CREATE & STYLE: Row o' Books

This past September I finally got a digital camera. Years behind the curve on most technology trends, a digital camera was way more exciting to me than the idea of a Blackberry or some gizmo that you can plug your iPod into for surround-sound. Nah; I like pictures. And I haven't stopped playing with it. Different settings, angles, lighting...flash or no flash... grin. Unfortunately, there are some who quickly get pissed with me constantly experimenting on them, as Teen is so lovingly demonstrating here.

So, I've had to adapt and switch to subjects that for the most part are incapable of flipping me off. In doing so, I realize that what I'm mostly collecting now are images of the stuff that I love: the books that are stacked everywhere in my home, the jewelry that makes me smile, the things I create with my own two hands... stuff that represents my ever-changing style... physical pieces of, well, me.

A long time ago I decided that some day when I had my own home, I wanted there to be massive books shelves built right in and I wanted them to be full of books that I loved - books that I'd actually read - not just ones that were purchased to fill space. That's a lot of books. And the collection is well under way.

I moved into this apartment in August and my massive black bookshelf came with, making this the third apartment it has appeared in. At that time, the top of the bookshelf was empty and a little bit after that, I started putting just a few books up there as I was running out of space anywhere else. Now, as you can see, more than half the length of the case is studded with the multi-colored bindings of my lovely, lovely books. Not to be forgotten is a pretty little bud vase that I picked up at Anthropologie this fall...because pretty little bud vases just happen to be another thing that makes me swoon...but that is for another time and another picture.

Do you see what I see?

As soon as I saw this photo of ChaCha I thought of Linus. And then one nano-second later I thought, "My godson is the friggen cutest little fake vacuuming chub-ball that there ever was. I want him to come fake vacuum my house too!"

Hint: To see what I see, click on the picture...ya know... but only if ya want to...

After 3 hours & 45 minutes, I've lost it.

Here I was, sitting at my "home office" sending off some emails, uploading a few pictures, downloading a few songs...and as is often my habit, I was staring up and out of the window just before my gaze slowly shifted to the right. And what I saw on top of my dresser made me chuckle to myself thinking, "Pffph! This scene is just so...me."


Empty wine glass.

Today's bracelet still sitting out.

And oh yes, that plum I brought up here earlier with every intention of eating. Well, why wouldn't I set it on top of that little wooden dish so I can completely forget about it? It makes perfect sense! (which is what I tell myself - sternly, of course - even though in the back of my mind I'm really thinking, "no wonder your bedroom is a rotating disaster area!")

Le sigh.

So just maybe last night I was up working until 2 a.m. and then woke up at 5:45 so I could be at a 7:30 a.m. breakfast meeting... No reason to treat my living space like a refrigerator. Get it together, woman!

Next thing you know, I'll do something really crazy, like...

• Get my card key stuck under my armpit and partake in some kind of crazy flapping arms/flailing legs dance in an effort to dislodge it...


• Declare an acquaintance's baby bump as "totally worthless" when it is rendered useless as a soda shelf...


• Announce to a VP that Stacy and I would make excellent detectives to assist him in his ludicrous off-site 'detective project' because, "We both have lots of clothes in our trunks to use as disguises and Stacy does a fantastic French accent. Oui, oui!" (detective and spy... so close, yet so NOT the same. doh!)...


• Blabber at my boss' boss' boss, as though he's my BFF, "Hey, what's going on here?! Is this leaning back in your chair with hands over face an act of thought or exasperation?" ...

Oh wait. I did ALL those things. Today.

Apparently when the amount of sleep I've had in a 40 hour period can best be described as an extended nap, and is then combined with 3 cups of coffee, 2 shots of espresso and a diet coke - followed by the inevitable crash - well, it appears that all parts of me shut down, including use of limbs and rational thought. And the culmination of my late night googley-eyed mania is when I whip out the camera to take a picture of where I put my plum. And it currently is continuing to stay in this ridiculous spot. And OH MY GOSH it's such a beautiful color! And whoops, now I'm uploading more pictures of THE PLUM THAT IS SITTING ON MY DRESSER.

I have to get some sleep. Like, right now.
*Goodnight*

The things I hear...

Just overheard:

A woman asking the person on the other end of the phone conversation, "Do you know more about who you are?"

This could possibly be taken in 2 different ways... 1) incredibly deep, mind-blowing, contemplative questioning or, 2) ridiculously stupid.

Unfortunately, I know too much about she who posed the question. I can assure you, it's of the stupid variety in this instance.

"Do you know more about who you are?!"
Well, do you?

It's tough work to be this cute

What I like to think she's thinking:
There is no way you don't adore me. Full-on ADORE ME. Because yes, I've been blessed with a button nose and blue eyes and these 2 dimpley cheeks here, but I know that heart-wrenching adoration requires more than my good looks. That's why I will roll up my sleeves and work for your love. Do you not see the light reflecting off the floor and those shiny stoves back there? Work, baby!

What is probably closer to the truth:
Mom! You said I could watch Dora, now can you please put the camera away, get me a snack...I'm thinking yogurt today...and turn the TV on. Pleeeease!

Mother Nature & Me... we're like one

Yes, I know that the higher beings of calendar wisdom have already declared today to be the first day of spring, but I would have known, deep in my weather-telling bones, even had the calendar not told me so. Spring is here.

A few weeks ago the scent of lilacs in bloom overtook the air in LA's west side. As soon as I would drive over "the hill" on my way home from work each night, the vents of my car would blast into my face the pungent scent of flowers. Step outside of my sister's apartment: FLOWERS. Open the window anywhere in my own apartment...and BAM! FLOWERS! Not a wafting, but a smack you in the face while slapping you upside the head, lovely floral scent. Which, when I finally cleared the sleep from my eyes one morning while filling the coffee pot, I saw through the hazy window to be lilacs. It appears that the world's largest lilac tree/bush wraps around the corner of my apartment - half sweeping to the east side to smear its scent around my bedroom window, and half brushing up against the south side, allowing itself to be some kind kitchen light dappler in the morning hours. I swear to god, this heavenly, omnipresent scent alone is worth hanging around LA during the last few weeks of February.

Plus, the sun has done a shift. It's no longer the, "Oh look! The sun is shining... but wait, it's-barely-in-the-50's-we'll-freeze-if-we-try-to-eat-lunch-outside" kind of sun. It's the much more fantastic, "Holy shit. It is NICE outside. Where are we going after work that has both cocktails and a patio?" kind ...and I LOVE IT.

And while I was technically, physically, alone tonight, I came home from work in the waning daylight hours while talking to one of my favorite friends, Tuck, and with the phone pressed into my shoulder, I grabbed a glass of sauvignon blanc and headed for the balcony for an hour and a half of gabbing and laughing under a pink sky. Oh yes, it is spring.

But really, the clincher was just now. While folding laundry something shiny on the floor caught my eye. Without a second pause I was rolling it in between my fingers, at first guessing that it was an earring back...but it was squishy...wait, what is this thing? Closer inspection revealed that it was a bug...the kind with the silvery semi-transparent backs and about 36 little legs writhing around. First thought: "Ew. Smooshed bug...on fingers! Blagh. Stacy would soooo be freaking out right now if this were happening to her! I need a tissue..." But then it suddenly all came swirling into my little head at once: the scent of flowers, the warmers days, the daylight stretching into those fabulous post-work hours and now the bugs crawling around everywhere. The seasons have definitely changed. Hallelujah!

Get outside! All the cool kids are totally doing it.

Now someone just needs to tell Mother Nature to ease up on the rest of the country and let them have their fun, too. Minnesota remains buried under snow...or so I hear. Poor, poor them...What do you mean, "stop smirking?"

My homage...its name is Vanity

Every month, like clockwork, for the past 4 years, I have fallen deeper and deeper into a contemplative state of appreciation. Each month I devote as much time as I can to the object of my affection, soaking in new ideas and points of view; forcing my brain to pick up the dumbbells and pick up the pace on the treadmill. Lately, this relationship of mine has reached an internal boiling point where I will finally come forth and declare it to be love, not caring what the naysayers and critics may lament me with. No, this is simply between me and my Vanity Fair.

Mix equal parts politics, pop culture, obscure news about the world's wealthiest, gorgeous portrait photography, materialism, creative passion, drama, cheekiness and brilliant writing. Shake and pour into a perfect-bound, 400-page monster choc-a-bloc full of glossy advertisements for things I'll never be able to afford, and deliver to the waiting arms of my LA mailbox. Delicious. Refreshing. Lingering...

I once read a memoir indicating that Vanity Fair's brilliant editor, Graydon Carter, may not exactly be a cherub to work for, but in a move very unlike myself, I haven't let that deter me from first seeking out his "Editor's Letter" before fanning through the rest of the pages to decide which article to next tackle (and I do mean tackle, not read, as they are often PAGES long - each requiring an actual time commitment). It helps that I often agree with his politics and am delighted by his sense of humor, which in the January 2008 issue, titled "The Abominable No-Man and Mr. 9/11," combined into a super force that had me dog-earring it so I could have Teen read it later. The first 2 paragraphs alone are enough to make me laugh, while also being horrified and outraged...but hey, that's me. Read and judge for yourself here.

In my 4 years as a subscriber there are a few articles that stick in my mind. One tracked a young man and his girlfriend who went to live amongst the bears of Alaska, and ultimately ended up losing their lives to those very bears. Another zoned-in on a rich old bitty in Connecticut who was taken hostage in her own humongous home...all while her grandson slept upstairs, never knowing of her night of terror. There were articles exploring the luxury lifestyles of those whom frequent fabulous Monte Carlo; investigative nitpicking into the handsome young Fiat heir who was found to have overdosed in the apartment of a tranny prostitute; announcing the triumphant arrival of Tory Burch to the fashion scene; and my most recent favorite, "The Right Fluff: A Guy's Guide to Chick Flicks," which deconstructs with humor and sensibility the movie genre continuing to stand the test of my time - the chick flick - in an article that made me think and grin.

Maybe it's because I so deeply love the art of writing - always wishing that I could be fully let into the secret of the craft - that I so very much appreciate a magazine that clearly celebrates its contributors with plenty of creative wiggle room in the form of generous word counts. Still, one of my favorite regular pieces is to be found in the Fanfair section, and consists of few words...but oh, they can be so telling into how one goes about living their life. Each month a different noteworthy person is presented with a request to share what kind of...stuff...plays the roles of silent sidekicks in their lives. I've often thought that if ever I was to be in Vanity Fair, this short little blip found somewhere in the middle of each issue, would be my best shot. And so, to wrap up this homage, I leave you with this... "My Stuff."

Strike a pose

I like to think that Teen is practicing her moves for a future remake of Madonna’s “Vogue” video… and yet, she’s still not as fast as Mom.

Mothers...they're hard to keep up with, aren't they? Quick little stinkers...

Just spray some Windex on it

The one-woman-jury of me is still out on whether men and women are really all that different. I mean, really. REALLY? If my own friends are any indicator, well, then the trend is shaping up like this: women are past the Victorian stage, done burning their bras and instead are spending $85 on the kind that can lift, separate and come covered in lace, and will not only sit around swilling alcoholic beverages along with the boys, but will likely outshine them in shear usage of the term "douchebag"... meanwhile, men are tweezing their brows, shunning cheap beer in the can, shaving their chests and counting carbs.

That's all surface level though. I realize that. Still, I wonder why it is that women will read a book, or watch films that center around male characters, but men will rarely take any interest in stories focused solely on women. Not long ago I finished reading The Kite Runner - very boyish and a fabulous book. Currently, I'm working my way through Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility - there are plenty of male characters to balance out the female leads and historical lessons to learn from the social commentary, but when I bring it to Starbucks, I will often catch other coffee-guzzlers noticing the cover, and I know what they're thinking! "Oh brother. Look at that hopeless romantic with the bad posture." Why can I read The Kite Runner without anyone batting an eye, but you'll never see a man reading anything by Jane Austen? Honestly, I ponder this a lot, usually deciding that men are narrow-minded, and that just maybe this leads to their inability to put the seat down, too.

A few days ago though, I was the happy witness to an incident that made me sigh with relief at the thought that whatever it is that makes us all individuals, at least I didn't get the gene that leads to this gloriously ridiculous cleaning technique...

A full cup of coffee was elbowed off the table and down onto the brand new industrial-strength carpet. The tools hastily grabbed to deter that unsightly stain from setting in? Paper towels (of course), a bottle of water and...Windex. Now, simply follow these few steps to create a bigger mess than the one you started with:

1) quickly wrap half your arm in paper towels. whenever you think you've got enough, go around a few more times.
2) blot slightly at coffee puddle - ignore all coffee dripping down various walls and onto different sections of carpet
3) sit up, grin at onlookers as if to say, "no big deal!", pause for a second...grab Windex
4) spray WINDEX onto carpet stain as if it is Raid being sprayed onto a hairy man-eating tarantula
5) continue spraying Windex - don't stop until others in the room start to cough at the fumes
6) jab at carpeting with ball of paper towels from step 1
7) unscrew cap from bottle of water
8) stand back from stain, lean over it and proceed to dump water all over carpet using waving motions with your arm... imagine large flames jumping from the stain - stand back and keep dumping water
9) look quizzically at the brunette one who is practically in hysterics with laughter. ignore her. remember to ignore her in the future, too.
10) stomp on the puddle to make sure that the flame/stain is out, roll chair back over it, pretend nothing just happened and continue on with conversation

So, maybe men won't be rushing in herds to read Bridget Jones' Diary, but I'm not going to let that stop me from reading the dude books and watching their movies, because my god, they can be so damn entertaining sometimes!

The greatest thing I’ve heard. Ever.

Life in LA is expensive and the savvy gal has to learn which corners to cut. A few years and 9 inches of hair ago, I learned the disastrous way that discount hairstylists were not the way to go. I mean, when your dad tells you it looks like someone came at you with a weed wacker and that he will try to fix it with the kitchen scissors… well, that’s hard to recover from.

What I always forget now is that the price of drying my freshly cropped locks is built in to the $60 I shell out. One person did not forget this though. She’s apparently better at penny pinching than I am, and listening to her book a hair appointment was one of the highlights of my eavesdropping career. Scratch that; it is THE HIGHLIGHT and it went exactly like this:

“Yes, hello? I’d like to schedule a haircut for next Wednesday.”

(pause for Charlie Brown’s teacher to WahWahWahhh on the other line)

“Uh huh…6:30 will be perfect. And how much will it be?”

(an exorbitant amount is apparently mentioned)

“Oh! Um, ok. Well how much do you charge for the blow job portion?”

(god only knows what the person on the other line is thinking as they quote the cost)

“Excellent. I would NOT like to schedule the blow job then. Can you make a note of that? That I don’t want the blow job?”


Noted.