Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

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Fisticuffs, Friends on the Move, Parties

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1.  I know what it’s like to feel caught in the middle of someone else’s fight.  Yup, me.  Ms. Cheevious.  I actually witnessed a real fight – well it wasn’t really full-on fisticuffs, because it was between my dear friends (a couple that I love like family) – although, I realize fisticuffs isn’t out of the question. But they found out a little over two weeks ago that they have to move to NYC because “he” got a soap opera gig in NYC.  So, things have been a little tense.  To say the least.  The “she” of the couple had her share of problems getting organized and well, let’s just say that I was there to witness the Chernobyl of Venice Beach.  Not fun.  Funny how the human spirit can be so determined to make it through life’s difficulties, though.  And thank god.  The next morning I fully expected to be searching for my friends’ remains among the ashes, but no.  It was business as usual at “moving central.”  Go figure.  In the midst of it, I didn’t handle it well, people.  I’m glad for the ability to cry, because when you need to – hey – you need to. I don’t know about them, but godddd it was good to let it out. HA!

2.  This week I’ve been helping these same friends (Ricky & Lucy) pack up their place. They are leaving this Sunday.  Not only am I torn up about that, because I’m going to miss them TERRIBLY (plus, they lived in Venice Beach, and um, excuuuuuse me, but where am I going to store my beach cruiser now???).

3.  At the same time they are leaving to NYC, my friend Britt is moving back here from NYC! YAY!  I am so happy about that!  So, I figure it is a trade off.  Ricky & Lucy – for Britt!  Ha ha!  Okay – no one can replace Ricky & Lucy, but Britt coming here (and she will live with me for a few months until she gets settled) will make their moving away a bit easier. Besides, I’ve already booked my flights to NY for November, December, January, and  — 

4.  In addition to a crazy, busy work schedule, and helping Ricky & Lucy pack their home, I am throwing them a going away bash at my place this weekend.  Well, Fred the Wonder Chicken and I are throwing it.  Him, me, Ricky, Lucy and a about a hundred of their closest friends.  Yes, call in the men with white jackets now.  I’m thinking a padded room is sounding pretty nice right about now.  heh heh

5. This week of Yom Kipur I decided to reflect as well (though I am not Jewish).  We throw ourselves into the fire with the demands we place on ourselves – our careers and professional pursuits, keeping up our homes, taking care of loved ones and friends, nurturing and working through meaningful relationships, and all the menial responsibilities of life – not to mention the time we need to recharge and actually enjoy the world we’ve created for ourselves!  Then we wonder why we feel the singe of the flames!  Ha!  I’ll tell you why!  Because life can be tough.  How’s that for a golden nugget of wisdom?  Not only that, but that same fire can burn warm and sweet and remind us of how truly AWESOME life can be.

Well, what do you know?  I’m done for this week!!  Can you believe it people?  Have a really great weekend, and if I come out ALIVE, I’ll send up a smoke signal! 

Love you people!  Mmmmmmmphhhuuuuhhhhhh!

xoxo,
Ms. Cheevious

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Tall, Dark, Handsome and SO Young in Aspen

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I spent a few days in Aspen, Colorado on business a couple of weeks ago.  You remember.   I mentioned that I was off to Aspen, and you all thought I was living the jet-set life!  Ring a Bell?  Leave it to me to exploit every single day-in-the-life experience as yet another facet of my all-too-glamorous life.  I’m good like that.  But it was really great to get back there and exercise, hike the Maroon Bells, and realize I’d not lost all my lung capacity by moving to sea level in Los Angeles!

Well, there is so much to this particular Aspen trip, I can’t possibly tell the whole story here – BUT – there was ONE incident that is just too priceless NOT to tell.

If you are new here – look out baby.  Things are about to get CRAZY. Glad to have you – but hang on to your hats!  It’s going to be a fun ride! 

So, I showed up at the Aspen Meadows resort bright and early on Monday morning, prepared for a productive week of meetings.  I was there for some in-depth training offered by a marketing and PR client of mine.  I don’t usually attend trainings offered by my clients, but this particular client teaches a business practice that is very intense and heady.  So, basically, it was important for me to dive in head first, learn the process, and participate in the practicum in order to promote the client effectively. Makes sense, right?

Now, let me set this up for you just a bit:

I’ve been to a few of these week-long training sessions offered by the same client, but I’d never been an actual participant until that week.  It happened to be the very same week that my client’s brand new Chief Operating Officer (I’ll call him Mr. Motley – you’ll see why in a bit) decided to come to the training as well. 

Needless to say, there was an air of – how shall I say it – trepidation?  caution?  fear?  among my client’s team members, because of this new guy’s presence. It was interesting to watch.  Of course, I was seated right next to the guy all day in the meetings. 

I quickly decided (dopey me), that there was nothing to fear from Mr. Motley.  He seemed so cool, funny, and harmless enough.  He was from the same town my client (the CEO) was from.  His wife was friends with a friend of mine in that same town in Florida.  He also had a wicked-smart sense of humor. I learned that pretty quickly.  I liked him!

So, back to that first Monday.

Since I’d been to a few of these sessions, many of the resort staff recognized me as “staff.” I made a point of smiling at the resort staff and saying hello.  I stopped each of them and asked how they’d been, how their summer was, etc. 

Hey.  It’s not weird.  I use to work for a 5 star hotel.  I felt a certain camaraderie with these peeps – like we were part of a secret little hotel-workers club. 

Apparently, one of them (I’ll call him Tall Dark & Handsome – “TDH”) was actually new, and I’d mistaken him for our regular event manager.  (Hey – he had dark hair – how was I to know)!?  Needless to say, he didn’t know who I was. I soon learned that he was pretty glad I’d been so friendly.

Later that afternoon, I left our meeting room in search of a cold Diet Coke.  You know? On a side note: that kind of thing gets me into trouble time and again!  I go out looking for chocolate or coffee, and come back with cocktails, and a bachelor party of guys or something.  Okay – that only happened once, at a bar in Hollywood, but it happens, you know?  When you LEAST expect it!  I’m sure that’s a major reason why my single girlfriends love me!  I’m just social like that.

So, as I walked down the corridor, I saw TDH walking toward me.  I smiled as we made eye contact, and as I got closer to him, said “Are you the one that can give me a cold Diet Coke?”  He smiled and said, “That’s me! Come with me,” as he stepped into the employee kitchen. 

Suddenly, he appeared nervous or sick to his stomach or something.  As I waited for him to hand me the beverage, he paused, looked at me, took a deep breath and said as he stuck his hand out to shake mine, “Hi” he said, “I’m TDH.”  As I shook his hand, and looked into his eyes, I said, “Hi TDH!  I’m Ms. Cheevious!” (of course, we used our real names, people.  Try and keep up, would you)!?  

Anyhow, as I shook his hand, I noticed a strange object in his hand.  In my mind, as I was smiling and making nicey nice, I was also trying to make out what it was in his hand.  Some sort of weird, stiff band-aid?  I didn’t know!  But my brain quickly calculated that it definitely needed to STAY in his hand.  So it did.

He handed me a luke-warm Diet Coke, and looked like he was going to vomit.  “Here” he said as he shoved the object into my hands, now short of breath.  It was a little piece of paper, that apparently he’d spent some time writing with the hope of this very meeting.  It had his name and a phone number written on it, with a little heart and an arrow through it. 

So.  I am blond.  Have I told you that? 

I still had a smile on my face from speaking to him, and being glad to safely deliver the weird band-aid thing back into his hands in one piece, when he shoved that thing my way. 

It looked like this (I’ve changed it to protect the innocent – hee hee):

Fake Hot Guy Phone #

 

I looked at it.  I looked at him.  My smile was fading – and not because I didn’t want to smile – but I was now concentrating really hard, and obviously very confused – plus, it was super hard to smile and concentrate like that at the same time.  Then I said, “Is this your number?” 

DUH.  I’m surprised I have ever been able to get a date in my life.  WHAT THE HECK DID I THINK IT WAS?

The poor guy looked green, I kid you not!  He said, “Yes.” As he hyperventilated, and I quickly said, “Thank you so much!” and headed back to my meeting. 

I sat back down next to Mr. Motley.  We’d already bonded on the humor level, so at the very next break, I told him what just happened. 

I know what you are thinking.  How heartless of me!  That poor guy was taking a risk, and here I was joking about him to my coworkers. 

It wasn’t that at all. I was actually joking at my own expense.  I’d been so befuddled by the whole experience, I thought it was hilarious that I was such a dimwit and didn’t know the guy was trying to hit on me!

Granted – he took great risk to do this.  He could have been fired if anyone knew he did that, yet he chose to do it anyway.  Ahhh.  To be young again, and not care if you lose your job for love.  He WAS young too.  I wasn’t sure at this point, but on further analysis (throughout the rest of the day, as I really tried to get a good look) I determined he must be about 23 or something.  He looked sort of like Orlando Bloom, with a very nice, muscular body.

 

He was probably about 6’0′ at least, since he still towered over me, even though I wore my five inch wedgy heels that day.

Anyhow, as the day wore on I suffered my share of jokes from the rest of the team, who’d learned the story of poor TDH and his failed attempt at getting a date with me. 

At one point in the afternoon, I sat down, and even though I’d put TDH’s paper in my leather portfolio, there it was again, next to my papers. 

Hot Young Guy's Number 

I looked again, however, and realized it had a familiar area code – much like my girlfriend’s in Florida. Okay – so this is where I am SMART people!  I am QUICK.  I looked at Mr. Motley and said, “This is YOU, ya big goof!”  And try as he may to maintain a straight face, he caved pretty quickly and fessed up to his plot. 

“I was just WAITING to get a drunken phone call from you at 2:30 in the morning — ‘Hey… (hiccup) TDH? This is Ms. Cheevious…(hiccup)!  What are you (hiccup) doing?'”

“HA HA” I said, with my best motherly tone.  “I outsmarted you!” 

But I have to say I laughed at that (a LOT) and filed it away so I could use it on someone else some other day!  hee hee

Fast-forward to that evening.  Remember it was opening day of these meetings.  It just so happened that Stealth (you’ve heard about him in my “Forget the Love Guru” post), was in Aspen at the same time as me.  He drove out from Utah to meet with some of his own clients and see me.  Since he works with this same client as well, he came to our cocktail reception the first evening. 

We walked into Aspen’s Social – a very cool, hip tappas place, owned by one of my very good friends, Deedee (also not her real name, but I suppose you could look her up! ha ha!).  My friend and client (the CEO) walked in, with Mr. Motley not far behind him.  Mr. Motley didn’t know who Stealth was, so he motioned for me to meet him at the top of the stairs by the entrance. 

I excused myself from Stealth and my client, and walked over to Motley. 

“Have you been playing a joke with me?” he asked.

“Why? What do you mean?” I asked.

“You have been, haven’t you” he said searching my expression.  “You’ve been texting me, haven’t you?”

“No, I don’t know your number.  I promise.  Why?” I asked.  Then it hit me.  “Oh Nooooo!” I said with a laugh.  “DON’T TELL ME – TDH has been texting you?”

Mr. Motley proceeded to show me a series of texts.  “Ms. Cheevious is this your cell?  Is this you?”  With Mr. Motley’s answers to the contrary.

“No way.  He has not.  It’s been you, hasn’t it.  Just admit it.” He said.  “How would he know how to text me?” He asked.

“BECAUSE!  We left that “JOKE” little piece of paper – remember?  The one that had YOUR number on it!  He must have thought that IIIII wrote one out, and left it behind for him to find!  Since it didn’t have HIS number on it, he assumed it was MINE!” I laughed so hard, I almost choked on my cocktail.  But I must admit it felt pretty damn good after being such a blondie about the whole situation, to piece this one together so quickly.

“NO WAY!” Motley said. 

I left him standing there, scratching his head and went to tell my client and Stealth the hilarious story.  My client thought it was hysterical, and said laughingly, “Serves him right.”

Okay – so where does that leave us?

1)  I had a great time in Aspen.  I got to exercise a few times in the mornings, went on an INCREDIBLE hike at the Maroon Bells (one of THE most photographed places on earth);

2)  I learned all about my client’s changes to their processes so I could better serve them as a client;

3) I discovered that I work with a MOTLEY CREW – headed up by Mr. Motley himself.  (Okay – I knew they were Motley long ago, but the name fits him).

4) I was incredibly blessed by the attention of a handsome young guy, who I am sure had the best of intentions.  In spite of all the jokes and shenanigans, his gesture made me feel truly special, and  – dare I say? beautiful? – and I think he will be a very special someone for a lucky girl some day.  What a brave, beautiful, sweet guy.

5) I need to sharpen my brain.  Isn’t their some sort of “here’s how you can stay sharp and alert and not miss it when someone hits on you” self-help course??

6) It’s not nice to fool Ms. Cheevious.  It ALWAYS – repeat – ALWAYS comes right back to ya!  HA HA HA HA!

Have a beautiful, lovely, inspiring weekend everyone!

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhhuuhhhhh!!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Ms. Cheevious on Mulholland Drive

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You know, my friends Lucy & Ricky are pretty cool.  They can show up at a birthday party (or anywhere for that matter), and both run into several ex-boyfriends, girlfriends, hookups, what-have-you, and still not lose their cool – no matter how BIZARRO things seem to get. It is a BEAUTIFUL thing to behold,  my friends.

They recently took me to a birthday party of a friend of theirs, Party Girl, (whom I’d met through them, on another occasion, at another party thrown by said Party Girl).  We had loads of fun at this little soiree, I swear, but before I dive in let me provide you with the Cast of Characters.  I wouldn’t want you to get lost along the way (PLEASE – try and keep up):

Lucy – my girlfriend who has been dating and now lives with her man, Ricky.  She is an accomplished actress and business woman – and a very good friend. A few years back, when Lucy and I were both single and living in LA, we tore up this town (L.A.) whenever we had the chance.
Ricky – a new friend, and Lucy’s man – a very cool guy. Also an accomplished actor, writer, etc.
Party Girl – the birthday girl, as well as hostess to more than one party!
Party Man – party girl’s hubby.  Also producer of some really popular slasher / horror films.  
Tyler Mann – an actor, producer, member of a very well-known family of actors (dad, brothers, etc..) – but I can’t tell you any more.  He provided me his own alias. 

Funny how these Hollywood types just eat up this alias business.  I love them so much – sniff sniff.  Was it me or did we really make a real connection on the alias thing? These are people after my own heart.  They rock.

Okay – Enough already.

Leopardesse – a good friend of mine.  A gorgeous Swedish gal (former model), Hollywood socialite and jet-setter. Named for her signature leopard print on everything that is “her.”
Michele – pronounced Mickelly – it’s an Italian name for a guy.  So, yes, Michele is a guy.  He is a really cool guy who’s nice looking, and a very well-known singer/song-writer.  I’ve always been a fan.  Can’t say any more – again.  SORRY.  But he kindly provided his alias as well. 
Malibu – Michele’s best friend, and a therapist to the stars.  He lives in a very cool home  in the hills above Malibu.  Being at his house makes me miss hiking and the outdoors.  (I know, it’s a stretch).  But if I could, I would run right up those hills. Not sure what I’d do once I got up there, except perhaps jump up and down hysterically, shoot a video to prove I did it and call it a day – but I can imagine it, nonetheless.
Pixie – a nice enough gal who can’t seem to let go of the past – or old boyfriends, apparently.  At least not when she ties one on (pun intended). 

In order to begin, I have to rewind to a few nights before the party, when I had a chance introduction to Tyler Mann. Leopardesse and I decided it had been far too long since we’d gotten together.  The last time was when she visited Aspen last winter.  I wrote about it in “Alcohol with Altitude (and Hormones)“. Plus, she’d been traveling in Europe (for over two months) since I’d moved back to LA.  We decided to make a night of it.  Our first stop:  Koi.  YUM. I love that place.  As we walked in I quickly learned a valuable lesson:  I must never EVER go out again without Leopardesse.  She knows everyone, and they all love her and swoon over her.  She’s forty-eight, and still turns heads.  Use your imagination, un-kay?  It can happen.  It’s GOING to happen to ME when I’m forty-eight. Believe it baby.

Anyway, Jorge (pronounced hor-hey) – one of the owners – bought us some very lovely martinis and positioned us at the seat of our choice on the sushi bar, while the maitre d’ Charles caressed us whenever he walked by.  You’d think we were two kittens in the window at the pet shop, the way these men stopped by to stare and pet.  ha ha. But I attribute it all to my lovely girlfriend.  I just got caught in some of the overflow.  🙂

As we were leaving Koi, Leopardessesaw an old friend of hers having a drink at the bar with Tyler Mann.  Tyler and I introduced ourselves and started chatting, while Leopardesse and her friend caught up.  He educated me about his family – he was the son of Mr. Mann a very famous sitcom dad from the 70’s and 80’s, and the brother of another couple of famous Brothers Mann.  He himself had just made an appearance in the latest craze of horror / slasher flicks – something like “I Love Machetes Seven” (ha ha).  He also is producing a musical which he promised to invite me to the premiere (I’ll keep you posted on that one). 

While we were getting familiar, I mentioned that my friend Ricky’s ex-wife was now married to his brother Mann (here’s where you must try and keep up).  Well, we talked about that and how everyone was in this sort of incestuous relationship in Hollywood – and I asked the question, “You mean it isn’t just that way in Aspen?” 

Okay – little break here.  Just so you know – when we say “incestuous” – we, meaning, well, me (hey I’m feeling royal) – we don’t mean it in the literal sense, people.  It simply means everyone travels in the same small circles and people end up dating some of the same people that their friends have dated.  It’s very common in small towns with small populations, but I was a bit surprised to hear it in reference to Hollywood.  “These people gotta get outta their circle more often,” I said to him, jokingly.

Anyhoo – he talked about a party his brother’s ex-wife, Party Girl,  hosted a few weeks back, and how he’d been there.  (“Oh my god! So was I!!”  “No! How come I didn’t see you there?” “Well, maybe because we didn’t get there until 1 AM, and there were only six people left stumbling around.”)

He said he planned to see all of the same people in a couple of nights for another party at their house, celebrating Party Girl’s birthday. Again, we had something to talk about. Lucy told me about this upcoming party earlier that day. 

“No way!  Lucy and Ricky will be there? I love them!” He said excitedly, “You should come then, with me!”  

“Sure!” I said. 

“What fun would that be, for you to show up again at their house, only this time with me?!” he continued.

I pulled out a card, and in the dimly lit bar we both determined that certainly my card had my cell phone number on it.  (I later learned that it didn’t, after, *surprise* he didn’t call me for the party).  You know what I really hate?  Not that he didn’t call – big deal – but that, my eyes and brain are really aging!  I couldn’t see anything on that card (note to self, make cards old-people friendly next time) – nor could I remember if I’d put the cell number on the card!  Sad people.  Really sad.

The next day I recounted the story to Lucy, and shared my doubts about actually getting a call.

“Well, you can come with us anyway.  Party Girl and Party Man love it when pretty girls come to their parties.  They won’t mind.” 

Yo.  I am never one to turn down a fun time. Remember that.

We arrived at the party at about 9:30 or 10pm (I know.  Early for us!), and all manner of shenanigans was already afoot. 

We entered the lovely home in Mulholland Estates, and immediately Ricky ran into his ex-wife, whom he hadn’t seen in several years.  ‘It’s starts’ I thought to myself, ‘Let the games begin.’  Lucy took it upon herself to have a lengthy, friendly conversation with her.  They were new B-F-F’s.  Then, Pixiewalked in at about the same time.  Ricky dated her some twenty years ago, and the last time we’d been in this house Pixie was falling down drunk, telling Ricky how he’d been the best boyfriend ever and she’d been so in love with him.  How she’d been so stupid to lose him.  She sooo wanted him, and hung all over him.  It was pretty funny – in a twisted, Mulholland Drive sort of way.  Pixie wasn’t drunk yet on this night, and was actually very nice and normal at this point.  We all walked into the party together, chatting with people we saw and knew along the way. All of us, that is, except Lucy, whom we’d lost to Ricky’s ex-wife.

You know – I’ve been to some pretty cool parties in Hollywood.  I’ve seen oxygen bars and henna tattoo stations – and astrologers and psychics on hand to do readings. I’ve seen Cirque du Soleil sorts of performers, acrobats doing tricks and fire breathers.  People in Hollywood know how to throw a good party. That or they like to entertain themselves as much as they love entertaining the world.

This party, though not quite the extravaganza of some that I’ve seen, was no exception.  They had an incredible sushi bar, and homemade (“Zee flow-werrr was flewn een from Pah-ree”) crepe station set up.  In the billiard room sat Tarot card readers, and there was a DJ spinning his latest and greatest outside. 

Amid all this sensory stimulus, I became keenly aware of a little rumbly in my tumbly.  Hey – I am a mommy, don’t forget, so even Pooh Bear makes the blog. Deal with it. It was a beautiful night, and as Lucy worked the party, Ricky and I hit the food.  That’s what I’m TALKING about:  When attempting to play with the big boys, it’s ultra important to stay fueled up.  One problem existed for me, however:  There was not a single vegetable or salad in sight.  I was forced to indulge in the fare supplied by our hosts.  I had two spicy tuna rolls and a bite of Ricky’s crepe, and I was ready to fumble – I mean rumble.

The big fun of the evening for me was the fact that famous singer songwriter Michele (again – not his real name, people – sorry, but he is GOOD.  AND FAMOUS – okay?  Trust me on this one)  was there, with our friend Malibu. I loved watching everyone pander after Michele.  I don’t really get that, myself, but it’s interesting to watch, I have to say. 

That, and my tarot card readings.  How the heck do those people do that?  He was spot on, with little or no info from me.  Fun fun, boys and girls! 

I also saw someone who frequents my “Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf” daily coffee stop.  I’d never formally met him, but we sit together occasionally and chat along with all the other regulars in the mornings.  Now we had a place out of context to converse, and it was loads of fun.  I learned that he works for Party Man as a talent manager, but I digress.

As time wore on, and I did what I do best at these sorts of functions (flutter), everyone began to get a little tipsy – to say the least – except me, of course.  I had two glasses of wine the entire evening.  I knew I needed to stay alert so I could take notes and live to tell you people about it. 

I fluttered over to Mr. Tyler Mann who asked me to marry him, after multiple apologies for standing me up, and pulling out the very card I gave him two nights prior, to prove he had it and had tried to call a cell phone that was non-existent on the card.  He even got his brother Mann (the one now married to Ricky’s ex-wife) in on it, who whole-heartedly approved of our engagement.  I told them both I’d marry him, but that my new fiance was going to have to work for it.  They weren’t sure at first what to make of that, but after a split second, he agreed, and the deal was done.  So, I guess I’m engaged now.  Talk about brokering the deals in Hollywood!

Then I fluttered over to Michele and Malibu and chit-chatted with them.  As we were talking I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Pixie seemed to be up to no good again.  She was invading Ricky’s personal space, with her inflated lips just about touching his nose as she spoke, and putting her hands all over him.  He was taking her hands off his arms, and trying to get her to back off.  Then it happened – and I am sure Ricky was at least a little grateful. Pixie noticed Michele talking to our little group, and with a slurpy grin, maneuvered over to “talk” to him. 

Here is where Michele, the famous person of the night, and I bonded. As Pixie slurred her wonderful world of woman-ness into Michele’s ear, he remained stiff, and though we’d been mid-sentence on another topic, he said under his breath to me “I really need to extricate myself from this situation to my right.”  As he tried to move to his left. 

Listen.  NO ONE has to tell me twice to rescue them, if they need it.  Hello?!!  Have you read my story about the Mummy Terrorist?  If not, you may want to stop now and read it before going any further.  You really need to get a clear picture of the great lengths to which I will go to save the world.

Here’s how I did it this time.  I quickly and innocently failed to notice that Pixie was trying to get closer to Michele, and I simply stepped between them, and placing my arm on his back, guided him three steps to the left – away from the vixen. 

“Thank you,” he said nicely.  “No problem!” I said, matter of factly.  And we continued our conversation.

About that time, my friends and I noticed it was almost 2:30 am, and time to leave.  Ricky and I began the slow and arduous process of extricating Lucy from the scene, and making our grand exit.  I said farewell to my fiance, and all of my new friends, and we headed home.

When my head hit the pillow at 3 AM, I immediately fell into a deep and sweet slumber.  Life is good.

Remember that people.  Even in the twisted world of Hollywood and Mulholland Drive, one can see the beauty of life, and enjoy it.  Believe it.  It’s true.

Time for me to hit the road now!  I am sitting in LAX dispatching this to you, and about to board an airplane.  I’m off to Aspen for a week.  But stay tuned!  Next Sunday I’m suppose to attend the Emmy Awards with my good friend Musicality. He said he thinks we even get to walk the red carpet. That is, if all goes according to plan!

Have a great week my lovelies – and puhhh-leease – enjoy every moment.

Love you people!  Mmmmmmmmphhhuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Virtual Plans and the Flakes of LA

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Sheila and I were talking about friendship.  We are pretty lucky for ours.  Especially in Los Angeles. People are flaky here.  Okay – not to diss the people in LA. People are flaky everywhere.  Real, true friendship is so rare and such a hot commodity, though, it’s something to talk about.

Our friend Glasgow (named as such for his Scottish heritage and accent) insists that all people in Los Angeles are flaky.  He’s so bloody negative about it. You can’t really blame him, when you hear his story though!  One New Year’s Eve after he’d just moved here, he had no plans.  He was chatting with some friends who told him of and invited him enthusiastically to a party.  They said they’d pick him up at a certain time and place, and planned to make a night of it.  Glasgow got himself ready, was at the appointed place, on time, only to be stood up.  It gets worse.  His “friends” never returned his calls.  Ever.  He NEVER heard from them again. What is THAT all about?  That’s just plain RUDE, isn’t it?

Do you think they died?  HA HA.  That IS the natural reaction among NORMAL, kind, caring and thinking people, isn’t it? 

Hey, I’ve been victim myself here in LA.  It dates all the way back to when I was only twenty years old. I was a single mom, living in Denver, when I decided to take a much needed vacation out to Los Angeles over the Fourth of July. I called up a childhood friend, Roseanne, who was my partner in crime growing up, when I came out to Southern California for the summers.  We were both (presumably) excited about my coming out for the weekend. Roseanne even invited me to stay at her place, offering to pick me up at the airport. 

On the flight over, being the amicable, friendly sort that I am, I made friends with a couple of guys on the plane.  They were super sweet, super cute and gave me their phone numbers.  They said to give them a call if my friends and I wanted to meet up in San Diego – their destination.

I arrived at LAX and waited FOUR hours, (having left repeated messages on an answering machine – hey – it was the early 80’s) before I finally had to call my brother who lived in Valencia county to come and pick me up.  He was kind and gracious and offered for me to hang with he and his wife and kids for the weekend, (just what a single mom who’s free for the weekend wants to do) but I would have none of it.  I called the two boys I’d met, and they drove all the way up to Valencia to pick me up.  We drove down to San Diego in a cool convertible and partied all weekend with a big group of fun people. 

That was one FLAKY situation that worked out to my BENEFIT! HA! Thanks Roseanne!  Boy was THAT fun! 

Oh – and there was another time flakiness worked in my favor.  Not too long ago, all but two people I’d invited to a dinner party flaked.  Because of that, I was able to go (with one of my guests) to the Santa Monica Pier, see Fallout Boy perform a surprise concert, and get into the Victoria’s Secret Pink Party.  If my friends hadn’t flaked I may have never met Fred the Wonder Chicken, seen Fallout Boy at such a cool venue, or gotten free drinks at a Victoria’s Secret party!  Now THAT was cool. 

Hey!  I have pretty good luck when people flake!

If you are new here, welcome!  I am so glad you chose to stop by!  We have fun in here, so watch out! 

What do you think it is though, that makes people flake?  Do you think they are just mushy and can’t be honest, or maybe they don’t know how to be honest, so they just lie about their plans in the first place, never intending to follow through?  Maybe.

Listen to me. I know this to be true: LA is FULL of good, solid, quality people.  It’s true!  I know each of them.  Ha ha!  I’m just kidding.  There are loads, and I am continually thoroughly pleased to meet them.

But I do have another theory. (Are you surprised?!)

Be afraid, people.  Be very afraid.  In the next few paragraphs, you may actually begin to think you have traveled or transported to some other blog.  Don’t let the intelligent writing and sharp analysis of human behavior fool you.  It is still me, Ms. Cheevious.  I have learned over the years not to ignore, but to go with my feelings. Today I’m feeling REALLY INTELLECTUAL.  Okay? 

So, I think flakiness is more about the world we live in.  We are spoiled.  We have so many ways to connect with people, we can’t keep up!  It’s really gotten pretty ridiculous over recent years, if you think about it! 

In the beginning things were simpler.  A man’s word was his word.  If he said he’d be somewhere, he was there.  That was back when people wouldn’t do business with you if you flaked.  It was also when they used smoke signals to send messages. 

After smoke signals, came the town crier, the stage coach, the US Postal Service, the telegraph and finally, the mother of all inventions in communications, the telephone.  Ah, that long lost original mainstay of modern communication.  Yes – these devices are still around and available today.  I swear!  I hear one ring from my kitchen wall every once in a while. 

Since then we’ve become much more sophisticated in communications with conveniences like FedEx, and – of course – the Internet. Why, the Internet has alleviated our need to ever even leave our homes!  People work from home, and surf the Internet ad nauseam. The networking sites like Myspace, Facebook, LinkedIn, Friendster are just a tiny microcosm of the thousands of connection sites out there!  Imeen, Itunes and Napster (just to name a few) are there for sharing music, and Flicker, Kodak, PhotoBucket – or whatever –  I don’t even know all the names of sites for sharing photos. Then you have dating sites like Match.com, EHarmony.com, J-Date, Fitness Singles, you name it.  If you want to get connected, you can go to the Internet and get lost in a sea of virtual connections – which sometimes turn into like, real, actual, physical connections.

I won’t go on and on here, but there are all the other modes of communication consuming us as well, like cell phones, cell phone texts, email, instant messaging.  It’s just CRAZY!

Hey – I admit it.  When it comes to utilizing modern convenience to get my point across – I’m guilty as charged. I’ll even throw up a smoke signal if I think it’ll get some attention when I need it! As a matter of fact, I am known for my TEXTING capabilities. I’m an expert texter. I can send a text blind-folded, with one arm tied behind my back (ha ha).

But we are talking about flakiness, aren’t we?  Well, that’s just my point! 

I think all of this CONVENIENCE has made things, well, too convenient for people.  They flutter around with little or no accountability, little or no responsibility to anyone or anything, and shun any sort of solid commitment.  It’s almost like all that time on-line, virtually connecting and networking with people has caused them to get their wires crossed.  Somehow now, even their plans or commitments are virtual.  Their promise to meet your for a drink is just as VIRTUAL as the ELEPHANT they threw at someone on FACEBOOK (don’t ask).  Why not? It’s CONVENIENT.

That said, is it possible that the convenience of the Internet has created or at the very least enabled an entire generation of flakes?  Particularly in large cities like LA, where these networking websites and ways of making ourselves known on-line are the most successful?

Well. No. 

Now don’t get your panties in a bunch.  I know I took you around the block to get next door, but the truth is, flakiness among people goes way back – probably to the beginning of time.  I’m sure Cro-Magnum Man had his share of hot cave chicks flake on him when it came time to let him clunk them on the head with his club and drag them by the hair back to the cave.  Hey, whatever happened to that hair pulling, head clunking man, anyway?  That’s a MAN’S MAN if there ever was one, but I digress.  (hee hee, just kidding.  I like to be cherished, I really do. It’s just that well, I like to have fun too, but again, I digress).

I admit.  I don’t have the answers to the compelling question of the Flakes in LA, or anywhere else for that matter. But I don’t think about it too much, really.  Remember?  I have GREAT things happen when people flake!  Why do I care?  ha ha!

I’ll share with you one of my personal mottos – which I truly do believe:  “You never know what’s coming around the corner.”  Deep, huh?  Well it’s true.  People can flake, and open up a world of other possibilities!  So just get out their and enjoy every single stinkin’ moment, would you?

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhh!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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5 First Dates in Hollywood

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1.  Fred the Wonder Chicken called me on a Tuesday and asked me out for the upcoming Friday night.  I said yes.  Later that same evening our mutual friends, Ricky & Lucy invited me spontaneously to meet them at the opening of the Hollywood restaurant, Hush.  Fred was there as well.  After the opening, Fred and I wanted to stay out to play, so off we went to Sky Bar.

Our hot little waitress observed Fred the Wonder Chicken and I interact (smooch) over a cocktail.  She was very sweet and good at her job.

Hot Waitress:  “You two are a stunning couple.  How long have you been dating?” 

FWC:  “Well, actually, our first date isn’t until this Friday.”

Crack me up. He’s just too cute.

Oh and since I know you will ALL ask, the first date was fabulous, dahlings.  Dinner with a beautiful harbor view in Marina Del Rey, followed by a visit to World Cafe in Santa Monica, sitting at the bar, heckling the uniforms chosen by each country in the Parade of Nations  My kinda fun. (What WAS the USA thinking putting Kobe in a GOLF HAT?? How embarrassing. The Cheq Republic had the cool threads.  We should cremate them and steal their outfits). 

(And – yes – there may be a bit more to the date – but that’s for me to know and you to find out.  hee hee.  And besides, I am all about encouraging the fostering of creativity and imagination among my readers.  Let your imaginations run wild people! This IS Ms. Cheevious, after all!)

2.  Not really a “FIRST” date, per se.  But a first for THIS: “Silver Keys” (named for a combination of his career – a successful Hollywood writer – and the fact he’s crafted his command of the English language into a stealth weapon.  Also a derivative of “Silver Tongue” which denotes a smooth operator).  Over various emails, well-written sonnets, conversations and such, he convinced my friend Sheila he was madly in love with her (this after two plus years of waffling, going back to his ex-wife and such).  He insisted, and followed it up with various proofs, that he was finally ready to be in a committed relationship and build a life with her – only to break up with her less than a week into it. 

3. “Dear John” (a hot yoga camp owner/instructor), hit on Sheila.  Okay, it was my fault.  We were dining at a very hip spot called Beachwood (of course!  LA is full of these suave destinations). After dinner we moved to the bar at my prompting so we could interact with the beautiful people – or at least watch them (ha ha). I planted us right next to Dear John, and struck up a conversation.  It was clear he and Sheila were attracted, so I just sat there with a proud grin on my face watching the pheromones fly.  After obvious flirtations and texting back and forth, he apparently felt a tinge of yogi guilt and sent her a “Dear John” text before they ever went out.  Apparently he’d been seeing someone for two weeks. TWO WEEKS and he was committed!  He should have a talk with Silver Keys.

Sheila:  “Shit.  Last time I got a five day commitment.  This time I got broken up with before the first date. Funny, yet sad.  I need to move to Alaska.”

4. This one involves Spy Glass (not a first date either… but you get the point).  I told you back in my Black Out post that it was a “for now” when Spy Glass and I decided to be friends.  Not that we are more than that, or that I want more. We aren’t and I don’t.  I just knew I’d not heard the last of him. 

Let this be a lesson to you.  I am very adept at analyzing human behavior.  I swear.  You read my blog don’t you? I rest my case.

Anyhoo – It started a few weeks ago, when I received a text asking what I was doing on that next Thursday. I replied, and never heard from him the rest of the week.  I sent a text much later, checking in, which resulted in a text back that he was on location and all was good, just very busy. 

Fair enough.  After another couple of weeks, I received another random text asking what I was doing this past Saturday night, replied, and didn’t hear again.  Saturday afternoon I got a text saying, “will call you in a few hours – at my daughters play.” I wrote back, “Okay.”  I never heard from him. 

Until Sunday.  I was at the Holly Shorts Film Festival, supporting my friend Ricky (Lucy’s man), who’d starred in one of the fabulous shorts that day, when I got a message from the cad – ehem – Spy Glass.  No explanation, just “Ms. Cheevious!  It’s Spy Glass.  Just giving you a call!” 

What is THAT?  Is he trying to pay me back for my whack-hammer behavior of FOUR YEARS AGO?  Maybe.  Well, BRING IT ON BABY – it’s only more fantastic fodder for me. And the blog.  And the world wide web.  Oh, and Youtube. HA!

Okay – You’re right.  Right here is the only place this Spy Glass episode will probably ever appear.  No YouTube interviews of Spy Glass’ ex-girlfriends, ex-friends or anything. But for only a moment it felt REALLY good to wax psychotic, I have to admit. Heh heh.

And, last but CERTAINLY not least (and again, not a first, but you get the point):

5.  Sheila tells me, “Yeah, I had a date with Hot Boring Guy.” 

“Really? Was it HOT?” I inquire,  “Or Boring?” ha ha. 

She replies, “Well, it was kind hot, actually.” 

“Do tell,” I say eagerly.

“Well, I had him over for dinner and a movie, and one thing led to another, and we had sex.  But then afterward, I was just kind of – DONE – you know?  So, I said to him, “You can leave now.””

I stopped her, dead in her tracks.  “Wait a minute. You said WHAT?”  laughing hysterically.

“Well, it was really hot at my place, and you know how you just want to shower and get cleaned up and everything, and I just couldn’t be bothered.”  She explained with a chuckle in her voice.

“You crack me up!” I said, “You were like a Queen holding court, and apparently, the queen was DONE!” 

“Yeah,” she laughed. “At first he was a little shocked and said ‘What?’, and I said ‘I know you want to’ – you know because it was so hot there, and uncomfortable? I was just letting him off the hook, you know?” 

Okay.  That has its OWN set of psychological implications – the fact that Sheila assumed ahead of time the guy wanted to be let off the hook.  That just never occurs to ME.  ha ha

“Wow.” I said slowly. “That’s gotta go down in history for SOMETHING.  I don’t know WHAT yet, but THAT is DEFINITELY SOMETHING!”

I had NO IDEA my girlfriend was such a VIXEN! I still don’t quite know if the EVENING was hot, or the sex!!!  How frustrating for me!

I have to say, I’m all about enjoying my own personal SPACE. But still, it causes me to wonder how other people handle it when they just don’t want to be with a person – like, physically, in bed, or whatever – any more? 

I know it sounds calloused, but this is DATING 101 for GROWNUPS people.  Deal with it.

I can tell stories about how I’ve been treated or mistreated I suppose, but how do YOU treat people? How do YOU handle it when you realize for yourself that “THE QUEEN (or king) IS DONE?”

You know, here in Ms. Cheevious Land, I am all about these deep, introspective contemplations.  In doing so here today, I hope I’ve provided you with some really great nuggets to ponder and disseminate for yourself.  Perhaps you’ll share the wisdom you’ve gained with the class.

Until next time beautiful people, when I unveil a TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY entitled, “FLAKES in LA.”

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Mummy Terrorism

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My girlfriend Sheila and I took our boys to see the new Mummy flick last weekend on opening night. 

 

We bought the tickets in advance at an older theatre in Westwood, which is disappointing enough as it is, because the seats have springs poking you in the tuckuss, and there are NO cup holders – GEEZ – but it’s what happened at the theatre (during the movie) that could have destroyed our evening – by, well, killing us! (I am quite the drama queen, aren’t I?)

After sitting for a few minutes, quietly enjoying the previews, Sheila leaned over to whisper to me, “That guy just left a bag sitting there.”  I looked at her and inquired, “What guy? Like a real bag? Or a bag of popcorn?”  “No, a real bag.  He and his girlfriend got up to walk out and he set the bag down on the floor before he left.”  “Where?”  She quickly pointed to the seats directly in front of us, two rows up.

Well, now.  I think now is the perfect time to jog your memory a bit, on the matter of a little hike Sheila and I took some time ago in “Forget the Love Guru.”  If you are new here, welcome.  Feel free to peruse that post before moving onward, as it could provide you some important background on Sheila. But I warn you.  These posts are not for the faint of heart! hee hee

Remember in that situation, how Sheila “leaned in and whispered” to me, as if to take a sip from her camel back, only to pose the hysterical question of “How do you work this thing?”  That alone should have been reminiscent enough for me to beware and realize that when Sheila’s inner danger meter goes off, maybe I ought to use my brain and assess the situation intelligently on my own. But somehow I always get that “Drama A-D-D.” I’m so quickly distracted by a juicy possibility or anything of interest at all, and I get carried away into her little blond fantasy-land. HA HA.

That said, if you want to get me to do something, and quick, present me with the threat of an act of terrorism – or some really bad practical joke, and I am the girl to save the day.  I don’t mess around.  If there is imminent danger or even the remote possibility of it, I will be the first to act – especially if my child is in the vicinity. In that case, look out! I don’t care if it does cause a stir on the opening night of The Mummy at a little theatre in Westwood. Sheila knew all she needed to say was her version of, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it” – and I was on the job of disseminating the Mummy Terrorist Plot.

Like an undercover agent, I calmly race-walked to the concession stand and told the employees what had taken place. I explained to the clerk that he would quickly come with me and take the bag away, so the patrons (and I) could enjoy the movie and get on with life – that we all expected to be able to watch it, go home to our loved ones, and live another day to tell about it.

As I was leading the guy to the scene, the person one row in front of us was coming out as well to take care of the matter.  Thank god, I’m not the only smart person. I thought.  The guy looked concerned, and said, “Oh good, you got someone.  Yeah – he left this bag there, and it was really weird.”

So, we both led the guy to the spot, and watched as he carried it away.

I sat down next to Sheila, and she whispered, “Yeah it was really weird.  It had all kinds of weird stuff like boxes and stuff in it.”  I didn’t think to ask how  she knew this, since I couldn’t tell what was in the bag, and I’d actually gotten up to look at it, but she continued. “Yeah.  The guy was really weird looking too.  He was with his girlfriend or whatever and he had this really greasy and stringy long blond hair.”  “Really?”  I asked. 

Then after a couple of minutes, I asked, “So do you think you should go and tell those kids (from the concession stand) to call the police, in case there was something dangerous in the bag?”  My beautiful blond friend said – true to British form (far more fearful of drawing attention to herself than imminent doom), “No. At least they took it out of HERE,” with a slight uncomfortable chuckle.  I laughed sarcastically, “Oh, right!  Well, if we go to heaven tonight, it was nice knowing you!”  We laughed, while I administered my own last rites silently to myself, just in case.

It was then – about two or three minutes afterward that we saw her – a somewhat odd looking girl, walking down the far side of the auditorium and taking a seat several rows in front of us on the far right side.  This was followed shortly thereafter by a big guy on our side of the aisle, apparently trying to find this girl, his old seat, and – could it be? – his BAG??? He was tall, and had long greasy, stringy blond hair.  He kinda looked like he was lost (or on something), as he looked around, saw his girl on the opposite side of the auditorium, and went to join her.  I looked sideways at Sheila who had a sheepish, guilty, and oh-so British grin on her face.

I’m sorry folks.  This was just TOO funny!  And so embarrassing!  I could not believe Sheila’d gotten me involved in one of her blond-haired, blue-eyed capers again.  Gone are the days that my dear friend can blame me for being a bad influence on her!  I think we can all agree now that Sheila and I are equal partners in crime, for sure!

Before you get upset, know this: The two culprits with the bag actually did end up disrupting the entire movie.  I think they were so strung-out on something they didn’t realize when they were yelling during silent moments, and such.  It got so bad that management was forced to warn them of being kicked out of the theatre, before they got themselves under control.  Turns out they really were terrorists – well, the non-murderous sort, for sure. More like the pesky, bothersome kind. Ha ha!

I must say, it was really great to get out alive – and by this I mean, I am thankful we survived that horrible movie.  Regarding our mysterious drug addicts – well those poor people lost their bag, perhaps their last remaining possession, which was probably incinerated by the time they thought to inquire at the concession stand.  All the while, Sheila and I snuck out, got into the car and drove ourselves home, secretly and silently.

Gotta love mass hysteria and its effects on the population. Well, at least on Sheila and me.

Until next week, my sweets, when we’ll talk about how chickens really DO have lips. I should know.  I kissed Fred the Wonder Chicken.

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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