Ms. Cheevious in Hollywood

My Zany Years Spent Working in Tinsel Town

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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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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

Playing Quarters

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No.  Not the kind of quarters you guzzle beer to.  Though, I played my share of that with my good ole friends at Sigma Chi.  I’m talking about the quarter that is measured in months.  Three to be exact.  Did you know three months makes up a quarter?  Yep.  So the next time you hear someone say, “Our first quarter earnings were up by 30%” you’ll know that means they made bu-cu bucks over the last three months, and it’s their turn to buy dinner. 

I want to play that type of quarters – the kind measured in months.  Because I’ve just celebrated my 3 month anniversary of moving back to Los Angeles!  Yep.  That’s right.  I’ve been here for over a quarter now.  I rolled into town on May 13, 2008.  It’s been a whirlwind, to say the least, but I thought this momentous occasion deserved a bit of pomp and circumstance. 

By the way, I’m sorry to interrupt my regularly scheduled programming (I think I promised last week to tell you about the Flakes of LA) to bring you this broadcast, but it had to be done.  I have to say, that I’ve had some trying times, sad moments, and a little heart break, but I’ve had some really awesome, incredible times as well, and I am glad I moved back to LA.  I love Los Angeles, and actually enjoy living here!

Sadly, one of those trying times came this week, when a very good friend – someone whose opinion I value greatly – told me he was worried about my blog and what it may do to my personal life.  He swore it was only because he wants me to be happy, but that I may never attract the kind of man who was worth his salt into my life, because he would just want a piece of Ms. Cheevious (I suppose he meant that in the nicest possible way).  He said any good man won’t want me to write the way that I do. 

Teary eyed and worried I would truly grow into an old, frail and undesirable, albeit mischievous spinster, I immediately put it to the pundits.  I consulted with four of the most qualified, strategic planners out there – Lucy (my producer, show business friend, who’s also a shrewd business woman), Sheila (a single mom friend who is exceptionally bright and – well, she’s a single mom and bought a condo in LA by herself without any alimony or help – need I say more?), Brittany (my brilliant, on-camera television personality, forward thinking, media savvy friend), and of course, RandomEsq, because the blog is wicked-smart, and I feel a kindred spirit with it (can you be kindred with blogs?), and because I needed the opinion of someone who doesn’t really know me that well, but reads my blog.  Besides, Random is a lady killer (haven’t I said that before?), and would probably know if men might be turned off based on my blog – or if it even mattered.  I just knew I’d get the truth there. 

To my overwhelming relief, everyone I asked poo-pooed the idea of this blog ruining my real life.  They said, admittedly that this blog reveals a very tiny slice of the real me – and hilariously.  That there would be no way to reveal the depths of who I really and truly am here in this blog.  They also said the friend in question ought to give you, my readers more credit.  I agree.

So, with that said, as I thought about the three months I’ve been here, I became – well – EXHAUSTED.  WHAT THE HELL HAVE I BEEN DOING, AND HOW THE HELL DO I DO IT?  That’s what I want to know!  It’s been a wild, fun and interesting time, since I landed in LA LA LAND.

Let’s see what’s been going on over these past 12 weeks (that’s 3 months – or a QUARTER – people):

Week 1:  I arrive into town, awaiting the movers to bring my stuff, when I receive a call from Sheila who’s just pitched the idea of peeling my face off – ON CAMERA – to Entertainment Tonight.  They love the idea, and now she just has to sell it to me.  I have movers arriving the day before they want to shoot, but what the heck?  She sells me on it, and my faces sizzles for a day. Plus – I get some lovely footage of me in a JASON mask, saying something stupid like “The years are peeling away.”  The things I do for my STINKIN’ friends, I tell ya’.

Week 2: I help throw an impromptu Memorial Day soiree at a friend’s house, and about a week afterward I am asked out on a date by a lovely guy (the host of the party).  You remember.  He’s the one with the incredible home I spoke of in “Shrimp on the Barbie” in Beverly Hills, overlooking Bel Air. I accept the date, and we watch the basketball playoffs (no really – and it was fun) – and root for the Celtics.  I don’t feel even remotely like a traitor.  What do I care?  I don’t even keep up with basketball really.  The only time I care is when I am at a particular friends’ home – the ones that own the Sacramento Kings.  They are very sensitive.  In that case, I button my lip, or I root for their team.  But this guy has a FABULOUS gourmet kitchen.  Hell, with a kitchen as cool as that, I’d root for just about anyone.  We decide during the date that no matter what, we are going to be friends, because – hey – I’m a likable gal – and he’s kinda cool too.  But also because of our mutual friend, Brittany.  He goes off to Spain and falls for some hot Spanish chick.  So, now I have this friend with a very cool pad in Beverly Hills.  Hey! He might let us host a party at his place.  Ha ha!

Week 3 & 4: Enter summer and my thirteen year old son. I don’t know if you recall that my son went off to live with daddy this past school year, and what do you know?  He loved it.  Who wouldn’t with his dad for a roommate?  It’s non-stop fun!  Anyhow, I had a business trip to Aspen scheduled, and took my son with me. He had a nice little vacay hangin’ in a hotel in Aspen with his friends, while I worked.  Then we took off to Las Vegas and rode all the roller coasters we could get to. I showed you pictures to prove it in “What Happens in Vegas.” While in Aspen, I am re-introduced to Sir Tab, who I’d met when first moving to Aspen.

Week 5, 6 & 7:  I officially introduce you to Sir Tab, talk about what it would be like to have a guy that I can say “Hit me Bitch” to, whenever I need a little spanky – (which of course, sparked quite the controversy). Then I went introspective on everyone for a moment, with my “Declaration of Independence.”

Week 8:  After my week of introspection, and the fact that I was missing the beautiful outside climate of the Rocky Mountains, I start to investigate the great outdoors of Southern California in “Forget the Love Guru.” Here my BLONDIE friend Sheila and I go for a hike in Will Rogers State Park. I laugh at the way she leans over as if to sip from her high-tech, hiking-mama camel back – outdoor enthusiast that she is – but instead she asks me “How do you work this thing?”

Week 9:  My blond memory starts to awaken in “Black Out This” – as I retell the stories of some unbelievable but hilarious memory lapses I’ve experienced over the years.  After having a drink with my friend Spy Glass –  he reveals to me a blackout I had – where I apparently freaked out on him and told him I never wanted to see him again – then stormed away – FOUR YEARS AGO.  No wonder he never called!  Thank goodness he was a good sport!

Week 10:  My friend Lucy invites me and a client’s niece to meet them for a Fallout Boy concert on the Santa Monica Pier, and she gets us into the Victoria’s Secret VIP party nearby.  I am introduced to a great group of people, among them, Fred the Wonder Chicken, while at the same time, scoring major points with my client, who’s neice LOVES Fallout Boy, (and apparently playing Wii until two in the morning, as well.  Fred and I kicked their butts at bowling, though).  🙂

Week 11: I save the lives of hundreds of people in a little movie theatre in Westwood, at the opening night of “The Mummy” movie.  It’s true.  Sheila spotted a terrorist – she’s a real hawk eye – and I went to work, with secret agent finesse and the deadly prowess of a professional hit man (or woman).

Week 12:  I share the crazy realities of dating in LA in “Five First Dates in Hollywood” – and talk about some of the funniest, yet zaniest experiences known to mankind!  Well, maybe not ALL of mankind.  I reveal that I had a first date with Fred the Wonder Chicken, but not much else about that – which brings on the whining and murmuring from The Peanut Gallery (that’s YOU).

So – there you have it!  My first quarter in Los Angeles – in review.  Wasn’t that fun??!

Have a FANTASTIC weekend everyone.  I promise not to flake on the FLAKES of LA for next week!

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhh!

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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Fred the Wonder Chicken, Fattening Salad and Prolixity

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1. “Fred the Wonder Chicken” is not one of my own alias concoctions.  It is an alias, yes  – of a very cool guy (who’s also an actor) I met recently, and who, in addition to being ~hot~  is exceptionally funny. I told him about my blog, and explained his need for an alias, which he kindly provided.  Gotta love it when a guy offers to provide his own alias.  A man after my own heart. Well, I looked Fred up on IMDB, and guess what?  He was one of the actors on some really awesome episodes of Dynasty.  Okay.  He’s done much more than that, but if I told you more, I’d have to kill you, and how tough would that be in cyberspace?  Besides, it would ruin all my fun to divulge too much, now wouldn’t it?  Sorry kiddies, I’ll have to suss this one out before I share more.  Suffice it to say, FWC seems kind, genuine (did I say ~hot~??), and is loads of fun.  I am definitely a fan.
Which one is FWC?
Which one is FWC?

2. What is the point of a fattening salad?  Interestingly, just yesterday there were news reports of how fattening even a Chicken Caesar salad can be – all the calories, salt and fat grams allowed for the entire day!  What is THAT about? And you thought you were being “good”  to forgo a cheese burger for that.  Fuhhhgetttabowdit!  You may as well skip it and go straight for the mountain of supreme nachos or the mound of sweet potato french fries.  Listen – in MY mind, mixed greens and veggies on a salad ought to cancel out the calories and fat grams from the candied walnuts, gorgonzola cheese and decadent dressing.  Geez, the chewing alone ought to cancel them out. They don’t, and it doesn’t.

3. I love the word “prolix.”  Extra points if you know what it means, and if you can tell me why I love it.  Think about it.  No wise-cracks either.  It’s time to use your minds boys and girls (and make sure they are your clean, innocent minds from your childhood).

Oh, guess what?  You’ve just been treated to the second Ms. Cheevious LIST installment — ever!  The first, if you recall was when I wrote about Sir Tab – remember?  Ahhh, is this what meeting knew people does to me?  This is very interesting.  Hmmmmm. 

If you are new here, welcome – and congratulations for taking a walk on the wild side.  I promise, I won’t hurt you – at least not intentionally. 

Love you people!  Mmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!

xoxoxo
Ms. Cheevious

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Black Out This!

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What does it mean when you black out?  Like, forget entirely and completely something that actually happened?  And, not the kind of black outs people have after child abuse or trauma, but like – just in general?  Is it just a sign of utter and complete blondeness?  I ask this because I have two very poignant examples. 

A few years ago my girlfriend Kat and I went to Manhattan Beach (that’s in Southern California, not New York) to celebrate the Fourth of July.  We drank and had fun, and so many funny things happened that night that I cannot even go into here, but we drank responsibly.  We cabbed our way around the little party town after we parked my car at a friend’s house near the downtown strip. 

A little incident occurred that evening. While attempting to retrieve my car at the end of the night, we were shocked to see that it was gone- apparently stolen!  Teary-eyed and voices wobbling, we called our respective significant others for comfort, as we made the long cab journey all the way back to my place in Westwood.  I went through the entire process of reporting the car stolen to the police, and dealing with how to get around in Los Angeles without a car, when about six days later, the Manhattan Beach police called me to say they’d found my car, and miracle of miracles, it was not totally destroyed.  I asked my son’s babysitter to take me down to the station, where I hopped in the car with a very nice female officer who drove me to where the car was parked. 

It wasn’t until the very instant that the cop turned the corner on a particular street that the black out began to wear off, and the veil began to lift.  As we neared the spot where the culprits had left my car and I could see my car parked there (in perfect condition), I began to recall a little scenario that had taken place toward the end of our big, giant, Fourth of July celebration. As the cop made comments about how it was odd there were no signs of a break in, and the entire dash and ignition was still intact, (and I in turn nodded, with big, wide-eyed innocence replying, “Yeah!  That’s so weird!  Wonder how they did that?!”) I remembered my girlfriend and I grabbing my car two hours earlier on the evening in question and parking it there (just a half block from where it had been).  I recalled our hobbling over to the parking restriction sign, our faces within inches of it to see whether we were allowed to park it there, just before we went into the all-night cafe across the street for breakfast. 

Now my car sat there in the Southern California sun, with a stack of about 10 or 20 parking tickets piled onto the windshield. I pointed at them, asking, “What happens with those? Do I have to pay those?” The lovely officer informed me that, “No, ” they don’t require victims of auto theft to pay violations on the vehicle.  ‘Ahhhaaa,’ I thought.  ‘Note to self.”  HA HA! 

So, I got into my car after signing the appropriate paperwork, and called Kat.  She STILL did not remember anything. I had to give her a play by play before she would even accept what had happened.

Did we drink so much that we suffered temporary BRAIN DAMAGE?  Or was it our true BLONDENESS that caused the extended black out? 

The second incident happened over four years ago, and I was totally oblivious to it until a few weeks ago. I dated this guy, Spyglass, a few times when I lived here in LA the last time.  We’d met at my son’s hockey games and hit it off.  He was there for his daughter’s ice skating lessons, and just the fact that he was a single dad won me over.  Well, for various reasons Spyglass and I never pursued anything very serious, but we always maintained a “friendship.”  As a matter of fact, it was a very convenient “friendship.” The kind that can be very satisfying, if ya’ know what I mean.  This continued even when I moved to Aspen.  I would come back to Los Angeles on business, give Spyglass a call to meet for drinks, where one thing would lead to another, and I’d end up at his place for at least a few hours.  Sad for a liberated woman to demean herself so, you say?  Well, I’m happy to provide fodder for the liberal femmes out there, as it offered me a moment’s pleasure in a time that I really needed (or wanted) it!    Pathetic, I know. How totally self-indulgent, right? Yep. You got it.  But hey – I was divorced, and discovering what made me happy after many years of being very stifled and unhappily married.  So sue me.  But back then it was just fine by me. 

Until one night, apparently.

Spyglass and I had our drinks, we went back to his place, and I do recall being a bit awkward, like not as “lovey dovey” as I could be.  But in MY recollection, I said my good byes, got in my car in the morning, went to work, and flew home, never really to hear from Spyglass again.  I made a phone call once where he promised to call me right back, but he never did.  It had always perplexed me a bit, but I created a picture in my mind of Spyglass meeting the perfect woman, settling down, and letting that deviant part of his life slip silently into his past.

Fast forward to 2008.  I move back to LA and decide Spyglass and I should at least reconnect.  I truly do not want anything from him except friendship at this point, and besides, he is a nice guy, who may be able to send some work my way as I expand my business.  I ring Spyglass and  leave a message (to be “heard” below as portrayed by Spyglass himself) that I’d love to get together.

Spyglass and I get together at his usual after-work stop, the Brentwood Grille.  I sit next to him at the bar, give him a peck on the cheek, and order a club soda (anti-biotic-induced sobriety for the evening).  We chit-chat for a bit, when he weaves into the conversation a sarcastic, “Yeah, I remember our last meeting.” “Why? What do you mean?” I ask.

“You don’t remember, do you?” He asks, looking into my eyes.  “I don’t think so,” I say carefully. “Why, what happened?”

“We went back to my place, and we  — well, you know — and afterward, you got all upset and said things like I only wanted you for sex, and that you were better than that, and you didn’t want to ever see me again. Then you left.”

I think he is kidding, but he isn’t.  I literally have absolutely NO recollection of that incident!  I am dumbfounded, and I tell him as much.  I apologize profusely for what I couldn’t even fathom saying.  It so does NOT sound like me!

“Well, I thought it was weird, because you were always such a sensual person, and to say something like that was pretty odd!”  We laugh hysterically now (or is it just me?). 

He continues, “So, when you called and left me a message, ‘Hi Spyglass – It’s me!  I moved back to LA, and I don’t want to have sex or anything, but let’s get together!’ I thought it was pretty funny!”

“I did NOT say THAT!” I insist.  “I SAID  ‘I just moved back, and I’m not looking to ‘hook-up’ or anything, but I’d love it if we could reconnect and be friends again.'” 

“Well, whatever you said, I thought it was pretty friggin’ hilarious to hear you say that after your last words to me a few years ago!” 

We laugh and reminisce some more, and with that, Spyglass and I say our good nights, vowing to indeed stay friends. For now.

So there you have it. Two VERY different situations, one very BLONDE chick!

Black outs are not for wimps, I tell ya. 

I have to say, it has been quite a ride going from being a sheltered housewife to a divorcee with attitude, to finally being content to just BE.  BE me, in my skin, my hair, my body, my face, my career, my personality – all good.  And BE a mom – and all the wonder and beauty that entails.  Priceless.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone, and if you drink – do it responsibly, would you?

Love you people!  Mmmmmmphhhuuuhhhhh!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

 

Forget the Love Guru. He’s Freakin’ Tupac Chokra!

by

My friend Stealth cracks me up.  He is one of those “super-athletes,” who is the type of person that even when he’s sick with bronchitis, can still blow into that lung test thing at the hospital and gather an awe-struck crowd because of the Olympian levels that thing reaches.  You know what I’m talking about.  It’s just plain disgusting that someone can be so stinkin’ fit – even when they are sick.

Stealth’s had some health issues that the doctors can’t seem to figure out, yet he still manages to make people (especially me) laugh. Go figure.  He’s got a rock-hard body, with the lung capacity of a killer whale, and even though at times he truly thinks he might actually die from this ailment no one can figure out, still manages to crack jokes and remain fairly jovial.  The only thing that makes Stealth feel good or somewhat normal, however, is exercise.  Gee, I’m surprised.

We’re not talking about a little jog around the track either, girls and boys.  This guy RUNS FAST up hill, up the steepest inclines of some of the tallest mountains and cliffs around.  It makes me look like a really sad excuse for a wannabe athlete – me in my little Reeboks and Juicy Couture athletic attire.  Oh – I can hike and rock climb right off the couch, popcorn smeared all over my face (laugh it up, those of you who know this to be true) after watching the latest episode of House – and I can even shock some people at how well I do, but Stealth BLOWS me and any other athlete I’ve ever known out of the water. It’s just not right. But I digress.

Stealth told me the other day how he RAN up this trail called the RIM TRAIL in Moab, Utah. 

Okay – I lived in Moab.  That trail is THE HARDEST trail I’ve ever done – at least in terms of sheer exercise.  It’s INCREDIBLE. 

That is the Rim Trail.  The trail starts way over to the right (not in the picture) and continues at an insanely steep incline, ALONG THE TOP.  You have to get UP THERE. 

Well, Stealth use to be happy just hiking up that thing. Now he RUNS it.  And apparently, he doesn’t stop there.

“Yeah, I ran up the Rim Trail, and then I continued on to Hidden Valley (beyond the top of the Rim Trail), and when I got up to the top, I did a few Sun Salutations and some stretches, and came down.” 

I was listening to him describe his workout, still in awe over the fact that he RAN that trail, AND that he continued PAST it. Then I heard “Sun Salutations.” Normally music to my ears. 

For just a moment I was transported to Urth Cafe on Melrose, where many-a-yogi can be overheard chatting about how many Asanas they did that day. 

Some of you may not remember this, but I use to teach Yoga.  Yeah, I know, I know.  Me, with my PrAna yoga clothes, saying “namaste” everywhere I went.  It was hilarious to some of you, I’m sure, but I love yoga!  So, I asked, “Sun Salutations?  You did Sun Salutations?”  This shocked me.  I’ve known Stealth a long time.  As a matter of fact, I have tried countless times to get him to practice yoga on a regular basis, knowing it would only help him with his health issues.

Without missing a beat, Stealth said “Hell yeah!  I am FREAKIN’ Chakra Kahn now!”  I BURST OUT LAUGHING!

So the play on words began: 

“How about Six-Pack Chakra,” I said.

“No  I’m FREAKIN’ TUPAC CHOKE-YA” he returned. 

After a few iterations, we settled on Tupac Chokra (not to be confused with Deepak Chopra, the Love Guru or any other Guru) in the end.  So Stealth’s great YOGI impersonation could finally begin!! Hilarious.

I’m sure you’ve all known someone, maybe even yourself, who’s impersonated a REAL athlete at times?

Why, my friend Sheila and I did it just the other day. We decided to go on a hike.

So – I don’t know if I told you?  I live in L.A.?  You know?  Los Angeles?  There are beaches, an awe-inspiring ocean and at times, death-defying waves.  There are some beautiful hills, but not much in the way of cliffs and mountains, at least not like the Rocky Mountains I’ve grown accustomed to from living in Colorado and Utah for the past few years.

We drove to Will Roger’s State Park to do the little hike-loop-thing they have.  I decided I’d bring my two Camelbacks so we wouldn’t have to carry water bottles, as it was a little warm that day.  Sheila had these really great new shoes on, and I complimented her.  “Ooh.  I like your shoes!” I said, enthusiastically. 

“You bought them for me!” she laughed.  “I did?” I asked, surprised.  “Well, your gift card did!” I remembered doing that. 

“Wow! Good choice!  What are they?” I asked. 

“They’re hiking shoes!”  she replied in her British accent, “You muppet!” 

“Cool!” I said.  ‘The smog must be seeping into my brain already,’ I thought, ‘How could I not know those were HIKING SHOES?’  (Of course, on further analysis, it was obvious to me that my recognition skills weren’t amiss.  It was the idea of SHEILA wearing HIKING shoes that threw me.  It was oxymoronic!)

So, we both put the camelbacks on.  Sheila took the full-size one, so she could put her dog’s collapsible bowl and a bottled water inside for him on the trail. She thought it was so cool to have the Camelbacks, and said, “I almost bought one once, but just never got around to it.” 

Then as we started the hike, she exclaimed giddily (again with her British accent), “We’re going to look so professional!” We chuckled at that.  We certainly dressed the “avid outdoor enthusiast” part that day.  We even had a dog along to make it look SUPER real.

So a few minutes in, when we started to get to a slight incline (mind you, I am basically walking on this thing, not really noticing any “hike” sort of exertion at all), Sheila paused, causing me to turn back. She sort of turned toward me, as she turned her head, as if to suck on the straw of the camelback. 

Instead, while keeping a totally straight face, talking under her breath she said, “So, how do you work this thing?”  I cracked up!  We both did!  Here we were HIKING with Camelbacks and awesome hiking shoes, dog in tow, and she didn’t know how to use the equipment! What sad, pathetic excuses for hiking queens?  More like PRINCESSES, I’d say!  But when all was said and done, no matter how silly we were, or may have looked, we truly ENJOYED EVERY MOMENT!  HA!  And isn’t that the point?

So, this weekend, I want all of you to get outside and exercise.  Put on those old spandex biking shorts, Speedos and head-bands, and make a fool of yourself, if you want!  Just be sure to ENJOY IT, would you?

Until next week!

Love you people!  Mmmmmphhhuuuhhh!!

xoxo

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious