End of June

This was Wednesday's harvest. And after I took the photo Lyle pointed out that I had forgotten 4 more cucumbers I had cut and left in the front yard. 12 cukes in one day. The housekeeper got 3, we kept 2 and the rest went to Lyle's work.

The lettuce quit us around the beginning of June. It finally got warm and the lettuce and Spinach bolted towards heaven. So it got cut out.

As the lettuce left, the cucumbers arrived, in force. Why is it that we think salads should be lettuce and tomatoes and cucumbers and those things won't grow in my yard at the same time?

We've had about 20 or so artichokes from our plants of which we didn't expect anything until year two.

The pepper plants are doing their thing. So much so that some plants are being pulled over from the extra weight.

Though we had a miracle plant that gave us tomatoes through the winter, we've been lacking tomatoes since late January. The tomato in the photo above is our first summer tomato.

The sunflowers are on fire! Though some are still inching their way up, up, up others have crested 7' tall. They will appear in the house photo I've promised my mother this weekend.

word

Do you care about memes? I saw this on another site and it intrigued me. I'm not often able to answer in one word. Okay, not usually in one sentence either.

1. Where is your mobile phone? Pocket.
2. Relationship? MARRIED.
3. Your hair? Fabulous.
4. Work? Breezy.
5. Your sister(s)? Sublime.
6. Your favourite thing? Dogs.
7. Your dream last night? Angst.
8. Your favourite drink? Fruity.
9. Your dream car? Topless.
10. The room you're in? Guest.
11. Your shoes? Sneakers.
12. Your fears? Unfounded.
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Tan.
14. Who did you hang out with this weekend? Husband.
15. What are you not good at? Math.
16. Muffin? Chocolate.
17. Wish list item? Peace.
18. Where you grew up? Ongoing.
19. The last thing you did? Coffee.
20. What are you wearing? H&M
21. What are you not wearing? Socks.
22. Your pet (s)? Snoozing.
23. Your computer? Big.
24. Your life? Pleasing.
25. Your mood? Zen.
26. Missing? Money.
27. What are you thinking about? Sunshine.
28. Your car? Convertible.
29. Your kitchen? Clean.
30. Your summer? Fabulous.
31. Your favourite colour? Dulce-de-Leche (cheated!).
32. Last time you laughed? TV.
33. Last time you cried? Dream.
34. School? Finished.
35. Love? Seriously.

Tag! You're it! Catching up part 4

On to the subject of Tagging. I’ll start.

Four jobs I’ve had:
•Busboy at the Elk’s Club. Had to quit after seeing my parents and grandparents shaking their groove things to “Proud Mary.”

•Clerk in a record shop. That’s right I said RECORD. I lost my job and went to get a very important job finding haircut, that turned into a magenta/black cherry/orange fiasco. Where do freaks with bad hair get jobs? Record store. Got the job the day I interviewed.
•Sold Shoes for Joan & David at Harvey Nichols in London.
•As mentioned before, Wardrobe Stylist for Porn box covers.

Four movies I can watch over and over and over:
•Auntie Mame with Rosalind Russell not Mame the Musical. Though to be fair, Bea Aurther is the best thing ever in that version. Skip all the rest.
•How to Marry a Millionaire
•Sixteen Candles
•Drop Dead Gorgeous

Four places I’ve lived:
•London
•Portland
•Vancouver, BC
•West Hollywood

Four TV shows I love:
•Celebrity Fit Club - while I eat Ice cream and shout, "You couldn't loose 3 lbs!?!"
•Mythbusters - so not me, yet so me.
•Oprah - but never any of the sad ones or anything involving death or stuff like that. I guess I should write, Happy Oprah.
•The Daily Show - daily.

Four places I’ve vacationed:
•China - during the Bird Flu scare. No chicken in sight for 10 days.
•Peru - including Lake Titicaca (god, I love saying that word)
•Belgium - So tiny, yet so fun!
•Hungary - yum!
and I would go back to all of them.

Four of my favorite dishes:
It all depends on how they’re made or where they’re made. So I will only go with things cooked at home where I have all the control
•Beef Bourguignon (Intensely laborious takes all day and every pot to make)
•Duck Confit
•Cedar smoked Salmon in Teriyaki sauce
•Ice cream
Four sites I visit daily:

•Towleroad
•JoeMyGod
•All those sites on the right hand side, which puts me way over four.

Four places I’d rather be right now:
I was going to write Paris for all four, and then remembered I am quite happy to be home right now. But if I had to pick four, and I do...
•Paris
•Rio on the beach on a sunny day (not in the rain)
•South of France - Shopping in the Géant Hypermarché store, the Fred Meyer of France.
•Vancouver, BC - hello to all my adoring fans up North, I adore you right back.

Four bloggers I am tagging:
•Carolyn - because she asked me to tag her
•Rachel - because she, like me, enjoys being in grade 5 and talking about boys
•Jay - because he tagged me first and I want to get even
•Michael - because I think he could use a good distraction (seriously, no pressure and only if you want to)

Missy gets her due

My niece Chandra (in the pic above, in her own hair without a wig on) has sold a piece of her writing. Since I didn't do any of it, it's not my tale to tell, but you can check out her news on her site, Dreaming in Red. And if you feel so inclined, tell her congratulations.

Me? I bought her raspberry tarts. Yummy and congratulatory!

Catching up part 3

Referring back to my Father’s Day post.

My family reads this blog but won’t leave comments. They are not "lurkers" but they are not "sharers". I get e-mail direct from them. My mother wrote and told me I made her cry. It was never my intention to make anyone cry. The instances I used to illustrate my connection with my dad were just things that stood out in my mind and made sense to put together. I would say that growing up my father was always there for me, but we weren’t super close in a heading down to the fishin' hole Andy Griffith and Opie kind of way .

When my best friends mom was dieing and my parents were getting ready to become his guardian it was not without discourse. And that is the most polite thing I can say. I think I have re-created a pattern my parents have. I am like my mother in adopting strays. People, pets, furniture... Lyle has taken my dad’s role in keeping that to a minimum and really saving me from myself. I would give away far too much of myself have nothing left to give. Clearly you need a balance.

Though my dad was not gung-ho about bringing on another damn kid (he already had three damn kids) my mom persisted and there were 6 of us that Christmas and I am certain all six of us knew it was the right thing. And let me add this as well, my older brother and sister were absolutely 100% on board as well as my parents. When you factor in all the people pulling to make something so painful into something beautiful it really boggles the mind.

Perhaps I have inherited another aspect of my dad in that I think he is afraid of caring too much. Adding another kid to the group was going to be adding another person to worry about at night or when they are flying somewhere and that can be a real burden as well. Ironic note, my brother Scott is now a commercial pilot.

My older brother thinks my dad was afraid of messing us up, or it was just his generational way of dealing with kids. As I have gotten older, I no longer feel the need to wish I could change how it was, it brought me to who I am today and I like me. But it wasn’t always like that. I think everyone is seeking approval of their parents. And Though I officially came out to my dad about 8 years ago, it was at my wedding 3 years ago that I got what I needed.

My dad didn’t just accept me and love me because of who I was or in spite of who I was. He came and CELEBRATED who I was. It really meant the world to me. You know those people who cry and say, “The happiest day of my life was my wedding.” Count me in. What a sap.

My dad doesn't do the whole computer thing. My mom prints out each blog and gives it to him to read, photos and all. I guess he misses out when I do a movie. I don't mean to put words in my dad's mouth. And if he wants to tell me what he was thinking, feel free dad.

As for your offer of a hug Carolyn, you know how I feel about having my space invaded... I'm not saying no, I'm not saying yes. But I fully appreciate the offer coming from you. I'm guessing that with your intentions, it would be no invasion at all.

Catching up part 2

After my post of 8 things you may not now about me, the Clever Fool asked me to elaborate on number 8 - Some of the nicest people I know work in porn. Some of the scariest as well.

Well this is LA. One night, drunk off my ass and getting more drinks at the bar I turned around and literally ran into a guy in a white tank undershirt (much like the shirt in this blurry photo of him), spilling some of my precious vodka cranberry on him and his shirt. “Hey, you almost ruined my shirt,” he smiled as he said it. I’m so sorry, I can see it’s designer and if you'd like I can give you $5 to go buy another. Yes, drunk and bitchy at a gay bar, imagine. He told me only his friends were allowed to mock his poor taste in cheap clothing.

A bit later, my friend and I stumbled closer to him and his group of friends. He looked up and pointed me out, "That's the guy that made fun of my shirt." His friends applauded and invited me over to meet them. That's when I discovered one of his friends was a photographer and he worked with my boyfriend. We were now close enough to mock him in person. I asked him what he did for a living, and he told me, “I’m Matt Bradshaw.” Uh, that’s a nice name, but what do you do for a living? “I’m Matt Bradshaw. That’s what I do for a living.” Turns out he was a porn actor. His real name was revealed and also that he cuts hair as his day job. Over the course of the next year I’d see him out, at parties and even met up with him out one night to show my out of town friends what a variety of interesting people I knew in LA. After living in LA for about 6 years, I have to say he was one of the most genuine and honest people I had come to know. Once I stopped drinking every and going out every night (I still drink, I still go out, just not EVERY NIGHT) we didn’t see each other nearly as much.

Me and Miss Kaylani share an intimate moment...

In another incarnation, I have been a wardrobe stylist. One off shoot of being a wardrobe stylist is the interesting people you get to work with. For instance dressing porn actresses. And of the 8 -12 I have met and dressed consistently, I keep about 4 in my cell phone and manage to see them at least twice a year. VERY interesting perspectives on life can be gleaned from this group. Let me gratuitously drop a few names to increase strange traffic to this site from search engines, Kaylani Lei, Stormy Daniels, Sydnee Steele. No, I have not dressed Jenna Jameson. Yes, I have met her once. But it was no big deal. Well, not to me.

Miss Stormy Daniels just won "Best Breast" at the F.A.M.E. awards...
I have no idea how

Have you noticed that in the last few posts all my shirts in the photos are so bright and bold? What's up with that? I swear my usual uniform is a white v-neck T-shirt. That's what I am wearing right now. That is my default. I guess I knew I was getting a few of those photos so I may have reached about in the closet for something a tad more glamour...

Catching up with me.

So many little things to clarify, answer or share. Here's one.

Two weeks ago we went to see Madame. As in Wayland Flowers and Madame, except that Wayland Flowers passed away about 16 years ago, so now it’s Madame with Joe Kovacs. It was held at M Bar and Restaurant in Los Angeles. It was a dinner show and so we ordered dinner. What a mistake. It was like Chef Boyardee had served up some ravioli and to compensate for the lack of ingredients in the food, he went crazy with garlic. Common wisdom is that if you eat garlic, you become immune to its odor. And it is said that if you are going to have garlic, everyone at the table should have it, that way you will all become immune together.

We ate Friday night. I was still apologizing on Sunday. Ugh.

Back to Madame. There were three portions to the show. Madame’s entry and opening monologue. Then came a different puppet, Crazy Mary. Finally Madam returned and closed the show. Mercifully.

The opening was alright. I kept thinking I really enjoyed the original Madame and wondered how close this performance was to that. In my mind it was falling far short.

Turns out it was incredible close to the original. Apparently we were younger and simpler then.

Then out came Crazy Mary. AWFUL. So bad that the refrain “whore toe” rang in my ear longer than the garlic stayed on my breath.

Back came Madame and I began to wish I did heroin or LSD. Anything to make this performance funny. Show over, we ran for the exit and I managed to dodge meeting Madame on the way out. AS you must be fully aware, it’s a rare day I dodge any sort of celebrity meeting chance. Yeah, that bad.

Range Rover Experience

Perhaps this is the “full of myself” weekend. Ok, month. Because I forgot to post (or was I just busy and/or lazy) what we did last weekend.

Lyle and I were VIP drivers at a Range Rover event.

Lyle owns a Range Rover. Not a Discovery. Not a Land Rover Sport. A Range Rover. I only pre-correct you because it is what he would do if you were here in person.

This is our second Range Rover. Lyle justified the cost of gas by the savings on the purchase price of a “pre-owned” Rover vs a brand new “any other SUV.” He was also obsessed with the Rover, so I gave in. He claims just driving it home from work makes having to go to work more bearable.

Because we are Range Rover owners, we are on their list. It’s a very good list. On the one year anniversary of our purchase, Range Rover sent a nice piece of carry-on luggage with their logo and a thank you note for owning one of their cars. In contrast, on the one year anniversary of owning a Volvo C70 convertible I was still arguing with the service department about the damage the melting rear-view mirror did to the interior of my car. Both owned by Ford. Obviously not managed by the same team.

Here’s a quick aside. All the money companies pay out in advertising to attract new customers, then once they have you they do NOTHING to keep you. If banks reversed an overdraft and refunded you that fee (because the computer program cost so much to run) wouldn’t you feel a little more loyalty? If Volvo had just fixed the car right the first time and not cut corners would I be more prone to buy another? Would I perhaps stop telling people I would never buy another when the talk to me at stop lights? (when you have a convertible, people feel free to invade your space like that). Anyway, just a thought, spend only half of your current ad budget and give the other half of the money back to your customers in services (like live people to talk to!). Let your customers give you good word of mouth. This is the beginning of the revolution.

Back to last weekend. We were invited to a VIP experience in the Malibu Hills to test drive a Range Rover off-road. Also there would be a gourmet cooking seminar by a top LA chef presented by Gourmet Magazine, a Republic of Tea demonstration on the history of Tea and gracious catered food. Hmmmmm.... free food?

We signed up.

It was a gorgeous day and since we can be a little snotty, we took the Volvo convertible. (and that is how I got my farmer’s tan line on my arm and neck)

The location was a gracious estate that was beautifully built with no thought of actual people living there. All this amazing Italian tile in every bathroom, no toilet paper holders. The roll just sat on the back of the toilet. Also no pretty garbage bins. Range Rover had to put cardboard boxes in with garbage bag liners.

The food was great. I ate a lot. We got there about half an hour early and before you knew it, it was our turn to drive. Again, no Sport, no LR4, full on Range Rover only. We were given a professional off-road instructor to ride along with us.

Lyle got in front and I got in back. I like to test drive back seats to see how my peeps will feel when we go places. That’s me, always thinking of others. The instructor gave Lyle all sorts of information, “Blah, blah, gear down. Blah, blah, overdrive. Blah, blah, double shift, tap back, cappuccino maker...” did he just say cappuccino maker? no.

We headed to the off-road course. I nattered away in the back seat asking questions. I hate quiet time.

The course had been built by Land Rover for today. It is steep up, deep alternating ruts on each side, loose gravel high banked turn then steep down and very dusty. Well that explains why the car was so dirty. Yes, I judged them already. Lyle did very well in his driving and paying attention to the instructor. He shifted over, he double tapped, I think he made me a cappuccino. I kept the conversation flowing.

Then our driver started asking us about politics. Does that seem odd to anyone else? He wasn’t very direct, but I got the definite vibe that he may be conservative. You’ve seen photos of us here. Do we look like the poster children for a G.O.P rally? I was in neon citrus orange LaCoste Polo with seersucker shorts. I mean, COME ON!?

Jim showcases the gracious estate!

So with my good old fashioned "Bambi and Thumper" inspired values I went with “If you haven’t got something nice to say, don’t’ say anything at all” modus operandi. Finally I was quiet. Then after going on about how he felt the United States should be Teddy Roosevelt country once again where we have a mighty military that just intercedes in clear cases of wrong doing (because all the world is so black and white with no gray areas) and that other countries should be very afraid of the US military might.
Then there was a pause.

“Kinda’ quiet in the back seat. What do you think?”

Well, he asked. So I told him. I had seen an interview with a documentary filmmaker on television (admit it, the Daily Show) and in this film he explores the Military Machine that exists in the US*. The filmmaker referenced President Eisenhower’s farewell speech when he left office in the 60’s (1961), he warned of the “military-industrial complex” and its influence over U.S. policy making. The idea that if you put all your energy into building a military at the expense of other possibilities that when questions and crisis arise, you only have one answer, the answer you’ve built for. (It's very much the school of Oprah and The Secret. What you focus your energy on will expand. If an entire country is focused on military solutions, then military solutions will expand. To be fair to myself, I left the Oprah speak in my head.) I did tell him I felt we could do a lot more with diplomacy and foreign aid and raising standards of living for the population of our own country instead of tearing down other countries. That there is no simple solution and I don’t think I could ever vote for a candidate that didn’t’ get that the world is complex and you can’t fix things going forward without looking back to see how it all broke. (I also believe this about immigration policies in the US.) And then I quietly sat back in my seat.

He asked Lyle what he thought. “I could never vote for someone like the current president we have.”

To which I added, “that’s because your Canadian, you can’t vote anyway.”

And then it was my turn to drive.

So I hop into the driver’s seat, tell the instructor that I didn’t pay any attention when he told Lyle how the car worked and asked if they ever rolled these puppies. He told me no problem he could walk me through it all again and that no, he had never rolled a Range Rover. I put into gear looked back at Lyle and said, “Well, let’s see if we can change that today!”
The way I saw it, it was $100,000 car with 648 miles on it and I wasn’t responsible for the insurance on it. What better time to test all our limits?

As we climb the first hill with deep ruts alternating and the car pitching steeply back and forth, Lyle asks if it seemed this steep when he was driving. The instructor offered that I seemed to be driving a little further towards the edge. And that I could come back to center.

I asked about the noise coming from under the car. Did the tires move separately or all together?

“Well, right now you’ve just got the front tire on the right and the back tire on the left getting traction. That sound is the other two tires trying to grasp something.” You mean, like air?

We cornered at the top and again, I was a little to the edge. Yeah, I know. I really wanna see how this machine can handle.

As we descend, Lyle admits he is getting nervous as we skid ever so slightly and the car pulls us down towards the bottom. “Speed is not your friend here," the instructor tells me, “you can take your foot off the gas.” The car is in it’s lowest gear setting and it feels like a theme park ride as it holds itself from lurching down the path. Chug. Step. Chug. Step. Slowly. Slowly. Creeping. BORING.

I don’t get the idea of off-roading. If you love the outdoors and nature so much, get out of the car and go hiking. Why try to steam roller over it in your $100,000 machine? If you love your car so much, take it the car wash, then the autobahn and really show it off.

But then again, my theory on the outdoors is that it is a place located between the Valet and the Mall and I hope it’s not raining when I have to cross it.

We return to the estate. They take our photo next to a clean version of the car we just drove. We look at the other cars available. They all seem so small compared to the wildebeest that is the Range Rover. We go back into the house and they check in staff jokingly ask if I broke anything. Just a few hearts,” I say as I make a heart shape over my chest with two hands and then break it in two. I love it when the staff is all flirty gay boys.

I keep asking the beverage server where the mimosa are. Everyone laughs. Cocktails at a driving seminar. No, seriously, I’m not driving home and I love free booze more than free food. We skip the Tea experience, we watch the cooking demo from a far. Then it’s time to go home.

As our car is retrieved from valet (oh yes, valet! Are we near the mall?) Keith introduces himself and gives us his card and lets us know that when (not if) we are ready to make our next purchase he would appreciate begin able to coordinate everything for us to complete our VIP experience. They want to make certain that everything about our next purchase would make us happy and go smoothly. (Taking notes Volvo?) We are then each given our parting gift bag with a leather photo box containing our picture taken next to the clean Range Rover, a travel tin of tea from the Republic of Tea, a Gourmet Magazine (current issue) and a parcel of Range Rover reading materiel.

Lyle took the Range Rover brochures to bed with him that night and is still dreaming about his new future precious angel baby car. I put sun soother on my neck and arms.

“Why We Fight,” conceived and directed by Eugene Jarecki is available from Amazon. I am still waiting to see it. I only like happy movies and this one concerns me.

Wonder(ful) Woman

Wow, where to begin.

What’s that?

The beginning?

Oh Fine.

Be like that.

That's so like you...

Good friends of ours are photographers. About a month ago I received an e-mail that said “Guess who was at our studio today?” I opened the email and there was a photo of Keith and Lynda Carter. That’s right television’s Wonder Woman.

Then I am told that the photos are to promote her Cabaret Tour. And then they tell me that she is coming to Los Angeles and they are going to see her. And taking the hubby and me. And we will get to go backstage after and meet her.

I plugged in my camera battery to start the charge.

When you think of Lynda Carter you think Wonder Woman. However she did win the title of Miss World USA representing her home state of Arizona in 1972 with singing as her talent.

So let’s get past all that and get to tonight!

If you are ever going to refer my blog to someone, perhaps this should be the time. I can’t imagine I will have many posts so celebrity laden in the near future. Yes, I know I live in LA. Yes, I do take celebrities for granted. And to be fair, I am horrible at recognizing celebrities and getting their names right. Unless they are from my childhood.

So we begin with Florence Henderson walking in with Freda Payne. They stop by the table to be introduced to our photographer friends. When the name “Freda Payne” is said out loud, my head explodes with her hit “Band of Gold” and I break out in goose pimples. When she shakes my hand and says hello, I nearly jump out of my seat.

As she and Florence walk away I keep gasping, “Freda Payne! Freda Payne!” and pointing to my arm awash in goose flesh. My kind friends point out “And Florence Henderson.” Yes, but you can expect to run into Florence Henderson, you never think you might run into FREDA FUCKING PAYNE.

I am now on seriously high celebrity freak out alert.

I have been in this situation before. I was introduced to Gore Vidal at a benefit a long time ago and he introduced me to his “dearest and oldest friend Betty. Betty Bacall.” More familiarly known as Lauren Bacall. I stammered. I stared. I think I forgot to close my mouth and drool slid out. I took a photo (with my own camera) for a friend, of her sandwiched between Gore and Betty. I could not bring my feet to move forward and get a photo of myself with the two of them. I am a celebrity cripple.

So as to hide how badly I want to rush forward and grab them and explain every moment of my life they may have influenced, I hang back. I nod politely. I speak nothing. If you know me, you know that is RARE.

So Flo and Freda have gone to their table. Next in the door is Bruce Vilanch. That Muppet scares me so I am able to remain calm as he passes by.

I am seated with my back to the door. My seatmate’s eyes all light up and they say, “Who is that? Jim, turn around you’ll know.” I casually turn my entire body to view the door. OHMIGOD. It’s Joan Van Ark! Joan Van Ark! Joan Van Ark! Yes, I actually did repeat it three times as I wiggled in my seat to keep myself from bolting directly at her.

I loved Knots Landing! If Michelle Lee or Donna Mills had followed her in I would have been forced to stand up and squeal like a girl. Will Joan be seated over on the other side with Flo and Freda? It's seems to be the celebrity side. That's where they took Bruce off to. No. Joan will be seated DIRECTLY BEHIND ME. I think I wet myself a little.

Then another woman came in to join Joan’s table. Slightly older, a little harder to recognize. The table once again asks me who it is. I can’t place her without staring. And I am so overwhelmed with celebrity reluctance I can’t bring myself to stare. After she is seated with Joan Van Ark. Oh my god, JOAN VAN ARK is still sitting RIGHT BEHIND ME. I hear the other woman’s voice. In that instant I had my answer.

I leaned in to my table and whispered loudly over the music, “Renee Taylor. Fran Drescher’s Mother on The Nanny. I. LOVE. HER.”

Finally the lights dim. Thank god I won’t be able to see any more celebrities enter as I did not being an extra pair of underwear and it is seriously all I can do to commit to doing some Kegel excises right at the table to keep from wetting myself.

Lynda Carter sings for about an hour and a half. She is surprisingly impressive. Her voice reminds me of Linda Ronstadt but not quite the same full range. Her stage presence is very personable. She seems almost selfless in her banter. Favorite performances, Patsy Cline’s “Crazy”, the jazz number based on a Charlie Parker solo “Cloudburst” and finally a number made famous by Rita Hayworth “Put the Blame On Mame.”

Near the end of the show Lynda graciously announced all the other celebrities in the audience and I was shocked to find out I had missed some. Les Moonves and his wife Julie Chen (I thought that Asian woman looked familiar). They were seated at the table in front of us with Lynda's husband and two children. Hi Les! Hi kids! Hey Chen-bot!

Les Moonves and Julie Chen (not how they looked tonight)

Gospel, jazz and blues singer Linda Hopkins who’s sequined jacket I had been eyeing all night trying to figure out why I was staring at that sequined jacket on that woman. Another singer, Andrea Marcovicci who in the dark I had wondered if it was a young Cloris Leachman (but then I also wondered how did Cloris get that time machine working so soon?). And all the rest of the people I mentioned earlier, thus confirming it really was Renee Taylor seated right behind me with Joan Van Ark (JOAN VAN ARK! RIGHT BEHIND ME!).

After the show was over, we were escorted back to the green room where Ms. Carter had gone to change. Funny, the room was actually painted green. I hate the color green on walls. I could never work in that kind of hostile green paint environment.

And finally, my dear friends and husband went to work snagging people to take photos with me because as you can already imply, I still could not speak or move or engage people (even non celebs) in normal conversation.

Without further ado, here’s my evening in pictures...

Lynda Carter looking FABULOUS after an hour and half in the hot lights up on stage.

Florence Henderson makes me look like Shrek in comparison to her petite frame. I seriously considered editing this photo to enlarge Florence and make me look normal size.

Freda Payne working her assets. Of course I told her I loved that top on her!

JOAN VAN ARK!
I think they all knew each other from the days of "Battle of the Network Stars".
I'm considering making this my Christmas Card this year. Unless I somehow magically get a photo with Cher.

At least we'll always have Paris... in jail.

I'm a terrible person.

I saw something, and instantly decided I needed to mock it. But since everyone else was already mocking it one way, I needed to find my own unique take on it. And now you can own a piece of my mockery.

http://www.cafepress.com/jimnoteshop

Go to my shop and purchase your very own Paris Hilton letter from Jail mug, pillow, T-shirt or panties. We may not be able to rid the world of her, but now is your chance to say, "At least we'll always have Paris... in jail."

Tag. I'm it.

Jay from "Jay+Gay=Me" tagged me. It's official. I am no longer a blogging virgin. This tag is something along the lines of 8 things you may not now about me.

Um, I've given this site out to EVERYONE I know and I also post photos of myself and friends... it's highly unlikely that I will ever post something truly incriminating or embarrassing about myself or cruel about someone else on this thing. So I shall turn to perhaps, fun facts.

1) My itunes library has 29,746 items in it. Of that, I'd guess about 5,000 are duplicates (things crashed, things got saved, things got pulled off of different computers. MESSY). But even at that rate it means I have almost 25,000 songs, movies, and videos in this blasted thing. Pick a theme. I've got a playlist for that. Okay, NOT Heavy Metal smartass.

2) I'm a big liar who rarely lies (or vice versa). I try to always tell the truth. "How are you?" I have a headache and I hate the rain. "Do you like this shirt?" You'd look better in something that buttons up instead of a pull over. "Did you say I was stupid?" No, I said that you sounded stupid.

But then I lie. "How old are you?" 34. "Did that taste alright?" I've never had such delightful pudding. "Are you avoiding my calls?" My cell phone broke yesterday.

And in case you're wondering, I'd never lie to any of you. I promise...

3) I speed. Anywhere worth going to is worth getting to sooner. SO GET OUT OF MY WAY.

4) I'd have 14 dogs right now if I were allowed to. Not any dogs in particular. Just every stray I've ever seen. I've had to take different routes to jobs in the past to avoid seeing "dingos" on my way to and from work.

5) I like to stay up late. The house is quiet and no one is looking for me.

6) I think Drag Queens should always be funny. Nothing worse than a SERIOUS drag queen. I didn't come to the Queen Mary Show Lounge thinking I would actually see Celine Dion. Please don't try to re-create her for me.

7) My life is not perfect. No one's is. But as my best friend Sheryl Crow says in one of her songs "It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you've got." And no, I don't really know Sheryl Crow, but I do know where she lives. (Sheryl, feel free to call me. We can go for a hike up the hill or just watch the sunset from the house.)

8) Some of the nicest people I know work in porn. Some of the scariest as well. You just never know.

Now, I'm supposed to "tag" 8 more people. But I hate chain letters. So if anyone wants to volunteer, be my guest. Just put a note below here that you've done your eight and add a link with which we can track you down.

Happy Father's Day

That's my dad in the plaid, not with the big ears

I was grew up the youngest of three kids. My father was a one of those dads who if you started crying over getting in trouble, who pinched you, or who called you a name, he would say things like, "You wanna' cry? I'll give you something to cry about!"

As the youngest of three, I cried a lot. Knowing it made my dad unhappy, I probably did it more. I was a pretty rotten kid.

I remember when my paternal grandmother passed away. I was in elementary school. We had to go over the mountains to the funeral. The drive over was tense. The trip was understandably sad.

All the drive over I set myself up to not cry. For once I was going to do what my dad would want. I would behave for one day. I would behave this day. I promised myself I wouldn't disappoint my dad.

When we got to the graveside, I looked up and there was my dad crying. I had never seen my father cry. I remember being shocked thinking, "I didn't know he knew how to cry..." I felt I finally had permission to cry and I wanted to cry so bad, but I had blocked it out of my mind for the entire weekend and now couldn't get the tears to fall. I cried for my grandmother when we got home. And for the next few weeks.

In high school, my best friend's mother became terminally ill. My mother became his support system as his mother slowly succumbed to cancer. When she passed away, my parents became his guardian and we were now a family with four kids. At the funeral, my mother told me that she would be riding in the car with my friend and sitting with him during the service. My father would be in charge of sitting with me and driving me to the graveside.

It was always my mother's job to be the emotional support. To be honest, I didn't think of my father as someone who could handle this job. This job being the job of taking care of the certain mess that I was on the verge of becoming at the funeral.

When my father and I got into the car I was very defensive. "I'm gonna' cry you know. I'm really upset, and I'm going to cry. I'm going to cry A LOT. You better be okay with that." And he told me I could do what I needed to do. As we stood there at the graveside, I remember crying and I remember my dad hugging me and telling me I would be okay and letting me cry. It felt weird to be crying on my dad. It was so rare, I remember telling myself as it was happening to take a mental note of this moment. It felt like a very safe place to be.

So to my dad on Father's Day, thank you for teaching me how to cry. Thank you for making me feel safe. I love you.

A Gay Old Time

After months of preparation and a dry run at Gay Pride in Long Beach, Gay Pride arrived in Los Angeles. My preparation was mostly to make sure I had a mani/pedi last week, fresh hair-do and a groovy outfit.

I bought the plaid shorts at H&M about two months ago. I went in search of the plaid short that didn't make my ass look wide. I was on a mission. I found these at my first stop. Well, first stop that day of plaid short hunting. I had actually scouted the stores for a month prior to determine where I would be going on my day of very serious trying on.

Plaid shorts checked off the list, I wore them in advance of Gay Pride. I needed to check pocket depth (so things don't fall out) and how the shorts looked when filled with wallet, camera and phone.

Then I needed to decide what shirt I would be wearing. I test drove a plain white T-shirt. I test drove a white polo shirt. I tested a white tank top. But ultimately it came to me that what I needed was a dark color shirt (people spill things on you at Gay Pride) with a collar and sleeves (shield the neck and shoulders from the sun) yet still breathable with short sleeves to show off my massive arm work outs. (sarcasm implied)

Knowing that what I really wanted to wear was my white polo shirt, just in a darker color, I went back to the mall on Saturday on a quest for THE navy blue LaCoste polo.

Ricky and I did not coordinate our looks. But I was thrilled that my arrival for brunch at his house in the same shirt as him sent him into a tizzy. I love Ricky in a tizzy.

Mimosas eased the pain of being twins for us and we went out in our matching shirts.
This is Lyle's last official portrait at Gay Pride before he bolts for the exit. I made certain to get a photo of Lyle before he went home so I could prove to others that he had come out at all. For the remainder of my time out at Gay Pride I was forced to haul out my camera and show people this picture to prove he exists.

I swear we only had two little drinks... an hour... since 11 am... I think this photo was at about 5 pm... I swear...

How can you not take a photo with that shirt? POODLE!

Yeah, this photo is blurry and cut off my head. But I wanted to show that there is nothing original in the world of Gay Pride Fashion. I say my wardrobe choice of solid polo shirt/plaid pants repeated so many times I gave up counting. Strangely it was mostly on the lesbians. Then I finally saw someone with the same shorts on as me! I told him I loved his taste.

Ricky and Brad went home about 9 pm. I went out and met up with some other friends. Lyle called me around 11 and told me he was coming to pick me up. "But I don't want to go home!" He persisted and my liver thanks him this morning.

My ears however are still ringing from all that loud disco music.

How?

If you're in a lifeboat, how many people can you take on board before you sink it? Do you give away your paddle so they have something to hang onto?

How do you support someone without taking on their burden?

Just curious.

New York Times Magazine's Travel Questionnaire

I am stealing. A blog I enjoy (How was your day, Dan?), took this from The New York Times Magazine's Travel Questionnaire. Me likey. So Me stealy.

What was your first passport stamp?
That would have to be from Great Britain. I got my passport so I could go to London for the summer as part of BUNAC (British Universities, North American Colleges) exchange program. You had to have a passport to be traded to another country.

Is there a tourist trap that you actually love?
Is there anything to hate about the Eiffel Tower? Okay, I've never been there in the heat of the summer, waiting in line to go up an elevator. But then perhaps that is a lesson to loving tourist traps, circumvent the trap to enjoy it off season.
Favorite hotel?
First I was going to say “any,” but then I left this question and when I came back to it I had my answer. The Ritz Carlton Battery Park, NYC. We stayed there one quick getaway weekend in the winter one year after the World Trade Centers were destroyed. It is at the tip of the island Manhattan. Not much was open down there. But they offered a good deal and when we arrived looking fairly haggard (rough flight, no noise canceling headphones), Lyle inquired about a complimentary room upgrade. You know, they can always say no, but they don’t offer if you don’t ask. We were given an upgrade to a “Liberty Suite” of which there was one on each floor. It was the front corner of the hotel which had a view of the Statue of Liberty from every window. That combined with the fact that it was bigger than our house and had a separate service entrance to the kitchen, made it my Barbie Dream Home for the weekend. Did I mention it had heated toilet seats (there were two bathrooms).
Favorite restaurant?
Wow, so many to choose from... In New Orleans it’s Louisiana Bistro. In Paris, it’s Aux Trois Petits Cochons. In New York, it’s wherever my friends take me that they love. In Los Angeles, I love a little Thai place called Galanga (on Santa Monica near Gardner). In Vancouver, BC it’s Parkside. Okay, I confess I LOVE FOOD.

Carry-on or check?
While I was never an exclusive carry-on person, I used to do quite well. Now I give up. I carry a token esteem of what I may need on the other end (small toiletries, change of undies, clean T-shirt, ipod and food – DO NOT TRUST THE AIRLINE TO FEED YOU) and check the rest. Travel these days is a gauntlet of hell that you must navigate to find your destination of Shangri-La.

Beach or mountains?
Beach. Seriously. BEACH.

Oh Rio...

What's one unusual item you always travel with?
If I am headed to Europe, I have a Pope John-Paul II 3-D coin purse that holds all my Euros in my bag. Otherwise, I’ve taken to carrying my own cashmere blanket. If forced to lighten my carry on, it becomes either my über-chic pashmina wrapped around my neck or my granny shawl thrown over my shoulders.

Favorite airport pastime?
Shop for crap I don’t’ need. Magazine, mini-license plate with my name or someone else’s name, local magnet, chic-lit book, food... Rarely do I purchase.

First class next to a crying baby or coach in total silence?
First Class next to crybaby. They should be passing out those Bose noise canceling headphones any minute now...

However, if the question was regarding sitting next to the man on the left of the photo... that would be a much harder call to make...

If you were a boutique hotel, which would you be?
Uh, I think I may already be a boutique hotel. Themed room, plush towels, snooty service in the morning. Reservations highly recommended.

When I travel, I allow myself to ______:
Complain. Unfairly compare. Eat it all. Give up sleep. Wait a minute, I do that at home as well.

What travel-related job would you least like to have?
Airplane cleaning crew.

"You say you dropped your passport where?"

When your final day arrives, in which hotel would you like to die?
Does anyone really want to pass away in a hotel? Since I’ll be dead, I guess it won’t matter to me. But if I die in a hotel I hope it’s a hotel with deep pockets and it’s the hotel’s fault through gross negligence. Then my family can sue the hotel and appreciate that I had the good sense to stay somewhere so expensive.

Paint my house!

Here's a joke by Chris Rock:

"So I'm walking down the street, right? And I saw this prostitute, right? And I said, 'How much?' She said, 'For $300, I'll do anything you want.' I said, 'Bitch, paint my house!'"

So, we didn't hire a hooker and the price reflects that. We've got two guys and it should take about 5 or 6 days.

The landlord wanted to go with the solo guy who would have taken at least three weeks (probably 4) but would have been $300 less. I told Lyle that was a deal breaker. Having my yard, my life and my sanity interrupted for a month. The dogs wouldn't be able to go outside. They would bark at a stranger (though perhaps a familiar face after a month?)

Anyway, we are in the middle of the painting. It is going quickly. More pics to come when it's done. But here are some before and after. For maximum impact, I chose photos of before we moved in.

Entry way before...

Entry way after
CORRECTION: This is just the PRIMER coat. Color will follow!

Front yard way before...

Front yard very much after.

CORRECTION: This is just the PRIMER coat. Color will follow!