Oh too funny, while looking for any kind of a synopsis on line to link to for Zus and Zoe I came up with an all women film director's site, and then from there I somehow found an article by a friend, the Mom of Beau and my friend Jake. I have both of her books. Here's her article about women behind the camera in early Hollywood. I didn't have much luck with Zus and Zoe, or Zus & Zoe.
Oh God, Beau just sprayed some kind of clear fixative on his Starburst wrapper paper covered tennis shoes again. I've asked him to do this outside, but I guess he didn't feel like listening to me. Now, the whole house smells like chemicals. Not good. Should I beat him?
I took Juliette and Beau to the movies today and was forced to act as a chaperone. Her parents insisted on it. I wish I could feel safe writing about it here but I never know who's reading this and for their sakes I think I'll just have to abstain from processing all of the many feelings I have about my son's first love, and his growing up in this regard. Just saying that alone might be enough to get him banned from being able to see her, sigh.
Scott came over tonight and we hung out here in my room, on my bed, playing with the cats, cuddling, and watching television. I gave him my guitar to play, got out a book of Cat Steven's songs, and we went through them playing and singing. That was nice, something we don't do and that I always thought we would do much more often. But sadly it's hard to sing with him -- he's not really a sing-along kind of guy. You know what I mean, the kind of guy or gal who always has their guitar with them, and can play pretty much anything in a way that everyone can just join in and sing along. He's too much of an artist for that. He kind of does his own thing, changes the key to suit his voice, and plays with the rhythm and melody of the song, whereas I'm hindered by needing to sing songs as I remember them because I really can't read music, and there's the fact that we both need to sing in different keys.
When we do manage to sing something together for a phrase or two, our voices sound so beautiful together, and I don't know if he hears this. Anyone who has ever heard us sing together tells us this, but it's such a struggle for us, that it just doesn't seem to matter any more, well, maybe not to him. I don't know. Sometimes I think he is just too in love with his own experience of singing and playing to be able to truly collaborate, or share the stage with another singer. When he reads this he is going to be so upset because he will completely disagree. I know he'll think it's just me, that I'm too inexperienced, and that he's always been able to sing with other people, but somehow I think it's a little more complicated than that. I'm just so sad that we have had such a hard time sharing something that means so much to both of us.
I went to Lane Bryant yesterday evening to get some new, or better fitting, bras, and ended up buying a few things I needed. Money worries, and my love of shopping for pretty much anything, aside, when I don't feel good about my body, I don't feel good buying clothes to put on it. I have spent my entire life obsessing about my weight, and food, and my body and the way it looks in and out of clothes. You'd think if being thin is so important to me, so important that I'd be willing to risk my life in order to have my body literally cut apart in order to lose some of this weight, that I'd be able to get a handle on this insatiable hunger and finally have the body I've been dreaming of for so long. You'd think that, but if you haven't been in my exact biochemical place, you wouldn't understand. The only time I think I ever came close to feeling like a normal person might feel about food was when I was taking a drug that helps the body utilize insulin, it made me sick as a dog, but I was able to look at food and think, "Hmmm...that's not so good for me, it's certainly fattening, I think I'll pass."
There were three beautiful young Egyptian women shopping at Lane Bryant while I was there. They all had mellifluous voices and the coolest, curliest, golden-brown hair -- tight, thick, ringlets, like something out of a pre-Raphaelite painting. I adore hair like that, natural, thick, wildly curly hair. I think it's the sexiest hair of all, (the kind of hair you want to wrap your hands in and tug on when you're having sex), but of course I get to feel this way since I have fine straight hair and have never had to contend with masses of curls. Two of the women were small, and one was larger sized, like me. Having discovered Lane Bryant once before when visiting the US, they had all made a big point of getting there again to help their friend or sister find some semi-stylish clothes in her size. She was so happy to find youngish looking things that fit her, she was literally whooping in the dressing room, and it was fun listening to them speak whatever language you speak when you come from Egypt, peppered with the odd English phrase here and there. It was a pretty language, a little like Farsi, but rounder and more melodic in some way.
I just have to say that after having watched every episode of Kept, that I feel kind of ripped off that it's over, and I don't get the see the fun part. I want to see what happens with Jerry and Seth now that the show is over and he's going to be her love slave, or whatever it is that he is or is not going to be. I want to know what exactly what the scope of their relationship will be and what being a kept man means to them. I want to see them having some fun. I liked Seth, I thought he was funny, but I wish she'd picked Austin because he had a deeper soul, really was "gorgeous," and I did kind of think it would be a hoot for her to turn the tables on Mick and have a younger better looking man.
I know it's incredibly shallow of me, but I love to see people enjoy their money doing silly expensive things like shopping for designer clothes, getting their hair done at ridiculously overpriced salons, eating at fine restaurants, club hopping, going to parties and premieres, hanging out in their beautiful homes with their fellow celebrity friends, or just being able to hop on a plane and go any damn where they please. I wish I had enough money to do all of this for a few weeks, or months -- get it out of my system -- and then get down to business establishing charities and distributing money where it's really needed. Ashley was saying yesterday that he doesn't get what the big attraction to Oprah is, and I think it has a little something to do with this; she seems to have it all in balance somehow, she makes the world a better place for so many people, and she gets to have fun leading a terrific life as well.
I'm going to try to get caught up on some of your comments and e-mail tonight. We'll see how far back I get...I keep trying, but I am so tired.
Tomorrow I'm going to take Beau out on a supervised movie date with his little girlfriend Juliette whose parents seem to hate both of us. Her stepmother actually hung up on me while I was talking to her last night. Why, oh why can't he like someone who has friendly, loving, happy, and positive parents? I'll have to visualize this one, or create some sort of affirmation. Beau will fall in love with someone whose parents appreciate him...Beau will fall in love with someone whose parents...
Of course I think he's a catch. He's loyal. He's sweet. He's honest. He's smart. He is a one girl kind of guy, and he's set for life financially. He's never even kissed a girl, and he has a great relationship with his Mother. What more can a girl's parents want? Oh forget it, it's not worth writing about.
My little Curly Girl has gone downhill again with this damned virus/flu-whater-the-hell-it-is, but I am so on top of this. I refuse to let another one of my beloved babies succumb to this evil thing. I've given her subcu. fluids, antibiotics, Flagyl for the diarrhea, Reglan (I think it's called Reglan), for the vomiting, saline mist to clean out her sinuses and a pediatric cold remedy to dry up the cold. She seems to be doing better. She had a little food tonight after I gave her the cold medicine and she hasn't barfed. I'm crossing my fingers and praying.
How can they get away with advertising pills that are supposed to enhance men's penis size? Have you seen these Anzyte ads? I think they're just so wrong on so many levels. I've even seen ads like these for breast enhancement. Can you imagine if there really were a pill that you could take that would target one part of the body and make it balloon up in size? Maybe I could invent a lip inflation or a clown feet pill.
Here's a vintage dress I bought on eBay from Birchhouse Vintage.
I've been super careful with money lately, because I haven't had any, (and I need to save up for Burning Man), but I did break down and buy one super-pretty, green chiffon dress on eBay -- not that it'll ever fit me, but it's so pretty, I had to have it. I love green, and the weird thing is I saw Cate Blanchett wearing an Alexander McQueen dress that looked so much like it to the Vesuvio awards. He had to have copied it, it's just too much like the original.
Here's Cate Blanchett wearing a super similar looking Alexander McQueen dress. I did play with the color a bit so you could see how much they look alike.
I'm excited about my friend Jen's having two horses now. I cannot wait to go see them, the horses, not Jen ; ) just kidding, and I really want to see her new house.
I gave a copy of Scott's latest CD to a sweet, new, older friend of mine, (she's eighty-six, isn't that cute?), in the hope that she would give it to her son who is the head of MCA, and she did. She said he said that they don't really produce reggae artists but that he'd try to pass it on to someone. I gave her a second CD so she could keep it and listen to it herself. I saw her at the beauty salon today when I went to get my highlights redone and she said she hadn't heard it yet, but she promised that she would listen to it soon. She's been friends with Paul Anka for a million years and she said she has to listen to his CD first because he gave it to her and is waiting for her to listen to it.
This reminds me of a story my hair stylist/pal Ashley, who is also a real sweetheart, told me today. He said he was in Vegas at a gym and Tom Jones, who he has always had a crush on, came in and dropped his pants. There he was standing right there without anyone else around, wearing nothing more than a jockstrap and Ashley said it was all he could do to keep himself from slapping him on the ass.
I really need hair and costume help for this year's Burning Man. I asked my village friend's, Kidsville, but no one responded. The theme this year is Psyche, and Burning Man seems to be going for a kind of carnival atmosphere, but I'm thinking psyche equals dream imagery and all I've been coming up with is the image of that swirling black and white circular design. The one that Hitchcock used...I think it was Hitchcock.
Argh, Mr. Meow won't let me type, he keeps walking all over the keyboard and plopping down across my wrists. He is such a typical kitty in that when I want to play with him he makes that fussy pussycat face and wriggles away, but when I'm busy, like right now, that's when he HAS to have my attention. He has this cute habit of sucking on my fingers that's a left over from his having been an orphaned kitten who I bottle fed. I can distract him by offering him my finger the way you would give a finger to a hungry baby to suck on to tide them over until you can get away to somewhere comfortable where you can feed them. Oh he's fallen asleep, thank God! Nope, now he's awake and he's run off to wrestle with his brother...oh crap here he comes again. I need to get that keyboard cat recognition program that Scott told me about -- the one that protects your computer from random cat walking movements.
I've been watching these tattoo art reality shows that are on; Inked, and Miami Inked. I love tattoos but I don't have any myself. I can never settle on any one design that I think I would love to have forever -- they're so permanent -- and my Mom would freak, so as with a lot of things in my life that I'd like to do, I'm waiting. I'll probably be sixty and then start getting a wild tattoo body suit just to freak people out. I just really love the colors and designs. I love the art of it, and I love checking out people's tattoos. They're always so surprised when I stop and take the time to really admire them. I guess because I look so normal and ordinary and maybe people who look like me don't often stop and admire them because they're afraid for some reason. I know that in my parent's time there was such a stigma against having them, as if there were this great social divide between people who had tattoos and people who didn't. And the funny thing is that my Father had this very small fraternity tattoo on his arm. He was ashamed of it but I thought it was kind of cool. Now that he's gone, I miss looking at it, and I wish I'd taken a picture of it. Sigh, I miss my Dad.