Remember Lindsay?  We were supposed to gallvant about Europe together last year before that little Icelandic Volcano situation that landed me instead Stateside but in Hawaii jumping out of airplanes?  She spent a weekend with me recently, and we marked the end of her visit with birthday cake at Magnolia Bakery in Bev Hills.  Normally, crabby face while in presence of red velvet cake is reason for psychiatric evaluation.  But maybe I just sang her "Happy Birthday" at the top of my lungs in front of everyone at the (surprisingly echo-y!) bakery.  Hey, I just said it and I will say it again.  Being my friend means a willingness to be embarrassed at any given moment.

Another Lovely Year.

Two weeks ago Sammy turned TWO.

There's so much that she now can do!

She loves water with ice,

your electronic device,

but most of all time spent à deux.

Happy Second Birthday Precious Girl!  I love you to the moon and beyond.

Caucus Caucus.

Sometimes, aspiring to be an actor means getting a call at 0630 am, dragging your dear friend out of bed, forgoing the Malibu hike plans, and being exhausted for the sake of appearing in a TV pilot.  My new friend Erica is producing/starring in a hilarious new pilot to be pitched this season, and graciously invited me to partake.  Lindsay, who was in town for the weekend not to endure this jackassery, was so understanding and took it all in stride.  I think her spirits lifted when I emerged from Fluff N Buff (hair and makeup!)  looking like this.  Well, really, who wouldn't.  Really.

I smell an Emmy.

Tressed Out.

Even passed out at a sink with a rice bag on her shoulders and foil in her hair, my darling Coco is just magnificent.  This is was T-minus 30 seconds before I tried to stick my finger up her nose as a subtle wake up.  Being my friend is not exactly safe, dears.

Maybe I love the new Conan Show.  Maybe their crew is fabulously young, hip, and adorable.  Maybe you should watch.

Ready for Anything.

As you might suspect, packing up everything did indeed include a cleaning out of the closet.  Now, usually, I fancy myself a reasonable woman.  You need not worry about me appearing in a future episode of hoarders.  With my lifestyle, I gotta pack light and purge often.  My apparel rule reads as follows : If I haven't worn it or thought about it in the last 6 months, it's gotta go.  I really have never missed a single article of clothing that has been donated or mailed to friends whom might love it more than me.  I have a debunk for every excuse from pack rats out there:

"But fashion cycles, this will surely be back in again!":
        - By the time a certain fashion comes back, you know you will want something new.  every time trends return, there is always a twist, and that twist makes all the difference.  Yes, skinny jeans came back from the early 90s, but with a low rise.  See? not the same.

"This doesn't fit me anymore, but someday I might be that skinny again someday!"
        -Again, by the time that happens, you will want something new.  Don't clutter your closet with stuff that will eventually be replaced by the time you lose weight.  I used to keep tons of skinny clothes.  Now that I'm smaller, I haven't worn any of it.  In the same theme, don't keep fat jeans.  That's just bad karma.

"But I spent so much money on this!"
        -Uh, this means you gotta evaluate your spending.  Keeping something you don't wear out of guilt is just silly.  Two wrongs don't make a right.  Give it to someone who will wear it, and get your money's worth out of it.  Doesn't matter if it isn't you; it all evens out somehow.

Despite all of this reason, I will admit to the item above being an exception to my own set of rules.  I don't know why I keep packing this dumb top away, but I just think I will want to wear it again someday.  Isn't there a country western event that someone can invite me to?!  I probably wont pair it with the horrendous (and likewise my favorite!)  sweatpants, but I can't promise anything.

laughing in the loo.

In continuation of the toilet humor, chew on this.

I come to my favorite coffeeshop, Intelligentsia, a lot to write this here blog and drink tea.  In the ladies washroom, the wall facing the john is covered in a floor to ceiling mirror with graphics.  I don't know about ya'll, but if any toilet facing a mirror is begging for a photo.  Everytime I tinkle here, I sit and see myself laughing at how ridiculous I look.  Everyone should see themselves sitting on the pot at some point in their lives.  It's entirely too good for the soul.

Love Love Love.

PS.  are the cowboy boots too much?  hope so!

LA Bound

My priorities are shifting.  To my own shock and disbelief, I am deciding to forgo the gypsy life for a while in pursuit of chasing this acting butterfly.  I have already found lovely new renters for my little house, moved all of my business out of it and into the garage, and labeled everything in terms of "Stays in GEG" or "LA Bound".  As you can see, the red toolbox goes.
I havent signed a lease in yeeeeears.  This commitaphobe is now shopping for apartments in LA, and trying to find a nursing job here.

WHO AM I?!

I will be the first to tell you that this might blow up in my face.  Remember NYC?  However disastrous/financially draining this new harebrained scheme might prove, Im doing it anyway in the name of passion and joie de vive.

Prayers, please.

Love Love Love.

Ingenious Eight Year Old.

It's faint, but you may be able to make out the "JC"  upon this arm.  It was tattooed there by its owner in childhood.  Despite his own initials being the very same, this precocious boy declared to his mother that the ink is there in tribute to the other, perhaps more deserving JC, Jesus Christ.  80 years later, he will be quick to still claim Jesus.  A mother can hardly argue.

Hi Friends,

Im here, Im happy.  I'm having a love affair with the Hipstamatic App.  Yes, you may expect most all photos to be Hipsta.  Just a forewarning.

Love Love Love.