee starts with real banana puree and the finest Latin American coffees, which are blended with premium coconut syrup, milk and ice. Each Banana Coconut Frappuccino drink can then be topped with whipped cream and real toasted coconut flakes for an authentic taste of the tropics.
Sounds good, right? It's AWFUL ! It not only tasted bad, but also tasted nothing like bananas or coconut! It was far too sweet, so much so that I had to add plain milk to it to make it drinkable, and even then, it was sickly sweet!
If you know me, you know that my favorite candy is this see's thing which is brown sugar coated in chocolate. So I have a VERY high sugar tolerance. Or addiction, depending on your point of view. And to say that this drink is TOO sweet? That's like saying...I was going to come up with some big illustrating analogy, but I'm too lazy.
To be betrayed by my beloved bucks is the last straw. Who are these freaks coming up with drinks? Did they actually go to 'drink school' to come up with this bastard version of a crappy Banana Julius?
What ever happened to just a simple half-caf nonfat soy sugar-free double-shot cafe americano?
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Got another email from that company looking for reviewers. This time at least, they asked me to review a documentary on independant filmmakers.
Why you ask? Because they read my info and realized I AM an indie filmmaker? No.
Because I wrote a blog mentioning Robert Redford. And he's kind of known for creating this tiny film festival called Sundance. It's little. Barely even worth bringing up.
At least it's better than being known for poop. I AM reputable when it comes to indie filmmaking. Poop? Well, let's just say I only have time for one hobby.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
This morning I drove to another town for an appointment with the government for my continued unemployment. I thought it was an actual appointment, but I should clarify what exactly happened.
8:45, I arrive for said appointment, and see the first person there. He's an old man. Like 80. He asks for my passport, he jots the number into a computer, looks at me, and he says 'That's it, you're done'. I sort of look askew, thinking he means I'm checked in for my appointment, but he says "No, that's all we needed, just proof of your identity - that's what the appointment was for."
I exit at 8:46.
I am not W. Mark Felt, I swear! How dare Bob Woodward imply such a thing.
I thought the US Government could locate people with a satellite and vaporize them from space. Really. I saw it in Real Genius, and if it was imagined in the 80's, it's got to be real by now. And can't the CIA clone people from their DNA acquired by used kleenex, and then replace us with our clone? What about voice identification, or internet protocols, or just pulling my FBI file. Whoops. I shouldn't have admitted I have an FBI file.
What about my coffee I drank at starbucks yesterday? Didn't they pull my prints off the cup, and then also swab my saliva off the rim for analysis? What about a retinal scan while I'm at the grocery store? I swear that bagger looked at me just a tad too long. Hair in my garbage? How about fingernail clippings? You could also interview all my friends, to confirm I'm me, or just give me a call and say 'is this you? Do you live here?'...and we'd be done.
Seriously. They require that I drive myself to another town, and provide photo identification? 2 types of photo ID? (good thing I had a passport otherwise we'd have a problem.) With an appointment to do so? Am I that sketchy that they need to prove I'm me, like I said I did? Don't I pay taxes from this address? Don't you have my complete life on a file somewhere that you can just compare my license to that satellite photo you took when I went out in my pink robe to get my newspaper on sunday?
And since I'm being logical, isn't my passport a government-issued document? Can't they just pull the info? Why does my physical presence at this office at 8:45 make any difference whatsoever? Couldn't I just GIVE them my passport number online or over the phone? Why do I need to hand it in person to someone?
Can you tell I'm belligerent? Mainly because this involved me getting up early, and spending about 5$ on gas. 5$ that unemployment wont reimburse me for. Although, I could really put in a claim, and get them all riled up about it, and get my $5 back. But I'm too lazy for that. The value of my 3 hours missed sleep is more important.
Oooh..maybe they took my prints off the passport. That might be it. And he did look at me long enough to get a retinal scan with his glasses. In that case, I'll forgive them. Thank god I got those fake latex prints and retinal contact lenses from the CIA just in case. Otherwise, they might have discovered I am G. Gordon Liddy, and then there's no way I'd have gotten my $5. Whew!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Angelina Jolie was interviewed by Anderson Cooper on CNN to talk about babies and her political agenda. I'm sure you all knew that. It was top story on CNN this morning. Also, Anderson Cooper is hot.
Did you also hear that the US activated it's ground-based interceptor missile defense system early to combat a North Korean missile that's on the pad ready to launch? Me neither. Baby Brangelina got more air-time. I think I'm concerned that the #2 story is imminent war, whereas #1 is Angelina. I think. Possibly I'm ok with that.
Peter Beck, defense analyst for International Crisis Group says of North Korea, "If they are really playing a finesse game they will back away but ... they are not known for their finesse game."
Paging Matthew Broderick. Matthew Broderick to NORAD.
Amongst the confusion of Defcon 1 warmongers, I am visualizing that Broderick (age 20, but with SJP at his side) uses his computer genius to hack into Angelina's baby photo stash to spread the wealth of the photo sale amongst the people. Very Robin Hood. In the download time, he also manages to return us to Defcon 5 by talking the North Koreans down from their ivory tower of holier-than-thou. Do we still use the term Defcon, or is it now "Code Red"? Personally I prefer little red lights on the 'offending country'..so it would be "Code North Korea" or on lesser occasions, "Code Monaco."
The word the Pentagon uses to describe the situation? "Provocative." Boy those government peeps have a way with words. Also, in terms of the activation of its missile defense system, which has been in the developmental stage for years...they quote "It's good to be ready."
Although in the same breath, they do clarify that North Korea does not have the ability to miniaturize a nuclear weapon for attachment to said missile. Really? Good. Because I was worried the missile was going to do some damage. I see now that it's just a really large rock. Sticks and Stones North Korea! Sticks and Stones.
Say it with me: "The only winning move, is not to play."
Oh, and here's that Jolie/Cooper interview, courtesy of CNN:
Anderson Cooper: Angelina, you're hot.
Angelina Jolie: Anderson, you're hot too.
Anderson Cooper: Thanks. You have the baby?
Angelina Jolie: Yes.
Camera focuses on Baby Brangelina for the next 59 minutes of interview, while Angelina and Anderson smile. The world applauds.
How about a nice game of chess?
Friday, June 16, 2006
"Oh, here's the mail it never fails it makes me wanna wag my tail, when it comes I wanna wail, MAIL!!!!"
Today I got emails from:
1. Howard Dean - Jeez. You'd think he'd have better things to do than email me. You'd think I had better things to do than to let him.
2. Nine West Shoes - ok, yes I like shoes, No I don't want to review your new catalog before it's published. I can await 2 weeks before my shoes jones start crying out for manolos or really cool spectator pumps. Plus, with no job, there's no need for shoes. I've never been this barefoot since I was 8 and it was summertime.
3. Jazz night reminder from my friend - to be sure I have my cell phone on in the land of cell phones, since lord knows I cant show up somewhere at an appointed time without it. Whatever happened to people saying "I'll see you at 4:00 at starbucks"? No..it's got to be:
3:30 when you've left your parking garage,
3:50 while driving looking for that elusive parking space,
4:01 when you find parking place,
4:09 to have me order you a latte while you're walking there.
Plus 6:05 to tell me we should do it again tomorrow.
4. A possible 'peep' from my 'where are my peeps?' blog about posting names and finding missing persons from my life! He MIGHT be Scot Frazier. Well, he is Scot, but he might be my Scot that I went to school with. But he doesn't remember my name, and I would hope that one of my high school crushes would know my name. It's sort of a 'I'm the only person with this name' thing. I'm not Jane Smith.
In the Snail Mail I got:
1. A sports trading card of ME, specially created by Gatorade. Really. I'm going to scan and post it for you. It's got my photo as a matador on the front, and my stats on the back. My team is 'Los Guajolotes' and it has some of my career highlights. Basically before I was gored in the side and forced to retire. My starting position: Matador. Are there short-stop matadors?
2. Smashbox stuff from QVC. I am oddly now one of those 'I order things off the TV' people. That's very disturbing to admit, and realize...but it was a deal, I tell you! Smashbox powder foundation in the BIG size for the price I paid for the little one. With a FREE brush. FREE! I have no free will when the word FREE is involved. I immediately put it on, so now I look beach bronzed and ready to go out, when in reality I'll just watch TV with cats on my lap. Such an LA life.
The powder came crushed (damaged case) so I called to get them to send me a replacement, and they told me to just keep the damaged one. Yippee! It's not THAT damaged! It's makeup for god's sake. I can put it in another container and it's just fine. Is that bad of me? Yes. Do I care? No. Unemployed writers deserve things like extra damaged makeup. And the free brush came with that, so maybe I'll get another FREE brush! 2 x FREE = SUPER FREE! I have no morals, clearly.
So there you go. That's what I have to blog about. Mail.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll bump into Matthew Fox again, that'll spice things up.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
I am officially reputable. I think I should get a badge, or possibly a captain's hat so that people can call me Captain Reputable.
I got the following email yesterday, and were it not that I read Tracy's blog on a similar email, I would have been really confused and offended.
I just found your poop jokes blog entry:
and I think you may be of some help to me. I'm reaching out to you on behalf of M80 and Ignited Minds regarding the launch of an online game called :
Donkey Pong And The Adventures Of Rimdiana Jones.
Have you heard of it? If not, it is the first from The Turds collection of roguish comedic characters born from the best of toilet humour. Since you mentioned poop jokes , would you mind checking out the site and possibly posting a review on your blog? You seem like a reputable influencer, so I think you'd be a big help to us. Here's a link to the game site: (link removed) Please let me know what you think.
Thanks for your time!
Mel / M80
Wow. I think I'm offended AND disgusted. Really, I understand the poop joke humor genre. At least enough to have some in my scripts. And Mr. Hanky is funny, I agree. But to have a whole video game rip-off based on poop? Reeeeealllyyy?? Is that what humanity has come to? Is that what we think of ourselves?
Sadly, I had to check out the lovely Donkey Pong And The Adventures of Rimdiana Jones. Not due to curiosity, but to give an accurate review on this blog. Here it is: Don't.
I'd much prefer to be known as a reputable influencer on topics such as the Italian Renaissance, Medieval English Literature or Exponential and Logarithmic Functions. Heck, even the Israeli-Palestine conflict is a topic of taste. Why can't I be like Neil and get invited to be syndicated by the Washington Post? Or Tracy who was nominated for her honest yet ill-advised mention of Dharma and Greg. But to be known for the mention of poop jokes in a blog otherwise free of poop humor? When poop humor is the most base and least funny type to me? Ahh...the humanity.
At least they say I'm reputable when it comes to poop. And I can influence other people's poop. And write jokes about my reputable and influential poop.
It's an honor just to be nominated.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
I called my Grandmother recently to cheer her up, and let her know about my being laid off and looking for work in the entertainment industry. Here's our conversation.
Schrodinger: How is your dog Sweetie? Did the vet say she was ok?
Grandma: Yes, she's fine, and the vet is terribly busy, she needs a new receptionist. You used to love animals, maybe you should be a receptionist?
S: I actually have a MFA, so no, I'm not going to be a receptionist.
G: There's always jobs at Boeing, or JPL. Lots of them!
S: Yes, I see them, but you have to have a physics doctorate for them.
G: I'm sure if you just went down there, they'd hire you.
S: It's a government facility. I can't just 'go down there'. I'd get arrested.
G: That's ridiculous. They're missing out then.
S: Yes, they sure are.
G: Have you thought about getting married so your husband can support you while you 'write'?
S: I can hear your air quotes, Grandma.
G: What are air quotes?
S: Never-mind. So how's your library job?
G: Very good - meeting lots of nice people. Maybe the library is where you can meet nice boys.
S: Hum...sure. How about instead I drive up to see you this week. Are you free?
G: Yes! I need help re-wallpapering the bathroom.
S: Actually, that sounds fun...I do like home projects...
G: There's this really nice boy at the hardware store where I got the wallpaper. He's got 5 kids, but I gave him your phone number.
S: Now we're onto boys? What happened to the job grilling?
G: You can meet lots of boys at your receptionist job.
S: Ok then, gotta run. Bye!
Sara hangs up and immediately re-dials Mom.
S: Just got off the phone with Grandma. She's telling me I should get married and be a receptionist.
Mom: I'm sorry honey. Want to move home? Your room is all ready, and I can get you a job where I work. There's even some nice young men there.
S : Click...buzz....
Monday, June 12, 2006
I have just found the coolest thing ever, that I absolutely don't need, and I want to buy purely for name value. The 'MacGyver' watch.
It's got a mp3 player, voice recorder, and USB (hidden in the watch band) and it can also function as a data storage device. Ironically, it also tells time.
Salivate over it with me, will you please? It's so Dick Tracy! It's so avant-garde! It will wow my friends and coworkers, get me dates with hot smart MacGyver-esque men, and will cure the Israeli-Palestine conflict.
If we all had this watch, there would be no global hunger, no pain, only joyful voice recording of screenplay notes and listening to The Strokes while doing whatever you please!
Also you could be a little Alias, and upload things from your 'friend's laptop while they're in the shower for submission to the CIA for analysis. Be sure you wear a wig so you're a red-head while doing it.
4 out of 5 dentists agree: You MUST own this watch. And really, is there anything cooler in the world than talking into your watch? Maybe if it talked back, but otherwise...I think not.
And it's got a little skull on it, so it's got that 'I'm a tough-punk-smartie' vibe, not that 'Geek-squad wanna-be' vibe.
I'm sure Richard Dean Anderson(MacGyver) has one - so if that's not a reason to go out and buy it immediately, I don't know what is.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Never in my life, have I identified with Cathy - the comic book heroine that is all things men hate about women, and epitomizes the weight-obsessed, shopping-obsessed, needy-obsessed woman. Until today. The all-inclusive horror-fest that is 'buying a bikini.'
I got invited to 'go to the beach' with a bunch of women on Sunday, and although I've been to the beach a thousand times...'going to the beach' is different. I assume there will be beach-towels (don't have), tanning lotion (I am white, and will always be white), Cosmopolitan magazines (who can read about sex when it's hot?), and bikinis (yikes!). Maybe some water toe-touching, but I doubt it.
I was born and raised on the beach. I grew up with sand on the front doorstep, and sea-water in my veins. I can body surf, sail, and can fight an undertow. I normally splash around, swim, and usually do so in a skirt and t-shirt or actual clothes, before putting on a sweater and going for dinner wet. This is why beach bars were invented. Wet clothes and wine mix very well.
However, I don't have a swimsuit. I'm more than happy to pass my submerged ocean time in a tank-top and shorts, or if desperate, a male friend-loaned wife-beater and swim trunks. I also don't see any reason why my underwear should not work. It's supportive, eye catching, and matches. It also took years of shopping to locate the elusive bra and underwear set that is comfortable, flattering, and male-pleasing, not an easy feat, mind you. It also has really cute pink bows on it. I don't mind sharing that spectacular underwear with the world, or the Pacific Ocean, or chlorinated pools in Tarzana.
But shopping for a swimsuit in one day, is something that turns me into that insane woman Cathy, who can never find anything, and never looks good when she draws back the comic strip dressing-room curtain. Plus, you know how the comic price tag always shows 3 dollar signs with an exclamation point? $$$! is not something I will pay for a bikini. A Chanel bikini, yes...but that's for my trophy wife days to come.
And who are these twiggy-esque girls who have no chest, and no hips? In my day those were called 'boys'. Look at me, saying 'In my day'..I am officially old. Finding something that didn't push my self-declared perfect chest out beyond my center of gravity or smushed back into my lung cavity...and that wouldn't fall off at the slightest play-slap of a wave...was impossible. Spritzing these suits with a orchid-mister would make the strings untie, and as much as I relish the opportunity to be naked in front of a hundred people...I don't.
So...the women of Malibu will have to be accepting of my surfer tank and skirt, flip-flop pukka shell beach blond outfit. It's the official beach outfit, and I can attest, having been born on a beach. These bikini-wearing fools are clearly tourists. Think of me as the blond Annette Funicello of California. Although, she wore a bikini...but she was born in Utica - New York, so that's her excuse. I'm looking forward to hanging with Frankie Avalon. He's dreamy.
I still had to buy a beach towel. But that's another story, for another day.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
I've taken to calling myself 'Bitch' in self-conversation. Such as "Time to paint your toenails, Bitch." Or "Makin' lunch, Bitch." Always said with a slight biy-atch accent and head roll. It could be I've been alone too long, or it could be that I'm getting really excited about the new season of Entourage starting on the 11th.
If you haven't seen it, I have 2 things to say:
1. What is wrong with you?
For newbies...Entourage is : (according to imdb) Film star Vince Chase navigates the vapid terrain of Los Angeles with a close circle of friends (Brother Johnny Drama, Manager Eric (E), and slacker Turtle) and his trusty agent, Ari Gold. Said agent played by Jeremy Piven. There's something about Piven. Something beyond the unspoken 'best friend of Cusack' vibe...something beyond his brilliant yet failed sitcom, 'Cupid' wherein he played...can you guess...Cupid! How is that for casting brilliance? As Ari, world's snottiest agent, he's the bitch we all wish we could be. Hence his catch-phrase upon an argument: "Let's hug it out, bitch."
"I've never said fuck so much in my life," Piven says about playing Ari. "I feel like a David Mamet play on the road."
Despite their denial, it's already become the Sex and the City for men. Entertainment Weekly just published an article "Which guy are you?" and sadly, I am E: Dependable, reliable, boring, can commit, and support my buds at all times. I WISH I was Ari: Snot, cocky, funny, insensitive bastard who gets what he wants by demanding it and expecting the world to revolve around him and his hot self. Much like on Sex and the City - I was Charlotte, but wished I was Samantha. Heck...everybody wishes they were Samantha.
So when I got compared to Ari again for the 2nd time in a month the other day...I was honored beyond words. It wasn't due to my cocky self (I wish) but more due to my dog-eat-dog you-better-conform-and-like-it mentality on the entertainment industry, and those...ahem...cocksuckers in it. Here's a quote from my EW diagnosed self Eric, and my man, Ari:
Ari Gold: So you come to me for advice. I'm gonna fucking cry. All right, here's what you do. You deal with talent the same way that you deal with women. You have to make them believe that they need you more then you need them.
Eric: He doesn't need me that much.
Ari Gold: Of course he doesn't need you. You're fucking worthless. I could get a million morons to come in here and do the job. That's not the point.
Eric: Then what is the point, Ari?
Ari Gold: The point is that he is an insecure fuck, like all beautiful-but-handed-everything-on-a-silver-platter people. He doesn't trust anyone in this world but you. You've been born into royalty baby. You know it. Now you just gotta be thankful, and wear the crown.
I wish my entertainment industry prowess would catch on, and I'd be bitching it out with the hot playas on the hot lists. Because...don't hate the playa, hate the game. Bitch.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
I really am disappointed.
I had hoped for at least Marvin the Martian, or possibly even a Ferengi, but what do I get?
Alien life has been discovered, or at least, speculated to have been discovered. Little red microbes landed with a comet in India in 2001, surprisingly, nothing has been heard from them since. Their lack of DNA may have something to do with their inability to take over the world. However, I haughtily say that lack of DNA is no excuse for laziness when it comes to global domination.
They are reproducing plentifully, so unless they plan to suppress humans with their dazzling multitudes, I think our new aliens are the hippie rejects of the alien community, who have just come to earth to frolic, reproduce, and hand out daisies to the military. They even hitchhiked here on a comet, I mean, what is more hippie-like than hitchhiking? Slackers.
Pretty disappointing for the first confirmed evidence of alien life. I certainly hope it's a trojan horse, wherein the easygoing microbes lay in wait for the arrival of their Hitler-esque amoeba brethren.
Because cloudy red water doesn't inspire me to betray my planet in conquest of the universe. And I already have my Ming the Merciless dress ready. So I guess I'll just wait.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Got home late last night to discover a case of wine on my doorstep. I'm by no possible description a 'wine person' so for a brief moment I felt like those cool trendy people who go to Sonoma County or Lyon, France and tell party-goers 'Geoffrey and I ordered a case from Chateau Snooty and it's coming next week! Giggle-snort.' And prior to last night, a 'box of wine' had an entirely different grocery-store-late-night-beer-bong-type connotation.
This particular case was custom packed by my friends Dave and Violette (shout out) who just bought a house in San Diego. I helped them (vaguely - as the lender) get this house, so they were so kind as to send me this as an appreciation gift. I increase their monthly expenditures with a huge mortgage and they spend more money and buy me a present - I better go visit before they go broke and their home is foreclosed. But their place is lovely, cute, and perfect for them and their new baby, which oddly is being born as I write this blog. She's in labor now.
As I get older, certain things, like wine and babies, become more interesting to me. I want wine, I do not want babies. Yet both are interesting. And possibly sequential.
I now have a large enough selection of wine, that I need a rack. I never thought I would be one of those cool people that have wine racks where friends that come over can select one for the dinner. But I am now! A case is 12, so combining with all my other wine, I have...um...12...that need to be placed prominently showcasing Dave's brilliant selection. He works for Bonny Doon Vineyards, and I know anything selected by him is good. He IS one of those giggle-snort people, without the giggle-snort and more of a serious connoisseur vibe. Think Sideways, but without the insecurity.
Maybe I need a wine cellar. I think 12 would fit nicely in an underground cavern. Lots of room to grow.
I'm told that one of the wines selected is the 'good' one, so I'm to save that for special occasions. The exact phraseology was 'not for cute boys', so that pretty much clarifies it for me. Yes on wine, no on cute boys, no on babies.
Whew...one decision down. Off to buy a wine rack so I can show off my...er...rack...to...um...cute boys.
Push, Violette, push!