Celebrity stalking

When I was in New York, everyone kept asking if I'd had any good celebrity sightings lately. The answer was no. Other than Doogie Howser at the gym, I can't recall any recent run-ins. Fortunately, I had a good one on my flight back: Scott Speedman!

You may recall that I saw Scott Speedman at a bar last year. Is it possible he is stalking me and wants to be my boyfriend? Oh, I hope so! He was unshaven, unshowered, and overall, unkempt, and yet he still looked utterly delicious.

Home Sweet Home

I'm back!!! From the longest business trip ever! And I think I can say that it took this trip for me to finally consider LA my home.

It was such a whirlwind trip, I don't even know where to begin. You could say that Saturday was a low point. Or it was, until Sunday.

Sunday was the Gay Pride Parade in New York, and, thinking it would be filled with shirtless gay men of boundless disposable income, we were doing a booth at Pridefest to promote the Spa. My partner-in-crime on this trip (who I love dearly and is one of my very favorite people I have met in LA) is part of that demographic, and having been to Pride festivals in LA and San Francisco, thought this would be the perfect opportunity to hand out discount cards for waxing services and offer samples of shave creme and muscle-soothing gel. We were so off. Perhaps it was the intermittant rain showers that kept them away, or maybe it was because we were across from the Hepatitus Vaccine tent, but after 9 hours we left lugging home way more samples and leftover postcards than we had anticipated. Did I mention the rain?

It kept raining on Monday. So much so that I ended up cancelling the models I had booked for that night, since I didn't think a rainy outdoor movie event was the ideal sampling opportunity for high-income spa-goers. I handed out the samples myself, standing in the doorway of the still-under-construction spa. The rain had stopped by that time, but I didn't want anyone I know to see me.

Tuesday things got better. We opened. Wednesday we got press. Today we got more press, and now the wheels are in motion, momentum is picking up. I was almost sad to leave. Almost. But not quite.

A few months ago I mused that maybe once I was back in New York, among my friends and professional connections, that I might not miss my life out here and wonder what on earth I was doing so far from home. I have to say, it was SO good to see my friends. Emotionally, I feel rejuvenated. Connecting with people who have known me so well and for so long has made me feel whole in a way that I didn't know I was missing. I literally feel energized from the love they gave me, from the conversations we had, from the knowledge that after ten years we have more than just college memories, but have somehow grown up together and still really like the people we each have become.

But if socially, I was rejuvenated, everything else just sucked the life right out of me.

I'm not going to complain here. Everything I could complain about has already been said in prior posts, whether it's about roaches, dirty streets, noise, stress, space, prices, etc. We all know how I feel about the city itself; it's the relationships I had there that keep drawing me back, making me wonder if I really belong there. All week people kept asking me how I like LA, and I would find myself explaining why I liked it by comparing it to everything I didn't like about living in New York. And around the fifth time I tried to answer the question, I realized that it's not so much an issue of which city I like better, but that I like the person that I am in LA much better than the person I was in New York.

I hated the person I was two years ago. I was bitter, angry, impatient, fairly miserable. And having the very best of friends living within a two-mile radius didn't change that. I won't go into how my life has changed or why I am happier now, because, truthfully, I am still trying to figure that out. I just know that on a day-to-day basis, I am a happier, calmer, more rational person. I often have a smile on my face. That's not to say that my life is all roses, but I think I handle things better than I would have back then. Dare I say it? I'm just a little more Zen.

It only took a few days before I started slipping back into the old persona. I saw it in others, and it made me sad. I wanted to take some of these people, shake the frown lines right off of their face, and tell them that life doesn't always have to be so hard.

Then again, what do I know? I'm just one of those annoying, happy-go-lucky chicks in La La Land.

At least I'm not blond, yet.

Irony is...

opening up a spa and yet not remembering the last time you took a shower.

Grumpy

7:30 AM - Wake up to mouse in hotel room

7:31 AM - Call front desk re: mouse in hotel room

7:35 AM - Two hotel employees arrive with a broom and the smell of a recently-extinguished cigar. Offer me a glue trap.

7:36 AM - Call front desk re: mouse, employees

7:45 AM - Bellhop arrives to remove boxes of natural skin care products in which mouse may be hiding. Mouse stays hidden.

8:00 AM - Receive new room assignment and pack up 10 days worth of clothes, shoes, beauty products, and work

8:30 AM - Arrive in new room, half the size of old room

9:00 AM - Walk to breakfast

10:00 AM - Walk back from breakfast. In the rain.

11:00 AM - Arrive at soon-to-open spa for model casting

11:01 AM - Learn that spa is closed because newly redone floors are still not dry

11:15 AM - Consider crying. Decide it would take too much energy.

11:30 AM - Change casting location to hotel lobby.

11:31 - 1:15 - Worry that no one will show up.

1:16 PM - One person shows up. She is hired.

1:30 PM - Second person shows up. She is hired too.

2:15 PM - Third person shows up. Casting has been over for 15 minutes. She is not hired.

4:00 - Present - Consider going to the gym. Think about how gross I feel that I haven't been in seven days; but am too annoyed to deal with the weather outside, too full from lunch and too dehydrated from last night to consider a serious run, and almost too tired too care. Wonder how I am going to muster up the energy to go out again tonight. Especially when I have a big day ahead of me tomorrow. Want to crawl into bed but feel too dirty and sticky to do so. Can't shower yet because my hair will frizz if I lay back down on it. Don't want to look at possible stomach rolls in the shower anyway.

More thoughts from New York

I can't believe I haven't found a second to write. I am much busier than I thought I'd be, work wise and socially. With the exception of my first night here, I've gone out every night. Fun catching up with old friends but exhausting, and even I'm getting tired of drinking. What I'm not getting tired of are all the M-E-N that are seemingly everywhere!!! Why did I not notice them in the seven years that I lived here? Oh, I know. Maybe because I always had my head down to the ground or my nose up in the air and couldn't see past the homeless people staggering out of my way. Now that I am all smiles and California sunshine, however, I am all over this eye candy and want to take a few home with me in my suitcase.

The weather is 8000 degrees and humid. I like it at night when I can go out without a jacket, but is otherwise unbearable. And of course my hotel room is set at below freezing, so I've been placing magazines and phone books on the air conditioner to somewhat maintain a decent body temperature. The atmosphere has been heavy and damp with the constant threat of rain, but that has somewhat held off and I'm sure will continue to do so until the minute we are set to open our booth at Pridefest tomorrow at which we are scheduled to be outdoors for 8 hours straight. I brought a small umbrella that should keep me dry for oh, about four minutes.

Did I mention why I am here? We are opening a spa. At least we are supposed to, although you wouldn't know it from the empty space across the street. And by empty, I mean, unfinished and boarded up. I'm anything but relaxed. Although I do have to note that I am thankfully a completely different person than the stressed-out, high-strung, uber-beyotch I was a year and a half ago when I lived here, so with that alone I feel ahead of the game.

(Short) thought while in NYC

I am so glad I don't live here anymore.

Time is the longest distance between two places

Growing up, I always took Mother's and Father's Day for granted. My parents divorced when I was five years old, about seven years after they were married, and the responsibility of celebrating both days pretty much fell squarely on my shoulders. I had no older siblings to show me what to do, no younger siblings to lead to the well, and my parents certainly weren't celebrating each other. With no one to inspire me to make a big deal out of the days, I often didn't, instead resting my laurels on the requisite cards, bad gifts, and IOU coupons that my teachers suggested made great "thank-you's."

But as a kid, I guess I never really got the "thank you" part. After all, I never thought of parenting as a job, one that maybe they didn't always want to do, and one that certainly no one was paying them for. I guess that's a good sign that I was raised by two stable, unconditionally-loving parents; neither ever once made me feel like their job was work, that parenting was anything but all they ever wanted from life. Of course there were fights and hard times, but all part of a normal adolescence, and I guess I just never felt like I had to prove my love for them with a huge Hallmark display of affection.

Even Hallmark doesn't take it seriously half the time. Why are all Father's Day cards about golf or fishing or "fixing" stuff around the house? I don't think my dad has ever played golf, enjoys fishing but not enough to hang a holiday on it, and is a fine enough handy-man to not knock his trade. Every year when I shop the card aisle, I wonder, who exactly are they making these cards for?

I actually forgot Mother's Day once, when my eighth grade class took a weekend field trip to Montreal. Yes, I was excited, and yes, I was out of the country, but the bottom line is that I was completely self-absorbed. She was so hurt, and I have obviously never forgotten it; yet, I know that a degree of that same self-absorption has lingered up until recent years, as even when I lived in New York I always seemed to have an excuse not to come home for the weekend. Don't ask me why - I don't know. I don't even think I really thought about it much. No one asked me to, no one expected me to, so I just didn't.

But since I have been in LA, I really miss my parents. Most of my friends get to take their mothers and fathers out to brunch or dinner, for a spa day or baseball game, and basically spend time with the family. And it's been over the last year, and two sets of holidays, that I finally realize that that's what it's all about. It's not about gifts or bad Hallmark cards or making indigestible breakfast in bed; it's spending time with the people whose day it is because that's all any of us really need to feel loved. Time is the most valuable thing any of us can spend.

Catching up

I feel like I missed a lot when I was away. Thank goodness I at least caught the Britney Spears Dateline. To recap the very important things that happened this week:

- My Dad's birthday. Happy birthday, Dad!
- Daryl Hannah climbed a tree and wouldn't come back down.
- There is a reality show about cats? Does anyone watch Animal Planet?
- Briztow Jones becomes a woman!

(Somewhat) live from Jet Blue

I wrote the text of this blog on the plane back from a whirlwind trip to New York, waiting until something good came on the Direct TV in front of me. Or at least until the Britney Dateline special aired.

My company is opening a spa in New York in two weeks, and we agreed to let the airline company who carries our products throw a party in our as-yet-unused empty space. Because the Spa wouldn't be completely done, we thought the timing would be perfect because we'd have an open floor space but none of the expensive lounge furniture.

So you could say we were all a little surprised when we walked in to the space on Tuesday night and an entire wall had yet to be tiled. Paint was still drying on the countertops and said countertops and light fixtures had yet to be installed. In the words of Donald Trump (because this felt oddly similar to an Apprentice task), it was a total disaster.

We had known the contractor had been stalling, but we had his word that the space would be finished not only by the time of Wednesday night's party, but by 8 AM that morning when the production company arrived to set up. And it was, but not without a long night on the workers' part and a bit of frustration on both our part and that of the airline who had been promised a functioning event space.

By 8 AM Wednesday morning, tile was up, fixtures were in, and the overall concept was achieved; however the floors were a mess, sawdust was everywhere, and it took an entire day and a small army to transform the setting into something somewhat appropriate for a VIP cocktail party.

The party was in honor of the airline's new business class amenity program (of which we are a part) and hosted the airline's top corporate clients and associates. Thankfully, everything went smoothly and no one noticed that underneath all the gift bags were holes in the floor that I had deftly covered up with contact paper. In fact, the biggest problem of the evening was a minor fashion emergency, but the adjacent Kenneth Cole store took care of that problem.

After our party was an after-party at a different venue down the street. This was the "real deal" party, complete with red carpet, D-list celebs, and pedi-cabs to take us there. The highlight of my evening was meeting gossip blogger Perez Hilton; Billy Baldwin, Chloe Sevigny, Jamie Lynn Siegler, and Justin Chambers rounded out the low-letter buzz. Justin Chambers was looking yummy-delicious, though.

It wasn't a late night, but I have been exhausted all day. Fortunately it is part of my job to test our new spa treatments, so I spent part of the afternoon getting a facial. Have I mentioned that I love my job?

I am headed back to New York on Monday, to kick off a number of different marketing initiatives I have planned for the Spa opening. This next trip will be for 10 days, the longest I have lived out of a suitcase since I went to Europe 11 years ago, and the longest business trip I have taken, ever. I'll have to make sure to schedule a few massages.

Happy Birthday Dad!

You might not be able to tell from these pictures, but I actually look a lot like my dad. I have the same dimple in the chin, the same long legs, and if it weren’t for a dedicated obsession with waxing, I might also have the same bushy mustache.

We have the same hands and uncoordinated feet; the same facial bone structure, and are capable of making such similar expressions such that sometimes when I look at him I feel like I am looking in a mirror. Or at least a portal that gives a 57 year old man the same face as a 30 year old woman.

We’re also both Gemini’s. However, while I’m your textbook Twin – writer, communicator, dual personalities that borderline on bipolar – my dad is much quieter, more private, more even-keeled. If I didn't look so much like him it would be completely reasonable to assume that I might be the milkman's daughter. Considering that he made me drink milk with every meal for 18 years of my childhood, I guess, in a way, I am. But since I am practically the only adult I know who still enjoys a big frosty glass, to that I say, cheers! And Happy Birthday, Dad!

As if I needed another reason to succomb to bad habits

Like chocolate and peanut butter, it turns out that two of my favorite things really do go well together. This is the best news I've heard all week. And it's only Monday.

(On another note, I have found two ladybugs in two days. That's good luck, right?)

Bid day

The luncheon/auction went well, but I am exhausted. I didn't get home until after 4 PM yesterday, and then didn't go any further than my couch. I slept until noon today, and even then, had to peel myself out of bed before the day completely got away from me.

Overall, I'm glad I participated, but it was an awful lot of work for something that took place within the span of one hour. It took me from 10:30 until the very start of the auction at noon to set up; at 1:00 the auction closed, at which point we had to take everything down. I haven't had time (well, okay, the desire) to go through the bid sheets to figure out how much money was raised, but I don't think it was as much as in recent years. I might have set some bid prices too high for the crowd, but for the most part, I think the prize selection was lacking. In truth, it was kind of deflating to see items that I had spent so much time writing up not getting a single bid.

The crowd was a mix of alumni from the most recent graduating class up to people who had graduated 50 years ago. The luncheon chair had organized a group of recent graduates to help me set up, and I marveled at how truly young the 22 year old boys looked. Did we really ever look like that? They were wonderful and I couldn't have done my job without them, but I suddenly felt like a camp counselor on a field trip with unruly children. If the children were at a fraternity formal, anyway. There was also an older woman who showed up an hour early. She kept offering to help me, but I didn't think she could balance any bid items on her walker.

There were about 5 or 6 people from my age group there, most of whom I have seen since I have been in LA. During the auction hour, I fluctuated between wishing I could socialize with the crowd and being glad I had an excuse not to make small talk with a bunch of nerds. On the other hand, the whole reason I joined this club was for networking, and I really didn't get to do any of that during my short tenure.

Will I do this again next year? I don't know. The work wasn't hard, and was even enjoyable for a time, but I do feel like so much energy was expended for little return. I suppose I will have to see where I am, professionally, next spring, and whether I will have the time to dedicate to this, without being bitter that I spent the time in the first place. Not that I am bitter now. Just like I said, a bit deflated.

Nearly delirious

I've worked harder today, my day off, than I have all week. On the auction, of course, but it feels just like I'm planning any other event, and suddenly, after all my complaining, I love it.

Woke up late, at 9:30, because I was having metaphorically-relevant dreams about my car not being able to get up a snowy hill. Read: I'm fighting an uphill battle, heading up a slippery slope, and might get hurt along the way. This has nothing to do with the auction.

By 10:30 I was picking up more auction items in Century City; at 11:00 I was at Staples, and at 11:30, at the framing store, freaking out that Tom Hanks had gotten slightly wrinkled while squished in my trunk. I was home by noon, and spent four and a half hours creating bid sheets for two-thirds of the items taking over my apartment. At 4:30 I went to pick up two more frames, some straight pins to keep the bid sheets from flying away, and a Frappucino because I was guessing it was going to be a long night.

At 6:00 I sat back down, and finished the last 25 bid sheets by 9:00. I spent the last half hour arts-and-crafting placeholders, and I'm about to start writing out as many auction receipts as I can before my handwriting becomes completely illegible. I've eaten Lean Cuisines for the last three out of four meals; the fourth was a Slim Fast Bar. I haven't taken a shower since yesterday morning. But I just cracked open a beer and I honestly couldn't be happier.

Except for that nagging feeling that I need to get new snow tires.

Good thing the party was last weeked

The luncheon/auction I volunteered for is this upcoming Saturday, and I'm taking tomorrow off from work to organize and basically do all the stuff I was supposed to have been doing for the last few weeks. Right now I have auction items spread all across my living room just waiting for their accompanying bid sheets, and I thought I'd give you an idea of some of the cool things currently in my possession:

- The Terminal DVD and ginormous movie poster autographed by Tom Hanks
- A framed photo of the original cast of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, autographed by all of the cast children (passed on to me by Mike Tee Vee himself)
- A Neil Diamond music package, including his autographed concert program
- A consultation with a very famous hairdresser, worth $245 (this famous guy is known for his cowboy hats, for whatever that's worth)
- A whole slew of promotional goodies from Lost, including the Season 1 DVD which I would be so tempted to steal if I didn't have it already
- Enough free passes to The Laugh Factory to keep 20 friends entertained for a weekend
- Enough meal passes to Rubios and In-N-Out Burger to feed said group

A lesser person might be tempted to sell this stuff on eBay for personal gain. Too bad I am just so honest.

They like me, they really like me!

Since Kevin Roderick was nice enough to highlight my birthday on LA Observed yesterday (thanks, Kevin!) I guess I should explain why I titled the last post the way I did. At first glance it probably gives the impression that I spent all of Sunday hungover the way I did the Sunday after I turned 26; while that is moderately true, it really has more to do with the fact that the fun I had on Saturday was tantamount to the fun I had at my 26th birthday party. Of course, had I not been hungover when I wrote the post, I might have realized that the party I was thinking of was actually for my 25th.

My 25th birthday was the last time I had a true, blown-out party. I actually shared the night with a friend whose birthday was close to mine, and between the two of us, we probably had 80 or 100 guests. It was the peak of our social lives in New York City, and in hindsight, I realize it was the last year we were all really, truly young. At 25, there were no commitments beyond Saturday night's party. No one was married, and kids were a dirty word. There weren't bridal showers to get up for the next morning, or marathons to train for at 9 AM. Drinking and socializing took precedence over any other responsibility, and we all got together every Saturday night to celebrate really nothing but our youth and the fact that we were all together.

By the time I turned 26, the bond most of my large group shared - college - seemed more distant and less relevant to our current lives. It's not that we drifted apart, exactly, but we made new groups of friends, and new sets of plans. People had started to advance in their careers, giving them money to spend weekends away. Relationships turned into engagements, kicking off an endless series of bachelor parties, spa weekends, and celebratory dinners in. Sometime during that one year, when none of us were looking, we all started to grow up. I never had a birthday like that again.

Until now.

I had been so worried about this birthday, about this party. I have been so lucky to have made so many good friends as I have in LA, but I was still worried that only a handful of people would show up. What can I say? It's LA. In addition to the usual commitments I mentioned above, people here can be kind of flaky; and, because the city is so damn big, you really can't blame someone if they don't feel like sitting in traffic for an hour just for a free drink.

But everyone showed up. And not only that, but everyone stayed. And had a good time. And really made me feel that I was among good - no, GREAT - friends. No one left early to go to another party. No one flaked because they didn't feel like going out after all. I had 25 people in my tiny apartment and they all came up to me and told me how nice my other friends were and how refreshing it was to go to a house party and not a bar. My first guests came at 8 PM; the last guests left at 2 AM. And the guests that left at 2 AM were the ones that drove the farthest - I had been pleasantly surprised and quite truthfully, thrilled, that they even came at all.

This party was even better, in some ways, than my 25th. I felt older, but in a good way. Because I wasn't throwing back the alcohol like I would have five years ago, I managed to have quality conversations with my guests. And remember them the next day. A few of my guests actually volunteered for responsibilities - one was in charge of making margaritas, another acted as photographer - so I could spend more time interacting with my friends. And as the last group left at 2 AM, they cleaned up nearly the whole apartment, so when I woke up, groggy on Sunday morning, there were no cupcakes sitting out gathering dust, no empty glasses crusting with sticky residue. I simpy had to throw out some bottles, wipe down some surfaces, and run the vacuum. It was the easiest after-party cleanup I've ever had, and has given me an example of how I would like to act the next time I attend such an event.

I know it's soon after, but I already see this party and this birthday as a watershed event in my life. It has already turned around how I feel about being 30, and it has also made me realize that I am so lucky to have what I have. One of the problems with being as ambitious as I am, as ADD as I can be sometimes, is that I am always looking ahead, looking for the next best thing, never quite satisfied with what is sitting right in my lap. As I was stressing over this birthday for the last month, I kept thinking about all the people back east - the people who have known me for so many years and wouldn't let me down on my birthday. How ironic that many of those were the exact people who forgot. I don't blame them. Those are the people who are married, have kids, have other commitments. The West Coast flakes, it turns out, were all I really needed.

And, as it turns out, that is just enough.

My first weekend at 30 is remarkably similar to my first weekend at 26

And the party went off without a hitch.

Good thing, too, because Friday was a crappy day. A lot of people I was looking forward to hearing from actually forgot my birthday (or chose not to acknowledge it) and I dealt with that by sulking in my office and crying when I got home. The people I didn't hear from weren't my closest friends, but people I still enjoy talking to, if only a few times a year, like on our birthdays. I pulled myself together in time for a small dinner out, and by the time I had woken up the next morning, I had messages (voice mail, text, and email) from 4 or 5 of those very people.

The birthday party by far made up for the pity party. Not only did every single person show up, but everyone stayed. The last guests left at 2 AM! And while I had thought that people might miss the excitement of being in a bar, a lot of people actually told me how much they liked that I had a house party. I'll probably post some funny and poignant anecdotes about the evening later this week, but here's a small photo sampler of the night's debauchery:

How old is Lori?

This old!

My Super Sweet 14

To help get me in the mood, I thought I would share the story of my 14th birthday - one of my most favorite (and infamous) birthday parties.

I grew up in a town that was 80% Jewish. Therefore, nearly everyone I knew got to have a big bar/bat mitzvah blowout to celebrate their 13th birthday. In some cases, morning temple services would give way to an elaborate brunch and live band, but most of the time we returned in the evening for some serious disc jockey action in the temple basement. The high rollers of junior high went event bigger: I attended full blown soirees at an upscale hotel in Boston, country clubs, and other venues that I see now were booked more to appease the parents' egos than celebrate the child's mitzvah. But no matter when or where, my seventh grade social life was packed with eager angst, every weekend an opportunity to slow dance or at least flaunt a new dress.

Since I was not a bat mitzvah, I leveraged my lack of religious upbringing to convince my mom that I should have a big 14th birthday. She agreed. (Guilt was also how I got my cat when I was seven. I played the "only child" card: But Mom, since I'm never going to have a brother or sister, don't you think I should at least be able to have a pet?!)

My mom agreed that yes, of course I should be able to have a big birthday. (I must have been really annoying that year.) The plan was set into motion. The party would be held in our backyard on the Saturday night of my birthday. We hired a DJ, rented a party tent like the one my parents had at their wedding, and had six-foot subs delivered to serve the approximately 75 or so people I was allowed to invite. I got my very first manicure the day of my party (fuscia pink) and wore a Vuarnet tank top with Z Cavaricci shorts. And Keds. It was 1990.

The day was sunny and quite warm for early June - perfect for an outdoor evening party. Judging from my eighth grade yearbook, I would guess about 75 people came. They ate, they drank (soda, of course), they danced the Roger Rabbit and Running Man to the cheesy DJ, and everyone seemed to have a good time. Until about an hour and a half into the party when this strange smell started taking over the backyard. And by strange I mean chokingly awful. The sewer system chose, at that moment, to overflow, quickly turning the lawn/our dance floor into mud and radiating a raw, rancid, sewer-y stench.

To get away from the smell - and the mosquitoes, which had also just started to appear - everyone piled inside our family room. Which was really small and had no air conditioning. Seventy-five people sat on the floor, wiping their brows, looking at each other like, Are you kidding me?

In eighth grade, it's not like there's anything else to do on a Saturday night, so people stayed. But they stayed and complained and rolled their eyes. And the funny thing is, I don't even remember being all that embarrassed. It was still the best party of the year. I had no competition.