I do feel so pretty walking through Beverly Hills and am quickly considering coming far more often especially when in need of a pick me up.  Everything from drug stores to panty stores and restaurants alike have valet.  Certainly by far the most valet per store in any city I've ever seen before in my life.  I kind of feel like a super model-celebrity/beauty pageant queen in Texas walking a red carpet.  The valet stare and ogle at my literally effortless ability to go from plain jane to pageant queen (in their eyes, p.s.).  

Walking into Victoria's Secret, to peruse the latest panty selection, I see two men.  This is somewhat alarming, as this makes me want to almost immediately turn and walk straight out.  I mean, assuming I do in fact wear panties and other undergarments, at some point I need (read: need vs want game) to add to/replenish said "collection", as most all women do.  But-but...there are MEN here.  Note:  It's a very similar blood-rushing to the head & turning red feeling like when getting toilet paper, tampons, etc... Of course I need these things but I definitely feel like I'm parading around with said items with a spotlight, like a circus act.  but imagine they may be feeling just as, if not more, awkward.  I mean,  in their own heads, one picking out panties for hopefully and presumably his gf (as opposed to unlikely option number 1. His sister, option: 2. His mother, or option:  3.  A girl he wants to desperately make his gf and to no avail, this will inevitably not do the trick)  and the friend, wingman, who now knows and will inevitably picture his friends' girlfriend in said undergarments.  And if I buy anything surely they will take note and picture me in said items. I quickly begin to feel dirty, used and like a worker come actress, in the beginning of a video conveniently found in the curtained off section at blockbuster to those over 18 years of age, directed by a Victoria's Secret stock boy whose 45 and in film school. Something's gone terribly wrong here (and by here, i mean my brain) and after more awkwardness creeps into my every last being, I make my exit whilst biting my bottom lip in a greater effort to avoid the uncomfortable laughing fit aching to escape.

my very good friend from what seems like another life just moved to town.  the other side of town, but to town, noneandnevertheless...  neither of us own nor need a car, we both walk to work,  so the past few weeks of desperately trying to get together have been sad and failed attempts.  over the course of missing each other we caught up on the telephone.  reminiscing over old times got me overly excited over seeing my long lost favorite mexican.  this last weekend he rented a car while more spanish speaking friends and family came to visit him.  he picked me up.  the games began from the moment he grabbed me as we re-affirmed each others' alarming ability to stay as vivaciously attractive since years past, regardless of facebook photos as our best abllity to stay in touch from afar... until now.  amongst spanish speaking buddies crashing to his way-fat weho pad was a designer and chef from CAYnKOOOn-mAY-HEE-KO.   this day was for feasting and fireworks (read: feasting and drinking. heavily.).  feast from the cancuninan and fireworks from the grove as part of the treelighting celebration.  more spanish speakers came.  "bueno, bueno, jajajaja. blahblahblah jajajajaa"  my wine pourer never stopped pouring wine.  the "best bartender-ever" award goes to my friend from the other life - at one point i had to pour myself water as i realized 3 glasses in, or what seemed like 3, i was never empty,  (note:  a good bartender will never let you go thirsty. never.)  i was dehydrated, and the alcoholic grape juice was shockingly im sure, not quenching my thirst.  before i knew it i felt like i was in cabo.  ive never been but imagine being surrounded by mexican spanish speakers who were not hollering for me to take off my shirt or performing the all-famously rumored lewd acts with barnyard animals just across the border - had a simiar feel.  they were bilingual.  i imagine too if i could properly speak another language aside from, well, obscenities, i too would, if with native tongue speakers such as myself, revert back, and feel sorry for/pity the fool/make fun of endlessly, the opposite speaking nitwit to my right.   

how in gods name can i fly cheaper to paris from los angeles than chicagp?  

i lost 4#'s

when my mom re-married we moved from our little apartment in the civilized world with all my friends to a "township"  where we lived in a ranch-style house on five, lush and terribly boring acres.  our neighbor lived on identical landscape, for he and the guy who lived in our house were best friends and bought the land together...sadly, the best friend died from the house we moved in, which left us, as his neighbors.  across the street was a forrest preserve and every day of my life i felt like i was living in a horror film just waiting to be sliced, diced and other wise completely mamed.  note:  i have never watched more scary movies in that time of my life, i barely slept, lived in fear for my life from my moms husband (read: stepfather, note to the second power:  stepfathers in slasher flicks also "do in" the bratty stepdaughter & i used to sleep with the dresser in front of my drawer if the weather smelled like fear, and certainly the two long years we lived in that house, it did.   p.s. i also had an escape plan).  not to mention, michael meyers, freddy krueger and numerous b flick killers who liked to gruesomely murder 14 year old girls in the shower, while they sleep, and wait for the bus, all were definitely in my neighboring forrest... 

the first time i saw a penis belonged to brian f.  at the time i had a crush on him and to this day i still have no idea how i ended up in that bathroom at my friends'' new years eve party with him, but i did... and what seemed sudden and out of the blue, he unzipped his pants to show me his weiner.  i sat and stared for what seemed like forever,  it was as though i had just seen a car crash with peoples' heads having just gotten decaptiated before my very eyes- that was the utter shock i was experiencing.   so many racing thoughts:  how do you have sex?!  how do you have a baby!?!?!  OH MY GOD i never want to have sex, ever.  this was also the first time i had drank alcohol.   and with a huge smile on his face and bud light bottle in hand with it all hanging out he said, "i showed you mine, now you show me yours!"  it was like a bad after school special and had been quite sheltered.  i was 16.  sitting in this bathroom, so small, not even a shower, it truly just had a toilet and sink, terrified of being "date" raped from my "friend" just like mom warned me of all those years.  without skipping a beat i got up, unlocked the door and flew out of there.  his drunken bobble head followed where i was going with a very confused look on his face as i ran.  i ran for safety. 

p.s. why would anyone want the conference room for only 5 minutes?

UPDATE:  here are some fun, dreamt up ideas: 

*getting a divorce

*leaving the company

*phone sex

*starting a new company

*out of the country adoption

*making rendez-vous with another woman

*madoff investment

i receive what seems like daily emails from oprah and her team of people with tips, tales and questions answered - this mornings:  "what your symptoms mean & when to go to the hospital"...  i never can resist a good health & symptom article! (read: hypochondriac)  

i always pay attention to the heart causing it to beat like a drum (not sure which one) and seeing as the heart rules all, well, you know  ...it says what heart attack symptoms feel like and instruct "one" or "you" to immediately phone 911,  following up with an aspirin to thin the blood so it may freely flow whilst waiting for paramedics...  so,  i phoned up a good friend and asked for a bottle of pinot, i dont have aspirin.