No time to post today.
Our friend, Brendan, is coming by in the evening for a little wine, sunset-watching and dinner.
And since Brendan has wavy, shaggy, surfer-boy hair and since he is a single man and since he is an attorney who recently moved back from Buenos Aires and since he is well-traveled and can speak other languages and since he has the bod of a surfer boy and since he appreciates good wine and since he always has a great story in his back pocket and since he thinks my kids are great and since he closely resembles Dermot Mulroney and since he has the fine, Irish name of Brendan:
I will be very BUSY today.
I will be busy figuring out which pair of jeans makes me look the skinniest and gives me the false illusion of having some junk in my trunk; something my sad genetic makeup is missing- an ass. I will be busy creating a non-mom look that doesn’t look like I’m trying to look unmotherly, which, of course, I am. I will be busy mussing up my hair carefully, so that it looks unkempt in a sexy, bedhead kind of way. I will be busy bleaching my teeth. I will be busy fitting in as many sit-ups as I can for an emergency fix. I will be busy glossing my lips so that it looks like I’ve just licked them, in a non-caring, pouty kind of way. I will be busy figuring out the best jewelry to wear that says, “Perfectly accessorized in an uncaring, but fabulous sort of way.” I will be busy picking out a freakin’ great pair of my stilettos, which is not too far-reaching since the heels ARE a part of my every day wear. I will be busy layering myself very subtly in my best, sexy-girl scent, Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel. I will be busy mud masking so that my skin resembles fresh peaches. I will be busy moisturizing and plucking and polishing and shaving so that everything that needs to be hairless-is and everything that should be glowing-glows.
It is extremely hard work to look like you are uncaring about your tousled hair and that you definitely, definitely do not look like you know those kids on the other side of the table, much less, Heaven Forbid, birthed them.
And then there’s the vacuuming and dusting. I’m thinking that’s not gonna get done. I will be very BUSY.
And dinner? It will be out. My hubby and Brendan both know what kind of woman I am, a glowing, hairless in the right places, sweet-smelling, stiletto wearing, non-caring tousled hair, false ass, rightly accessorized, kind of woman who believes that dinner out is always a better option than being in front of a stove. Besides, I don’t own a sexy, French Maid apron.
Today’s Must Have Download: The Clash’s, “This is Radio Clash.” Because, in those days, to look simply fabulous, all that was needed was a little lip-gloss and my peach knit mini-dress.
How I took those days for granted when I owned youth and beauty.
And because it’s The Clash, a grievous oversight on my part, to blog for all these months without mentioning the brilliant genius that was this band. Rest in Peace, Joe Strummer. There will never be another like you.
American Idol Update: Sorry to mention it Joe, in the same sacred place that your name rests, but what a great night! Disco Night, which usually is horrendous, was fantabulous. Last week, the sometimes great, Matt Giraud, got saved by the judges after the public booted him. Because of their save, two are getting the heave-ho tonight and Wow, did it ever make them step up their game!
In our house, it’s all about Kris Allen, the Jason Mraz cute boy, who took the song “She Works Hard For The Money,” and amazingly made a disco, thumping song about a prostitute into a funky, jazzy tune with acoustic guitar and African drums. It was splendid beyond splendid. Then there was our Danny Gokey, who looks more and more every week like Robert Downey’s clone, who brought to new life one of my old favorites, “September” by the sublime Earth, Wind and Fire. It was electrifying with just those great Danny vocals. Matt aptly sang “Stayin Alive.” I thought he earned his keep with a great performance. And then there was Adam who sang, “If I Can’t Have You,” written by the yes, GREAT, Bee Gees. He slowed it down and gave it all his drama. I’ve said before, I appreciate Adam’s genius, but I’m not a fan of his Broadway theatrics. The crowd, though, eats him up. The priceless part of the night was watching Paula moved to tears by his campy performance. The even more priceless part of the night was watching Simon’s face when Paula announced tearily that she could feel Adam’s pain. Simon’s, “What the hell are you rambling about now, Paula?” look, made it nice to see I’m not the only one who thinks Paula talks out of her drug-addled ass.
We are pretty much a Kris Allen-Danny Gokey, go all the way family. Except for Victoria who loves her Adam. It’s quite fitting-Drama Queen meets Drama Boy. Seven Finalists left, five after tonight. I dialed until my fingers quit.