I just got back from the Amazon jungle and an amazing (pun intended) trip to the Galapagos Islands scouting out the blue footed booby. I swore to myself after returning from that peaceful (almost), no tech vacation that I would be a more serene, less stressed out, less narcissistic individual. I have failed miserably.
Any time you come back from a vacation you can expect your days to be long and crowded with appointments. Mine was no exception. I had back to back to back appointments all over town culminating with a haircut on Melrose Avenue at Warren Tricomi. Please note, even the haircut was work related because I got it in preparation for my networking luncheon on Monday where I will be pitching the Warren Tricomi salon and handing out their gift certificates for our swag bags. (How’s that for a run-on sentence?) Somehow in between my appointment with a writer working on an incredible new party book and my 6 o’clock haircut, I got waylaid. Big time waylaid.
I thought it would be a great idea to stop into Fred Segal on Melrose (323-651-4129, I can’t find their web address), just a few blocks from Warren Tricomi, to kill a little time. For once, I actually got somewhere early. Here the downward spiral began. I started in the handbag section, put two of them on hold. (Didn’t want to make any rash decisions, nor lug around unnecessary weight.) Decided to pit stop in the shoe department which is the size of an LA diva’s tiny closet so I figured I couldn’t get into to much trouble, right? Wrong. Enter Chiavonne (I am probably butchering her name.) So cute, so nice, so fashionable. I end up with THREE pairs of fabulous shoes – Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Louboutin and a random pair of too amazing Giuseppe Zanotti’s. Of course. (Did I mention that I had already taken a whirl through m. frederic and managed to do some damage there?) What the h— happened to my calm, no attachment to objects, birdwatching side that showed up in the jungle not one week ago? Nowhere to be found. Note to readers: My husband does not read this blog which is the only reason I can be so candid.
Thoroughly buzzed and thrilled with life and myself, I hopped over to Warren Tricomi ( www.warrentricomi.com ) for my cut and style. This was an experience in itself. In true LA fashion, the t.v. show The Hills, was being filmed there while I waited. Skinny, mini, little tiny, fashionable Lauren Conrad looked amazing, as usual. While I waited, I decided that the shoes were not enough. Not only did I need this cut and blow dry, I need a whole new image makeover. Stat. Where but in LA do the girls who work in the salon look as good as the people on t.v.??? These stylists/hair washers/assistants or whatever they were looked amazing. Impeccably dressed, perfect makeup, gloss, beautiful hair. I on the other hand looked old, shiny (no Chanel powder in MY purse) and wrinkled. Did I mention that I also felt a little fat? After a KILLER haircut by Lavetta (call for her 323-654-4495) and makeup/style chat with Roberta (same number), I was thrilled. Well, as thrilled as an old, shiny, wrinkled, travel-weary, star struck Pasadena girl could be.
So what’s the bottom line? The Hollywood set is young and looks great. On the other hand, my quest for inner Amazonian peace didn’t last very long but maybe I will find that zen within again after I head to UCLA for a little calming botox. Beleagured, shiny Party Goddess, signing off.
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