“history is orphan. it can speak, but cannot hear. it can give, but cannot take. its wounds and tragedies can be read and known, but cannot be avoided or cured.”
~kedar joshi
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with love
May 21, 2013
the tryst….
May 20, 2013
like the hundreds of thousands of lawless, african honey bees who, with the discipline of an invading military, swarmed into tampa, florida, swaddling and engulfing two park rangers, the same could be said for our recent warm weather which has marched in and occupied southern california.
since thursday morning i’ve had a slight hiccup in my schedule which has been interrupted from the mob of jasmine teeming throughout the southland. the sweet aroma is such that i must stop where i am, shut both eyes, inhale and exhale, and always, although inadvertently, awaken with a smile on my face.
after a spring as frigid as my high school years, the weekend’s summer-like, semi-hotness, was greeted like a true liberator from our recent and oppressive, burkha cardigan-wearing-required-weather.
saturday i took hunkiest back to my old neighborhood where years ago i stomped, angst’d, and pined over boys in ford ranger trucks and memorized every john michael montgomery lyric recorded.
sadly the circumstances were for a memorial service, but it was great to see friends i have loved and worshiped for the last 33 years.
not much has changed; except now our laser focus locks on the toddler near the pool, and not how low the keg is getting.
oh how priorities change.
but back to my love for wind-swaying palm trees; california i just can’t quit you.
lately there’s been rambling conversation about a different coast, a change of ocean.
yet there’s something about the misty, pacific air, first thing in the morning, how its salty mingles with the smokiness of my morning coffee and curates the tiniest, little escape for me each day.
i never go a day without hearing a seagull on my street, squawking happily at the pickets, telling us to wake up or move yer cars.
on the weekends the beasts get to walk down to pacific coast highway. we watch the boats in the bay, eat croissants {yes raquel} by the water, and say to each other at least twice “i can’t believe we get to live here.”
pardon me while i have a torrid tryst with my magnetic california.
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1 Commentbeasts, friends, Happy Weekend, HH, Orange County, southern california life
radiohead at the top of our lungs……
May 17, 2013
we know i am depth-less. but when it comes to my taste in music, there is no basement.
the new avril lavigne jingle is no exception.
it’s a hard, foot-stomping beat, with dumb-downed, look-at-me-i’m-edgy-angry-and-say-the-F-word a lot lyrics.
my favorite “hook” is the ridiculous reference to radiohead.
give. me. a. break.
avril lavigne does not, nor has EVER listened to radiohead, not even the KISS FM hit “creep.” she’s way too lame.
i should know. i’m in the radiohead reject club too. it’s like their music is password protected for us uncool losers. but nice try avril.
lyrics aside, the song is great, and has me throwing my hair and body straight in to chiropractic care.
see you on the dance floor m’loves.
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my girl’s “gift”–more vomit…
May 16, 2013
the adventures of priscilla, queen of my world, continued last night. and yes, there was more vomit.
although this time, it was my own.
in her effort to make penance for wednesday’s nocturnal puke party, {on. my. face.} my girl made amends the best way she knew how: mouse murder!
that’s right ladies and gentlemen, during the last hours of peaceful twilight, as i was trying to prolong my longevity and excavate my cloistered zen by beholding the sun take its final bow across the sky, littlest girl tried to add to my “moment” by bequeathing her evening kill, still quite warm and bloody, maybe even squirming, at the back door.
priscilla now goes by the name O.J.
although the little, four-legged butcher didn’t even have the decency to wear isotoner gloves.
my scream said enough.
i didn’t share in her delight for freshly, slaughtered vermin, or maroon-stained back steps, affectionately now known as the “bundy drive” section of our house.
she sat for the remainder of the evening on our bed staring at the wall in shame and embarrassment.
in my opinion, a little humiliation never killed anyone. on the other hand, pointed canine cuspids {dog fangs} DO!
but voilà!
look at what a good night’s sleep can do to a girl! all the clichés: bright eyes, bushy tail, giant smile, telling the world that she’s open for business. literally…she can be kind of whorish sometimes.
this is why i love having dogs so much. this beast is one hundred percent in the right here, right now!
she doesn’t dwell on what transpired yesterday, even if it was AMAZING, even if it sucked.
because what is in front of her is all that matters.
that is the gift she gives me every moment i’m with her.
look out world.
wishing you a second to second day m’loves.
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making a choice
May 15, 2013
yesterday morning: 2:50am. my sweet baby, aka jones, made the household decision it was time we all start our day. eyes were to remain avidly open and tails at a vigorous wag.
like freshman cadets, by oh-three-hundred-hours we were marching around the kitchen to his bugle, fetching clean water, coffee, and running drills of grab-ass and catch-your-tail; knocking down candlesticks and moving dining room rugs into 2nd floor bedrooms.
i was on the verge of getting pissed.
as i cut coffee grinds à la lines of cocaine, with kate moss precision, on my old cds {see i knew not to throw this one away,} i thought to myself, with my little straw in my hand, i have two choices here, i can be sleepy, surly, does she have something sour in her mouth-girl? or i can find the joy.
i chose door number two.
just like being resolute to eat healthy or choosing to be active in your body, making the decision to extract the joy out a moment rather than dwell on the sad or the cynical is HARD.
at least for me.
we are not wired that way. i wasn’t at least. especially in my family; it’s go for the sarcasm, sardonic, and skeptical, AT ALL COST.
i have to scrape out those optimistic muscle fibers.
how do i flex these muscles?
yesterday i read how watching the sun’s rise and fall in real time add’s to the quality of one’s life. like adding organic blueberries to your steel-cut oatmeal or an anti-oxidant serum under your paba-free sunscreen; experiencing the sunrise and or sunset releases certain healthy chemicals and hormones in your body {and let’s be honest, it also gave me an excuse to post this picture of these cute shorts?}
but last night as i was leaving floating out of luciana friere’s yoga soul class, i finally found my meditation. too bad it will only be on tuesday nights, she asked us to notice the “light” outside. it was more than a luster. it was beyond golden.
a glow.
an unpatentable glow, but one that seeped into our pores and made my feet buzz.
that hum and whir of that sunset still happily fizzed through my body even at 3:14am this morning as dog vomit projected all over my neck, chest and face.
yep.
priscilla’s foray into the garbage last night emanated in one giant, disgusting, early morning mess on mommy.
i chose joy.
{and 4 showers.}
hope you have a “supersonic” day m’love.
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i’ve got the power!!!
May 10, 2013
i’m on to you southern california.
i’m on to you, and i like it.
this week i’ve noticed a general breeze of the playful sweeping through the streets and cities of my beloved state.
i’ve named them the santa ana sillys.
it’s not as is if we’re known for our highbrow behavior, so this gaggle of mirthful goes a little above our wet seal paygrade.
there is a reason why hunkiest and i scour the real estate sections of nashville, charleston, jackson hole, and dallas each week; searching for cities rejected by bravotv.
this piece on the O.C. only confirms our pursuit. thank you michelle for this hilarious opus.
but back to my point, the last five days have been chockablock with the inane, the nonsensical, and overall wacky.
and it has filled my cup full of happy.
whether with clients or strangers, my hunkiest or beasts, hi-jinks and tomfoolery seem to be the bulls-eye on our sunny-skied state’s board of darts.
yesterday a bowl of kale and white bean soup became a basketball hoop, the salt & vinegar chips made fine, round, lofty basketballs, and a late lunch with my husband fashioned into second grade recess.
i have accepted, dare i say, embraced {?}, the fact that i am ridiculous.
i say absurd things.
typically these things are said whence wearing a microphone.
i doubt my propensity for baloney will change. in fact i’m sure, with age, hello!!–one year older last sunday?—it will worsen.
so let’s carry on this season of nitwit.
with so much sad in the world it’s time to get jiggy with the jolly and groove with the grateful.
are you down, like divine brown?
so much love to you.
see you on the other side of sunday.
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No Commentsbeasts, Bloggers, fitness, HH, Newport Beach, Orange County, southern california life
daisies are desperate
May 9, 2013
yes, daisies are desperate, and i’m an insecure, wannabe virgin…
that’s what i learned yesterday from nicole ritchie and celebrity florist, eric buterbaugh in this snappy, short video the Flower Game: #CandidlyNicole, which teaches us all of our flower etiquette and answers modern flower dilemnas.
this video also helped me recommit my girl crush to nicole.
and i am so glad my milkbraids and victorian shirts are still considered video appropriate {y’know…for all those “videos” i shoot???!!?!?}
so yes, according to eric, my penchant for all things white and flowery is really just my insecurity and need to feel like less of a slut.
so there you go:
the rumors ARE true.
tulips are best for keeping elegant and are the perfect flower to buy whence on a budget; now known affectionately as the “chop-n-drop.”
if you need to send a thank you bouquet, a mixed bunch is your best answer.
and come sunday all of our mothers should be receiving 200+ worth of pink peonies.
but the most valuable nugget of gold i learned was, even though i had a birthday this week, my short, to the knuckle, fingernails, apparently still render me a child.
what does you favorite flower say about you?
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fess up please!
May 8, 2013
so remember this?
my foray into mindfulness and quest for a relaxed forehead brow to rival even the most syringed of orange county housewives?
yeah. well, like every other attempt at meditation it seems i have created more wrinkles, stress and crumbled drywall; from buddhas and lord krishna’s flung in frustration at my inability to find my third eye center.
apparently my affection for affliction is in its high energy, waxing phase, for i am batter up again at the ol “in through the nose, out through the nose…..”
i’m not sure why i keep trying to make this square hole bed and breakfast this round peg, but i’m a sucker for reconciliation.
now i know i kinda, sorta set myself up for failure with this meditation thing.
my comfortable, seated, quiet place is my running bathtub.
with my phone.
and my laptop.
and ipad.
and i usually try to shave my legs, write a blog {in fact i’m meditating as i type this,} and knock out a playlist or two during said quiet time. i suspect afrojack isn’t the best choice for producing the desired alpha wave brain state.
my friend, kathleen suggested this app on my ipad…i liked it at first, but the idea of my ipad being so close just got me thinking about my pinterest boards which i liked even more…..
but i need to meditate.
when people ask me what my quiet reflective time of the week is, these days i have to truthfully admit it’s watching episodes of “revenge.”—–the dumbest show on television; the only time my brain actually goes numb from not having to think. i don’t know what i’ll do if this wretched show gets canceled.
although there’s always fox news.
so you peaceful warriors, you who align your chakras like i obsessively, compulsively align my summer, fall, winter, spring, workout clothes in descending sleeveless, short-sleeves, long-sleeves color-coordinated order.
yeah you!
what’s your secret?
what do i have to do? drink? inhale? snort? flirt with? to find some effing peace?
tell me! tell me! tell me!
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2 CommentsMeditation, music, ramblings, Spin Class, televison
thiry-seven
May 6, 2013
forty? thirty-seven?
are they really that different?
yesterday was my take on the daniel day lewis starring, paul thomas anderson directed film, “there will be blood.”
except in my version the more apt title was: ”there will be butter.”
having blown off another ”l.a. workshop” in order to play with the family instead {can you say “flake?”} hunkiest, a backseat of white fur, 8 paws, and the feverish panting of a porn film, tooled around town in the prius looking for sweets, sunshine and coffee.
we found two of the three.
and although the the warm, strawberry glazed dough fulfilled my low, constantly second guessing at me, serotonin levels, and the coffee provided the 3rd of my 12 cup daily courage, mr. sunshine apparently had prior, more important commitments.
stupid inland empire.
so the tribe and i got lost.
we forged our own rays of gold throughout our foggy, coastal town.
pit-stopping to bark at kitty cats, mewing over fancy shoes that blew the mind, but killed the feet, and devouring more powdered covered-confections which spiked our blood sugar levels and percolated our energy to obnoxious levels of public display.
grocery store aisles became batting practice {hav’A chips make for wonderful baseballs,} and william from the gelson’s bakery is the newest member of our acapella trio. he’s more of the tenor to hunkiest’s and my sopranos. we do a great rendition of adele’s “rolling in the deep.”
the beasts patiently and quietly waited in the car while playing leap frog between the front and the back seats. the prius lost in all rounds.
thirty-seven.
not at all where i expected or planned to be.
thank GOD!!!
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sock it to me! sock it to me! sock it to me.
May 1, 2013
yes miss month of may.
i’m talking to you.
you and your skimpy, three lettered, query-conveying, pert name.
may?
yes. you may.
always one of my favorite months {don’t i say that every thirty days though?} and not because tis me birth month—and on that note, thank to those of you whom read my last post thoroughly…who knew that lying about my age could generate such lovely compliments….#ontosomethinghere.
but back to the little month that could, sandwiched right before everyone’s summer, bridal, favorite: june.
i’m expecting magic sister. the kind of magic that cartwheels me across my lawn before bedtime, leaping me, fully clothed, into a hotel swimming pool, or reclines me alongside a beast, under twinkling stars and eye-shading moonlight, where we listen to the boats in the bay and divulge deep, dark secrets not even our journals know about.
miss may, you and i have a date with alchemy, and i’ll totally go to first base with you after dinner and the great gatsby movie.
“first base” is kissing right?
i’ve never understood the “bases.”
hockey is a very confusing sport ya know?
i was always so embarrassed not to know these types of things in high school; one can only play with her split ends for so long.
i was more of a keep it in the concessions stands girl. i mean, hello? nachos, peanuts, ice-cream, pretzels with mustard? no contest.
are you still there?
so here i go, into this new month, looking for magic to make.
off to clop, clop down my runway lined with canine hair, 2lb weights, spin shoes, coffee mugs, yoga mats and macbook airs.
i only see faces i adore.
faces who inspire, lift me up, and fill me with such silly gratitude i have to put rocks in my pockets..
but not the virginia woolf kind.
and of course i do this all in a couture, ball gown. preferably valentino.
like mr. cool j. so eloquently pontificates: “mama says knock you out! i’m gonna knock you out”
you’ve been warned.
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