Last Thursday I had a photo shoot for most of the day. This sounds extremely glamorous. It was not. The net/net of the entire situation was that I need more botox and my dermatologist is still out on maternity leave. (This seems like not a good profession for mothers because you need botox like every three months and in order to be wrinkle free you need to time your injections exactly with the birth.)
I could tell you about how last week at 8pm my Mom called and summonsed (sp? a word?) me to her house (along with my husband because I hadn’t seen him for 2 seconds) and my 2 year old (in rubber boots which he loves) because she found a rat in the house. This is not because she lives in a trailer (although I feel like I do sometimes) but because she is having the entire house painted and there was an earthquake one minute before she saw the rat. My husband, who knows everything said that rats always come out in earthquakes. So, after rescuing her from the kitchen table, I, yes, me, what the he-l this had to do with me I have no idea, had to start setting freakin’ peanut butter traps in the g.d. house to catch these rats. My Dad was so smart disturbed that he decided he needed to work at his Palm Desert office for the rest of the week. Very coincidental if you ask me.
Then Saturday I had to run up to Santa Barbara for the day/night to speak at a work retreat. Because I was channeling Oprah, I decided that my husband and I would stop at Tre Lune in Montecito on the way home. I was convinced that that was the place that Oprah recently returned the dishes too after a bunch of deliveries of food. After the delicious meal (we sat under these special labeled mini chairs that said Portia de Rossi and Ellen De Generes – for special guests?) of Huevos Rancheros (egg whites only) I realized that it was not Tre Lune (no hate mail please, maybe she does eat there) but rather Trattoria Mollie that Oprah returned the plates too. I was devastated.
I have basically been working for two weeks straight on my new business (HowToBeAPartyGoddess.com) and I am exhausted. (Please sign up there so I’ll have good numbers.) I am pretty much on a text only basis with my friends because my enthusiasm over my new business is annoying. No one takes my calls anymore. I realized that this was not good so I went to the Korean version of Scientology, Dahn Yoga. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I could not understand these people at all. This did not stop me from signing up for 3 days a week of Qi Qong or some nonsense. The woman kept rubbing my stomach (like a bear does for honey) telling me that my small intenstines were “all mix up” and I had “lot oh stess”. Ya think? Anyway, the next thing I knew was that they had my Mastercard and I was a little more relaxed. I go tomorrow for orientation which I don’t know why I need because I’m pretty much agreeing to show up and meditate and “quiet mind.” I know this is a cult because there were tons of posters of mind vibration and all I could think of was that this is why my friend Robyn and everyone in Florida makes fun of all of us out here. I’ve totally lost my mind.
Finally, Trista Sutter’s girlfriend (no, not lesbian lover people, like her friend who is a girl) called to see if TPG could help plan a baby shower for Trista. This was devastating because I didn’t even know Trista was pregnant and she’s having a girl. More on that later. I’m now going to watch the last of The Bachelor and try and “quiet mind.”
Since my mind is so quiet, maybe I should channel Oprah instead of Kate Hudson, since clearly she hasn’t called and yet the entire world has my cell phone number because it rings constantly. Send help.
I had a ‘photo shoot’ last week. I use that term loosely. It was a friend of a friend who knew how to use a camera. She was standing about a foot from my face taking pictures. That was not pleasant. All my pictures look like I am either terrified or have some serious internal issue.