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Monthly Archive for March, 2009

What I do when my He-weasel does the taxes

1. Watch every French film I have on my DVR(Ti-vo).
I watched:
Dans Paris which gets three weasels on the LBR scale.
Naissance des pieuvres gets only two weasels.
Yves St. Laurent 5 Avenue Marceau 75116 Paris gets three.
Toi et Moi gets three and a half weasels.
Nathalie gets four weasels.

2. Eat Cheez-its.
Doritos are unacceptable as are Salt and Vinegar chips because they are too noisy and prevent me from hearing the French I cannot understand. Cheez-its can be eaten quietly and are delicious with red wine. Lily also enjoys them if she can sneak one.

3. Look for a part time job that I will love and will make me rich. Mwah-ha-ha-ha!!!!
I sent out resumes for three jobs, only two of which I would really be interested in. Now I have that waiting for the phone to ring feeling.

4. Fall asleep on the couch and feel guilty for doing nothing while He-weasel labors to find more deductions.

5. Finish the Cheez-its.
This is an important sacrifice I made in the name of supporting my weasel as he works.

6. E-shop.
I did more Jcrew shopping. I have filled my cart with clothes to prepare for summer and yet I just cannot press the purchase button as that will mean I am accepting that summer is coming and I am still processing the fact that winter is not coming to L.A.

7. Conspire to move out of Valencia.
I searched on He-weasel’s company HR site and saw that there are jobs that would be a lateral move for him in Ohio; New Mexico; L.A.; San Diego; and San Francisco. And, this time the San Francisco job really is in San Francisco and not out in cow country forty miles from the city. Any guess which city I am routing for? Randal, as much as I love you, it is not Ohio.

I couldn’t come up with ten things

1. Yesterday Igor compared me to Captain Ahab. His final words of the session were to think about that. Um, if I am Captain Ahab then who is Moby Dick? It has been 20 years since I struggled through Moby Dick. Anyone more up on their English lit want to explain to me what Igor meant?

2. I have recently realized that since I decided to set no goals for my birth day I have become a bit obsessed about changing my appearance. First there was the Botox and next came the quest for a haircut and now I am on phase one of the South Beach diet. I think I might be better off coming up with a goal or very soon I will be popping off to the Bobbi Brown counter for all new makeup.

3. We decided on Hawaii for our vacation and I feel absolutely no anxiety about it. There will be leis, lounge chairs, lanais, massages, and endless staring into the Pacific Ocean. I may even hula. We are going to Oahu for three days and then Kauai for seven. Sure, I will have to wear a bathing suit in order to swim and lounge about on big floaty devices while I sip $18 cocktails with fruit garnishes so big they could be mistaken for fruit salads but that is why they invented sarongs.

4. I added another charm bracelet to my ever growing collection and this one is not from J Crew but Target. I saw it in a magazine when I was waiting to get Botox from the beyotch and I decided that this bracelet must be mine. I am so glad I did. I love it and just for under $30.

5. After five weeks of watching the Bonnie Hunt show I have decided I want her as my sister. Yeah, Bonnie, I know you have a huge family already and you may be a bit busy but if you would like another sister and I also would love it if your mom would adopt me.

6. He-weasel wants another Westie. He wants Lily to have a brother. He is convinced she is lonely. I have told him as soon as we move into a house we can get a puppy. He is actively house shopping on Realtor.com.

7. Warning more He-weasel bragging: Last night he asked if I wanted to watch Pride and Prejudice while he rubbed my feet. Yes, I am a lucky weasel.

8. I am in the market for the best body cream of all time for dry skin. Suggestions please.

9. Humiliating moment of the week: Yesterday I decided to iron a pair of linen pants. Let us take moment of silence to awe at my work ethic. Okay, that was enough of a pause. So I set up the ironing board and then after a 15 minute search of our 750 square foot home I found the iron and then I realized I had no ironing spray, or whatever it is you call that stuff, and so I saw a pot of water on top of the stove. I thought He-weasel had made tea water( he has to use a pot because he has burned our 100th tea pot as he refuses to put the lid down on the tea pot and have the whistle warn him when the water is boiling) and this was the left over water so I poured the water into the iron and set about to iron. I put on my pants and admired my ironing skills. Hours later He-weasel came home from work and said, “You smell like hot dogs.” Uh, that pot of water had not been used for tea.

Hair scares

The gorgeous WendyB and me were talking yesterday about the search for the perfect haircut. Both of us are feeling a little hair fatigue and in search of a haircut will allow us to rule the world
( hey, it could happen). But, I find that I am am afraid any hair cuts that might prove hair raisingly terrifying. I have specific and strong hair cut fears.

The hair cuts that I want to avoid:
1) The stuck in my glory days. Oh, this is a common one. People going back to the same hairstyle that represents the zenith of their youth, beauty and pulling powers. However, the haircut that works at 17 is sad at 37. Isn’t it? A little?

2) Realtor. The realtor hairdo is seen in every real estate office in the USA and is always pictured with the hand on the chin and clever sayings like:Everything I touch turns to SOLD or We have lots to sell. The photo often looks like it was taken at a Glamour Shots Studio. Now, if you are a realtor and you are reading this blog I know for sure you don’t have the realtor hairdo.

3) Soccer mom. If I was a soccer mom I wouldn’t mind looking like one but since I am not I refuse to pass for one. Arty, edgy and cool? Yes. AYSO and the bringer of the snacks? No.

4) The I have given up so I will just put my hair in a ponytail every single day. I do sport this looks for days and weeks at a time. I tell myself that I look French and chic in my ponytail; my capacity to lie to myself is astonishing.

5) The long hair that doesn’t do anything for me and I keep it long so I don’t look old and instead I just look a little sad, muttony and drippy. This is the look I think is my primary look and hence why I am searching for a new haircut which will me make less sad, muttony and drippy.

6) The Mullett. For obvious reasons.

7) Short hair.
I could never-ever-ever do short-short hair. I have a serious moon pie face and with short hair my head might be mistaken for a planet and be named the tenth planet in the solar system and then find telescopes pointing at my big ol’melon. Not good.

So, go on and tell me your hair fears and feel free to make haircut suggestions that do not fall into any of the above seven categories.

I am a fool and why not to get Botox in Valencia

I have, as you know, been sick and feeling less than fantastic. Well, Friday I went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror and I was shocked to see a dried out old bat looking back at me in the mirror. I hadn’t been feeling well enough to notice how bad I looked and now I felt physically better and saw the toll that the week had taken on me. I decided to make an appointment for Botox injections at a place in Valencia I had heard good things about. My rational, I thought if I felt better I should look better.

I had never before gone for Botox in Valencia. I was somehow worried that out here in the sticks the quality of the work would be less than I had become accustomed to in the big city. Well, I had clearly not fully recovered from my illness because I went ahead and booked the appointment anyway. Now I don’t want to panic you, I look fine. The nurse did a good job with the injections and I look less haggard, stressed and old-batish than I did before I went. But, and there is a but as big as my butt or J-Lo’s or any other formidable back-side you can think of, the nurse who did the injection gave me grief. Yes, I was tormented by a woman who I paid to make me feel better about myself in ways that Igor can’t.

Before the injections began she reviewed the medications I take and deducted from them the medical conditions that might require such medications and then she said in a judgmental tone as if she was Tom Cruise talking about Brooke Shields, “You are hypo-thyroid, you are depressed and anxious.”
“Yep, that I am,” I said “,and, you, madam,” I felt like responding, “are a bitch.” Then she began to inject and the judging continued,”Ooh, what’s that?” She was talking about an unfortunate pimple that was healing on my temple. “Uh” I said with no small amount of shame, “it was a little acne.”

Before she injected more botulism into my soon to be fading frown lines she continued, “Oh my gosh, you have thick skin on your forehead.” She said it as if I had the skin of an elephant’s hide on my face. She didn’t stop there, “and what moisturizer are you using, cause it ain’t working. Dry=old.” I panicked. I couldn’t remember. I felt sure that she was sure I didn’t even use a moisturizer. I wanted to explain that I have a bathroom filled with moisturizers but the words wouldn’t come. Really, I do use moisturizer but I have been sick and dehydrated and I just couldn’t remember the name and I thought of the first brand name that came to mind, “Bobbi Brown”. Only I don’t use Bobbi Brown, I use Patricia Wexler. It wasn’t until I was half way home that Patricia’s name returned to my brain unlike an elephant.

The skin care inquisition continued, ” I bet you don’t drink enough water either.” I felt obligated to answer my cruel confessor with an answer and “no” was the easiest answer to give when needles are being poked into your face( less letters than yes). “And your foundation, that isn’t working either. What brand are you using?” I was thrilled that I could remember my brand. I felt like a losing contestant on Jeopardy who finally got one question right after three rounds of public humiliation. “Dior Lift” I responded excitedly. “Well, it isn’t working. You need to use a mineral makeup.” I wanted to argue with her and tell her that dry skin and mineral makeup are not a good match, or at least for me but my mouth was frozen in shock.

After the Botox, my face was red due to the injections and my bad foundation had been well scrubbed off with alcohol revealing my elephant like hide, she handed me a magnifying mirror and showed me a line on my forehead. “You should have that line injected with filler; it would really soften your whole look.” I heard her subtext that I looked hard. I watched Nurse Cratchett pointing out more of my faults into the mirror that joined her in judgment. “Also, you should consider some filler in your nasolabial folds. Would you like to do that today?” I paused and tried to find a more socially acceptable response than “There is no way in hell I would pay you more money to abuse me, you _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _.”

While my Botox in Valencia was much cheaper and more convenient than Botox in Beverly Hills I assure you I will never go back for more abuse and cheap Botox. I will happily drive in rush hour traffic both ways on the freeway so I can pay more to be treated with some dignity, kindness and even a certain amount of deceit, “Oh my gosh,” one dermatologist cooed, “you have gorgeous skin.” I paid that woman $250 more for her kindness, her bedside manner and even bought the products she suggested. I am going back to her when I need another shot of Vitamin B-otox.

Post script: For those of you who are not big fans of Botox I can assure you that I can still move my face. My forehead moves and you can still tell when I am happy and/or sad.
Also, in response to Nurse Cratchett’s critique I am now drinking water like mad. I am also shopping for a new moisturizer and a new foundation even though I think she is a lying cow. I know I am foolish but the increased water is a good thing. Right?

Igor the Freudian comic: “Is that an Oedipal Complex in your pocket or are you just projecting on to me?”

If you had your ear against the wall during my session with Igor yesterday you would never guess that we were talking about panic attacks, a canceled trip to Paris, and severe childhood wounding. Why? Well, we were laughing our asses off. I never thought topics that required Vitamin A could make me laugh so much especially when I have a strep throat, an ear infection and a headache(good times!). But, there was much hilarity I assure you. I haven’t laughed that hard without being advised to tip your waitress and reminded of the two drink minimum.

When he asked me how the traffic was, his standard opening line, and I told him that I didn’t know because He-weasel had brought me he responded, “And, what, I don’t get to meet He-weasel?” he said in a deeply disappointed tone.
“Well, Lily is with him and I didn’t know if it would be okay to bring her up.” I explained.
“As long as she didn’t pee and crap everywhere….ah, what the hell a little pee wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

I explained to Igor that He-weasel brought me because I was sick and because I wanted to come anyways because I have been pretty anxious and I thought I needed to see him.
When I told Igor about the anxiety he asked “why didn’t you call me?”
I answered sincerely and sarcastically, “What the hell could of you done?”
“Well, you won’t know until you call me. Will you?”
“Why, you have something in your bag of tricks for anxiety?” I asked laughingly.
“Why, yes, yes I do.” Really if you could see Igor in his black turtleneck sweater and his well tailored black wool trousers and his Omar Sharif look a like thing going on and seeing him admit to having a bag of tricks you would have laughed too.
“Okay, so next time I’ll call you.”

He asked me to tell him about the anxiety and I told him that I used to feel like a bowl with a few holes in it and lately I feel like a colander.
“A what-ender?” he asked totally perplexed.
“A colander? I repeated more slowly and loudly annunciating as if he was reading my lips.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“You know, the thing you put pasta or fruit in and you can pour water in and it will drain out the water.” Sometimes it is very clear that Igor’s first language is not English.
“Oh, a colander.”

I told him all the things I have been writing in the novel and how because of it I became aware of all that happened in such a short time and that when I became aware the feelings felt all too much and how it felt as if there were too many holes in my bowl and that is when the anxiety started and I felt flooded and fragmented.

I also told him about the planning for Paris anxiety and he agreed I should not go to Paris. He said that rather than a smaller and closer trip he advises a trip as grand and as long in another country than France. He says Paris has too many associations and that he doesn’t think smaller and closer would break the spell of “bad things happen when I make a choice.” He asked me how that sounded and I said it didn’t sound so good. “Where would you want to go?” I thought seriously about his question but I struggled for an answer. It felt like being asked other than food what would you like to eat for dinner?Huh? When I think of vacation I think of France. Is he trying to say that I might go somewhere other than Paris for a real vacation?

There are other things that Igor said in our 50 minutes that made me laugh and some other things that made me reconsider my whole psychology and yet I find that I am reluctant to talk about them here today. Why? Hmmm…..I suppose part of it is that I am sick and have a low fever and feel a bit spacey and ungrounded and the Nyquil is making me feel unsure if I want to talk about those core issues before I have processed them for myself. But, what I can tell you is that my session yesterday with Igor gave me hope and doubt. I doubt the validity of what the anxiety is saying about me and I have some hope that this will all end soon and very soon I will be able to book trips to Paris without needing to use anti-anxiety meds and a brown paper bag.

Picture is an up close shot of a colander comes from here and as I look at it I am starting to wonder if there isn’t some beauty to my holes.

Confession #2

My non-Igor chic psychiatrist with a sexy Saks wardrobe, a collection of Andy Warhol pug prints on her minimalist wall, who whispers when she asks me sensitive questions and who keeps me in Vitamin W decided I was not doing as well as I could and so she switched me from Vitamin W-SR to Vitamin W-XL and within three days I was really not doing well and I was anxious and I mean anxious. I am not that familiar with anxiety, it is not something I personally know a lot about. The anxiety I have been experiencing has not been just a little anxiety but rather the hyperventilating I think I am going to die kind of anxiety. Depressed I know how to deal with, but anxiety, ooh, it is bad and I don’t like it. I have since switched back to the original Vitamin W and unhappily I am still anxious. I am the kind of anxious that has required I add Vitamin A-tivan to my bag of tricks.

I have never before had any commitment issues and now I can’t commit to anything. I mailed in my license application so I could work in California and I immediately needed a Vitamin A as soon as I sealed the envelope. He-weasel and I looked at a few houses( our lease is up on the condo in June) and again with the hyperventilating. I thought about maybe getting a part time job and, yes, once again a brown paper bag seemed like a good idea.

This anxiety has snuck into unexpected places. I knew it was bad when I was so freaked out that even though He-weasel has the time off from work and it is already on the schedule and he was there with me in front of the computer with credit card in had and I just could not commit to a hotel reservation for our trip to Paris. We have tried it four different times and each and every time I needed some Vitamin A and still have not been able to get the trip booked. I would put in our names,dates and credit card numbers and I just could not click on the confirm button.

He-weasel took me to lunch today and we talked about my B.P.T.A. (booking Paris trip anxiety). We broke it down over a chopped salad at the Corner Bakery all without any help of Igor( take that Igor). So here is how it goes:

1) The last time I made plans to go to Paris I couldn’t go because He-weasel got fired and our lives fell apart.
2) And, even though He-weasel is doing really well in his job something about booking the trip has made me all PTSD about everything we have been through in the last year come to the fore and has made me scared that if I book the trip something bad will happen( I know it is irrational—I know—but tell that to my anxiety).
3) So, I am strangely convinced that if I book the trip all will fall apart. Just writing that sentence sent me into need for Vitamin A.
4) Also, my anxiety is going into all of the planning: worrying about traveling with Lily, picking the right hotel, etc.,etc., etc.
5) Hence, when I am not feeling anxious about the trip to Paris I am feeling ambivalent about the trip to Paris.

He-weasel asked me how I would feel if we canceled the trip to Paris until my anxiety was alleviated which could be next week or next month or worse and at first the thought freaked me out and then I knew that he was right. He-weasel is going to book a low key trip to a spa or to Monterey or Coronado just so I can take a test trip and see how I do before we book Paris. He thought it be good for me to do a local getaway to see how I do( he is handling all the arrangements so I can’t stress out, well not as much). It is so weird for me to be anxious about travel as I traveled alone internationally at 18 with no fear whatsoever and I have booked flights with no idea of where I was going to stay or do once I got there and now I am freaking out about every detail. I know it is silly. I feel so lame that I am letting anxiety stop me. Please tell me you understand.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlfqjP4Vrls]

Writing in Valencia: Part Twelve

For years I have said that I don’t write fiction, much like many housekeepers say “I don’t do windows”, and then something happened and I have for the last two weeks been doing what I said I don’t do—only not really as my fiction is really more non-fiction than my non-fiction. That said, I now know why I have been resisting fiction like a root canal.

As you can see from the novel writing word count widget( which I highly recommend), located on the left margin of my blog, that I got from A Cat of Impossible Colour( a lovely blogger who I also highly recommend), I have written 12% of my novel. Just FYI, writing fiction is hard. I thought you might want to know that just in case you ever thought about doing it. Derrick Jensen had it right when he said, “Writing is really very easy. Tap a vein and bleed onto the page. Everything else is just technical.

That is what is what I have been doing. I have been sitting at my laptop five days a week and I have been tapping a vein and bleeding onto my laptop. I am telling the truth 1000 words at a time in a more honest way than I would ever dare to tell in non-fiction. Here is how I do it, and I don’t advise this method of writing for anyone, I sit and think of all the things that think I can’t write and are the most painful and unspeakable bits and I start there and I just write it all out totally unedited and I keep writing until the tears come. I often tell the truth so honestly that I am crying the whole 1000 words and am typing with my eyes closed because the Cover Girl Lash Blast mascara has gotten in my eyes and obscured my vision. And, lucky for me, all this writing has triggered even more material to take to Igor and when I take the material that is triggered by the writing then my work with him gives me more material for the book. It is a circle of pain and progress.

Carolyn See, the author of “Making a Literary Life” wisely suggests that “your thousand words are best when they are not just an outpouring of raw feelings. Sometimes those raw feelings suggest what you really want to be writing about….What if you look for the raw emotion in your own world and then, instead of dissipating it in single-spaced howling, just for the hell of it, write your own story?”

She goes onto recommend as you are writing your story to keep a post-it note near your writing space with the following: Character? Plot? Geography? POV? Time and space? Building a scene? Rewriting? Dialog vs. description? “And without looking at that list until later (maybe five days later, or six months later) you dash off a thousand word, remembering in a vague sort of way, that what you’re writing should have characters, that they have to do something” and that the novel requires the other things on your post-it note list. All these things will need to be decided, but not now. For now, I just have to keep writing.

I have over 10,000 words of total unedited hot mess. When I tried to explain to Igor how bad it is he said “Are you saying that it is so bad that I would have to wash my hands after holding it?” Yes, that is what I am saying. He seems to think that my sense of the book and my frustration with in its current state might have something to do with my mother’s anal retentiveness and how something is not okay unless it comes out perfectly formed and the book is not that. Really, it is the most unorganized document of chaos I have ever credited. I just write a 1000 words—and there is no beginning, middle or end and intellectually I know that is okay. I know that when I am done with my 80,000 words I can go back and organize, shape, rewrite, and edit like mad. It may even take another 80,000 words to tell my story and that is fine. But, let me assure you that as I write the 1000 words I often wonder what the hell I am doing and if I will ever manage to turn this into anything. I hear that voice and then I keep writing.

If you have difficulty allowing yourself to write a bad first draft I highly recommend Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. Anne might also have a mother with a complex that Igor might diagnose as she wrote of the importance of “shitty first drafts“. I think of Anne’s wise words when I start to panic that my writing should be less shitty. I imagine that she will be much thought of through all 80,000 words and well into my shitty second draft.

Another important companion in the novel writing process beyond Igor, French roast coffee and Vitamin W is my novel notebook which I keep with me nearly 24 hours a day. I just can’t take a chance that when I am driving, at the market, or getting my nails done that some insight or idea might come and I might miss it.
It even comes into the bathroom with me just in case inspiration should hit when I _ _ _ _( I think Igor maybe onto something with his anal analysis). The only place I don’t take it with me is into the shower and that is only because the pages aren’t waterproof. I am constantly writing in my novel notebook little thoughts, words, phrases or pieces of info that I will want to include in the book. If you saw the notebook it would look to you like the ravings of a loon but I cannot tell you how much my notebook helps me when I have the appearance of a block. If I can’t come up with 1000 words to write I turn to the notebook and look at one of the entries and then I just start writing about that until there is nothing left and then I move onto the next one until I have met my word count quota.

I am off to do another 1000 words. I will need another cup of coffee, some Kleenex, and a strong stomach. Igor has stirred up plenty of raw material that is just waiting to be turned into a shitty first draft.

*****

If you would like evidence that I can inspire great writing, even if I can’t often manage it( at least in the first draft), please click here to meet un lapin blanc. I would love it if you would be so kind as to pop over and welcome my francophile white rabbit friend to the blogosphere with a warm bienvenue.

Totally unrelated to writing but about a writer: Braja friend, a frequent commenter and a dear bloggy has been in a very serious car accident. If you have a deity please pray for her, her husband and the driver who were all seriously injured. If, like me, you are deity free, please think good thoughts for all in
volved. Updates about her condition are posted frequently here. Braja we miss you and hope that you return very soon to the blogosphere.

Tomorrow is my birthday

….and I am not at all happy about this. I don’t care much about getting older as long as I can afford Botox and hair colour—-it is not so much the visible signs of aging that get to me but more that I am not able to live out a birthday ritual that I have had going since I was 10 years old. Every year on my birthday I buy a legal pad and I write a list of what I have accomplished that year:
1. Kissed a boy
2. Got an A in Spanish
3. I collected all flavors of Bonnie Bell Lip Balm
4. Finished third year of dance class at Karen Ketterer School of Ballet
5. Have new BBF
6. Got the chicken pox on purpose
7. I went to a shrink for the first time and I hate her and she is stupid and she just doesn’t get it.

As I got older the lists got more impressive:
1. Got into college
2. Failed algebra
3. Learned 50% of words in Taber’s Medical Dictionary
4. Got a job working for a pediatric neurologist
5. Broke up with shit for brains boyfriend
6. Wrote a short story

Once I review everything I accomplished the previous year then I at exactly 9:20 a.m. pacific time( the time of my birth) I sit on a bench at Palos Verdes beach and plan what my life will be in the next 365 days. Every year I have done this ritual I have sincerely and earnestly believed that I could make the next year would be whatever I wanted it to be if I worked hard enough at making it happen. I still have the notebook I wrote out in 2001 and almost everything I wrote out as goals for the year came true. I did get into grad school. I did get only A’s. I did get a fantastic internship where I loved working there and they love me working there” ( an exact quote from the 2001 birthday notebook). I did read all assigned reading and everything on the suggests reading list. I did walk a half marathon and I did have one of the happiest years of my life.

Well, tomorrow I should drive out to the beach at Palos Verdes and write out the f’n list of everything I accomplished this year but just the idea of that makes me feel like I need a Peptobismo cocktail. What did I accomplish this year? Pardon me, I need another shot of Pepto with a Tums chaser.

Okay, this year I:
1. I survived Austin
2. I survived Inkey dying
3. I survived being hit on by a family member
4. I went on Vitamin W
5. I lost many friends that I no longer have a single thing in common with because: 1) I am not and never will be a mother and b) I will no longer give away my work for free to them and hence I am down 6 friends this year. Woo-hooo! What an accomplishment.
6. I made a lot of lovely blogger friends who don’t seem to care if I am not a mother and that I won’t practice my craft on them for free and I feel lucky to have real friends that I have real things in common with, so that is good.
7. I am in therapy with Igor.
8. I wrote a crappy non-fiction book and had it rejected
9. I wrote 24 pages of a crap fiction book.
11. I survived moving to Valencia
12. I completely lost my faith and hope in any kind of benevolent force
13. I got my Prius
14. And, most importantly, I got Lily and have learned to train her
That’s it. That is what this year was and now it is over.

But for the next year I can come up with nothing to put on the list, there is nothing that I care if it happens or not. Yeah, we are going to Paris but I don’t really care( I know that is shocking) and yeah I am writing the crap novel and I don’t really care about it either. I think all the hope, desire and expectation I have had in last years has been crushed by disappointment, loss, trauma and harsh reality and so I just don’t dare to fully invest in a desire.

Yeah, I would like stuff for my birthday. Here is a list for you last minute shoppers:
1. I would like to have hope.
2. I would like to believe that someday we will move out of L.A. and find a real home.
3. I would like to lose 20 pounds without any effort or sacrifice on my part.
4. I would like a Canon Digital Rebel XSi 12.2 MP Digital SLR Camera with EF-S 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 IS Lens (Black).
5. I would like to trade in depression, anxiety and despair for boredom, fatigue and indifference.
6. A really good chocolate cake.
7. A cave with comfortable interiors and an inability to give or receive telephone calls from.
8. My student loans paid off in full.
9. Peace.

I might get the cake, everything else is more of a dream. I can’t write anything on the yellow legal pad that I don’t believe can happen. I just can’t. It would be breaking the rules. But cake will make it to the legal pad.

Fairy-god-blogger

Yesterday Lily had a lovely opportunity to practice and prepare for her upcoming trip to Paris. She spent nearly three hours at Aroma Cafe in Studio City with Fifi and I. Lily was treated to French bread, Fifi dog bones and even a little bit of Prosciutto. Fifi, as you may recall, is Lily’s Fairy-god-blogger.

Please click over to Fifi’s Flowers to learn the story of a ladies who lunch luncheon with Fifi, Lily and a Weasel. It’s worth the trip. Go on, click you heels together three times and say out loud, “there’s no place like Aroma” and then click here. Fifi doesn’t like it when I thank her profusely for bringing Lily and me together but I can’t help it; merci, Fifi!

I would write more but I have another luncheon date. Today I am meeting Pamela of Francophilia fame and her francophile friend, Dennis. Pamela traveled all the way from Paris to meet Lily( okay, maybe there were other reasons). As the ladies who lunch say: Ciao, Sweety Darling!

Update: Ms. Fifi was joking when she put that picture up in which she claimed it to be the two of us. That is most certainly not me. The only thing I have in common with the woman in the picture is that I am a woman and I have red hair. If I looked like that woman I would be modeling and not blogging. There are advantages to not looking like a Super-model, the advantages are few but I am determined to focus on them. The pictures of Lily are in fact Lily as she requires no stand-ins for her photos.

The latest in Paris fashions for bitches

Don’t blame me. This outfit was picked, purchased and placed on by He-weasel on his baby dog-aughter. Even if you are anti-dog clothes you have to admit that Lily looks gorgeous in her new ensemble. He-weasel says that he never imagined that he would buy his dog an outfit. Lily is the kind of dog that inspires people to do things that they wouldn’t usually do. Like me. I wouldn’t usually go for a walk if I didn’t feel like it. Now that I have Lily I very frequently go for walks when I don’t feel like it. Soon after we are our the door Lily has changed my mind and I find that I am actually enjoying the walk.

Can you imagine Lily walking down the Champs-Elysées in this ensemble? Those Parisian dogs won’t know what hit ‘em? Isn’t she ooh-la-la-lovely in her sassy hot pink French ribbon and her Eiffel tower tee with black lace trim. She certainly can Can-Can. Oui?

About Me

My name is Tracey, aka La Belette Rouge. I am a psychotherapist and the author of Freudian Sip @ Psychology Today. I blog about psychology, my therapy, dreams, writing, meaning making, home, longing, loss, infertility and other things that delight or inspire me. I try to make deep and elusive psychodynamic concepts accessible and funny. For more information, click here .

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