Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you

I know I've been slacking on the blog, but you didn't think I'd let Corey Haim's death go unaccounted for, did you?

This here is what's left of my VHS library - carried with me across the country and through numerous apartments in New York - even though I haven't had a VCR on which to play them for at least seven years.

Lucas, as denoted by that decrepit piece of masking tape marked with my 12-year-old penmanship, was one of my favorite movies growing up. I had recorded this off one of the movie's many airings on HBO, and watched it all. the. time. throughout my teens. It had a great cast: my girl crush Kerri Green, Brat Packer Charlie Sheen, a barely-adolescent Winona Ryder, an already-balding Jeremy Piven, Courtney Thorne Smith, and the guy who would go on to play Jason Bateman's best friend on The Hogan Family. I never saw License to Drive until sometime last year, and never saw The Lost Boys at all, but this movie was enough to permanently enamor me to the fairer Corey.

While we're rifling through my drawers, let me tell you about the other components in this technology time capsule:

1. Today's Summer Hair: Did I ever mention I was on The Today Show? Getting a makeover? One of the perks of working in beauty PR is that anytime any of us got a segment or a story for one of our clients, we would need "models" to shoot. I've been in the New York Times getting my hair colored, in Harper's Bazaar getting facial injections, and this time, they needed curly haired girls for a segment on managing summer hair. Since everyone else in our agency was getting Japanese straightened at the time, I thought I was a sure thing; however the client didn't think I was pretty enough to represent him on TV. Awesome! Regardless, he didn't have a budget to pay for real models and I had already been approved by the producer, so I got to have my moment on national TV and a VHS tape that I watched exactly never, since I think I had already moved on to a DVD player by that point.

2. Class of '94 Video Yearbook. Pretty self-explanatory. I'm sure we thought we were so cutting edge, filming a video yearbook in addition to our printed one. Calling Donna and David... we were so West Beverly High. I don't think I've seen this since probably Thanksgiving break of my freshman year of college, but I would LOVE to see it again. And then probably burn it.

3. Alice in Bodyland. My fourth grade play. This tape dates all the way back to 1986 (!!!) when video cameras were still a real novelty, and it was a big deal that the play was not only filmed, but ran on our local cable station. It was a small cable station - the one that normally played only our soccer games or announced school closings - but it was a huge thrill, at 10 years old, to see yourself on TV. I think the tape had some issues the last time I watched it - many many many moons ago. While I might want to burn my video yearbook, I'd like to bronze this tape, or at least have copies made on DVD, Blu Ray, You Tube, etc. It might be mortifying but it's absolutely brilliant.

4. And, finally, The Wizard of Oz. I think my dad got me this one year for Christmas. (Thanks, Dad!) Knowing how much I loved that movie, he also bought me the DVD years later. (Thanks, again!)

I also still have Aladdin on tape, but the plastic case was too large for the drawer.

Why do I keep these so long, when I don't even have the technology to play them? Sentiment, I suppose. A reminder of my childhood. Memories, like Corey Haim, John Hughes, Andrew "Boner" Koenig, that I'm not quite ready to let go.

Trouble ahead, trouble behind

So, it seems like the Tragic Celebrity Death Circus of 2009 is intent on continuing its show through 2010.

One of the most common themes in the media coverage of heiress Casey Johnson's death was the coverage itself, why there was so much of it when she was barely a celebrity, famous for nothing but her last name and sharing a yearbook with Paris Hilton.

I actually met Casey back somewhere in 2001 or 2002, when she worked as a beauty editor for a local magazine. She had always been on our media lists, invited to every event and copied on every press mailing, but was somewhat of an enigma and never showed any interest. I guess she covered more of the local beauty beat than the national launch news, and maybe she didn't need a sponsored lunch at Fred's to get content for her monthly column.

Then one day, she actually responded to one of my pitches. I was working with a skin care client launching a new line, and we invited editors in for one-on-one appointments. To my surprise, Casey was interested, and we spent an hour together, just me, her, and my crazy client. She was definitely different than the other beauty editors - clearly an LA socialite versus a NY-driven journalist - but she was nothing but sweet and professional and I think even ended up writing about the line.

I'm not saying she didn't have any troubles back then - she was cosmetically plumped and primped beyond any 20-something I had ever seen - but she wasn't the kooky character we'd all come to question on the pages of Page Six and the TMZ screen.

Anyway, that's my good memory of her and what I'll remember. Hardly a band-aid for something much deeper.

I don't know which came first but the egg will certainly outlast

So, it's been more than two weeks since Thanksgiving, and I'm still working on all the leftovers.

No, I don't mean turkey, sweet potatoes, or any of the main course dishes - those I finished early into the first week. What I am still working on and feeling guilty about neglecting are the odds and ends like carrots and celery stalks, four types of both cheese and crackers, and a seemingly bottomless supply of eggs.

Since my mom was flying in late the night before Thanksgiving, I had to do the food shopping ahead of time. She gave me a list, checked it twice, and on it were two dozen eggs. "Seriously?" you may ask. I did. We were only hosting four people.

"Sure," she said. "Whatever we don't use, you can hardboil." Okay.

We used four. Four eggs out of 24.

Now I like hardboiled eggs well enough. I typically only eat the whites, with a little yolk thrown in for good measure. But no one, other than perhaps the Easter Bunny, ever needs 20 hardboiled eggs on-hand.

I boiled eight of them two Sundays ago, and ate egg salad every day for lunch that week. Then last Sunday, I boiled the remaining 12, and ate spinach salad every day for lunch that week. Except Friday, which was our office holiday party, where we get taken out to lunch. No matter. I included three eggs per salad, so by Thursday, I was officially finished with my marathon egg-eating anyway. Or so I thought.

This year, instead of our annual white elephant gift exchange, my company thought it would be festive to hold a cookie contest. The entries didn't have to be cookies - they could be any dessert - and they didn't have to be homemade to win. But you know that nothing store-bought would. So after pouting and shouting and generally sulking about having to bake during my busy week, I got in the spirit and decided to just pick up a box mix. Which, you know, meant buying more eggs. (This time, at least, I purchased only half a dozen.)

Since I knew my box mix wouldn't win on originality, I thought maybe I could at least make mine look the most festive. I found this recipe for M&M's Gingerbread Picture Cookies, and it seemed simple enough. Except that when I got home and started baking, I didn't realize until after I poured in 1 and 1/4 cups of water that I was following the recipe for gingerbread cake and not soft gingerbread cookies. Crap.

I contemplated running out and buying another mix, but truthfully, I just didn't care that much. I figured I would cut the cake into squares and decorate them anyway. Not to mention that once I took a closer look at the two recipes, I realized that the cookies didn't even NEED eggs, and then I would have bought them for no reason.

What I should have gone back for was "Mini" M&M's. I somehow missed that word when reading the recipe, and just bought the original-sized M&M's. And this is how you know I am bad at math since it never occurred to me that they might be too large to effectively decorate a 2-inch cookie. But because of my poor reading comprehension skills, I wasn't making 2-inch cookies anymore, so I managed to pull a Tim Gunn and make them (kind of) work:

Cute as they were, it probably won't surprise you that they didn't win. That prize went to a red and green jello mold that, in fairness, tasted better than it looked. The good news is that I did win $100 in a belly-dancing contest, which was probably one of the last things I would ever want to do in front of co-workers, but at least I was compensated for my loss of dignity.

What? Your company doesn't bring in a half-naked dancer to your holiday party and expect everyone to get up and take a lesson? You mean that might be considered awkward or inappropriate? Oh, that's just par for the course around here. Though nothing could compare to the money machine.

So that was a nice, unexpected end to the week, but I'm ending my weekend exactly as I have for the past few Sundays - hardboiling this week's lunch. I'm letting you all know now - I'm officially skipping Easter this year.

I can be their long lost pal

Well. That new camera couldn't have come at a better time.

I know I might complain sometimes, but I've NEVER been able to complain that my job doesn't have perks.

A few months ago, my company started working with the makeup artist on this show. We provide products, and have gotten some great press in return. It's win-win, all around. So it was above and beyond when the makeup artist invited us over to the set to meet the cast. But, um, okay!

Now, I've been on sets before, but not usually when the actors are working on them. Or if I have, such in the case of when I spent five minutes representing an actor on All My Children, I was there to be working, myself - not meeting-and-greeting and sourcing out personal photo opps with the co-stars. The cast of AMC, for the record, was quite friendly and all really nice, but I was too intimidated by my own role (I knew nothing about entertainment PR) to feel comfortable.

This was completely different. Not only because I know what I'm doing (beauty, not entertainment, PR), but because everyone welcomed us like we were these crazy long-lost relatives they'd heard so much about. We were enthusiastically introduced to every lead on the show (I wasn't expecting them ALL to be there, but they were shooting a group scene when we arrived), as well as a special guest star that I can't reveal but did get to talk to, who could not have been more adorable and endearing. Meeting the guest also made me recall how I used to think my last boyfriend-like-person resembled him, which, when I tell you what celeb it is, might make you question my taste. He definitely does not fit into my Carson Daly/Dave Lieberman Boyfriend Lookalike Profile.

Anyway, the cast was fantastic. They complimented (raved) about our products MUCH more than they had to, and stuck around to talk about other things. Everyone was naturally hilarious and seemed intent on making us laugh, and there was genuine camaraderie among them. My career has introduced me to dozens of celebrities over the years, and while they have almost always been professional and nice and exciting for the story I could tell later on, none have ever just plain been so much fun.

Either that or they're just really, really good actors.

Unfortunately, time ran out before I could get photos with everyone in the cast, but more can be found here.

My life on the guest list

A couple of months ago, I started a Twitter account for my company. I've never gotten into Twitter for personal use, but I realized pretty quickly that it's ideal to use professionally. The entire platform is centered around self- and third-party-promotion, it's a simple way of connecting with like-minded brands, and, if you follow the right people, it's a great way of keeping up with new developments in your industry.

A large portion, then, of the people/companies I follow have some relation to beauty and fashion. And now that it's Fashion Week in NYC, nearly four out of every five Tweets I'm reading are related. When 80% of anyone is talking about the same thing, it feels kind of funny to be left out. It's especially odd for me because for years, I was not only involved in Fashion Week, I was entrenched in it.

In my first PR job, I represented a celebrity/editorial manicurist who would work up to 10 shows per season. For years, I would accompany her while she manicured the models, and coordinate interviews for her with beauty editors backstage.

I would arrive to the show 2-3 hours early, mostly stand around while the models were styled, and then later tried to stay out of the way while they rushed through fittings. While it was secretly thrilling, it was also nerve-racking. No one (except my client and the few beauty editors who trickled through) knew who I was, so if I wasn't actively overseeing an interview, I usually felt awkward and out of place. It could have been a dream come true for a fashion student or someone more in the society scene; since it was only me, however, I always imagined Michael Kors must have wondered about that random off-the-rack girl in the corner.

That reminds me of this one time I was backstage, chatting casually with a beauty editor. We were wearing the same pants! Or so I thought. When I asked, she said hers were some big name designer. My face turned red as I admitted mine were J. Crew. I assumed hers were as well - I hadn't realized girls my age (26?) now had access to "designer."

Who ever let me work in this business?

And that's the irony of the situation. While I can appreciate nice clothes and of course like to dress well, I have never, ever, even at my most New Yorkish, been fashion-oriented. I grew up shopping at Marshall's and being grateful for what I was given. I valued brand names for their status, not their seamwork. And while once I got in the business I could understand the cache, I still preferred to put my money toward my weekends rather than my wardrobe. Through luck, timing, and a random ad in The New York Times, I basically fell into the beauty industry, and through that, dipped a few pedicured toes into fashion. Since then, I've seen more naked model breasts than most men could dream of in a lifetime, and had better access to the shows than some fashion editors ever will. I knew it was cool, sure. But this was all before Project Runway or Sex & the City or The Devil Wears Prada elevated the industry and informed the rest of the world how cool it could be.

In 2003, I moved to a different firm that specialized in fashion. There, I didn't typically get to go backstage of amazing designers, but was responsible for coordinating shows for smaller ones. (Though I did get to work an Isaac Mizrahi show once, which was pretty spectacular. I actually worked the red carpet for that and got yelled at by Iman for hurrying Mike Nichols along the carpet. Note to self: Recognize the talent.)

Getting yelled at was par for the course when it came to fashion shows. I've been yelled at by designers who aren't happy with their press, by the press who aren't happy with their seats, and by random, unaffiliated strangers who request invitations and show up even after their requests have been declined.

Coordinating press for Fashion Week was exhausting. Much of the work takes place in the immediate days and hours before, so there were late nights spent tallying RSVPs, updating seating charts, printing out place-cards, and confirming attendance. I got through it just like any other 27 year old city-dwelling single girl - with lots and lots of alcohol.

There were fun parts, too. My first week at that job, our office held a casting for men's swimwear. For two hours on a Friday afternoon, a parade of male models came through and took their shirts off upon request. I wasn't part of that project, so just watched from across the hall, frantically emailing all of my friends about this unexpected good fortune.

The fashion work, as exciting as it was, was also a big reason I got burned out in New York. The yelling, the intensity, the seriousness of the craft. Beauty people can take themselves seriously, too, but it's always just seemed like a happier business.

I sometimes think that I'd like to work Fashion Week again - I miss the glamour, the energy, the sheer craziness of the week. Forced to ingest so many Tweets about the subject (#nyfw!), reading as everyone simultaneously celebrates and commiserates, I can't help feel nostalgic, but the greater part of me is also relieved. I guess for now I'm still okay just to watch from behind the screen.

How's this for sensational journalism?

["Bridge" is a fashion/department store term that refers to brands above Contemporary but below Designer (i.e. they bridge the gap). Label Ellen Tracy has had a rough go of it, and from what I can tell, is about to be forced into liquidation; but truthfully, I was so enthralled with the headline that I forgot to read the rest of the article.]

I know we keep hearing that newspapers are dying, but someone's taking lessons from the New York Post.

Everything's coming up roses

Hi! Did you miss me? I'd love to say that I missed blogging, but, really, I didn't. I kind of enjoyed not reporting in. Especially since I had little to report, anyway. Let's mutually consider this my summer blogging schedule and both go grab a mai tai before reading the recap:

My business trip to New York was good. I'm still recovering a lot of the data that I lost on my computer, so I've been extra busy at work, which I think has also contributed to my lack of posting. But my media lists are finally almost back up to where they were, and my most important and timely documents were saved elsewhere, so I am out of panic mode for the time being.

A nice surprise was that Kelly Taylor (aka Jennie Garth) was on my flight back to LA. Before boarding, Jet Blue made a loud announcement paging "Jennie Garth Facinelli" to the terminal. I bounded out of my seat and strained my neck looking for any sign of her and her yummy hubby. Alas, she was traveling solo - well, with only kids and other women in tow - but it was still very exciting.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here, but hands down, my very favorite part of every week is Saturday mornings when SoapNet plays old episodes of 90210. Especially since the weather has been nice, I've been waking up pretty early and catching an episode or two before my 9:30 yoga class. Sometimes it's seriously a struggle to leave the house. Last weekend, one of my favorite episodes ever came on right before I had to leave, and I spent 20 minutes mentally debating whether or not it was worth staying home. Reason won out and I went to yoga, but only because I figured I'd be able to find this on YouTube:

Also, and I know I have said this before, I have fallen headstand over heels in love with yoga. I have not run in weeks; haven't lifted a weight in months. And yet my body feels different, better, lighter, tighter, than it has in years. It's seriously amazing - but also, weird. For 15 years, I've defined myself by my workouts. I'm a "runner". I lift weights. I shave my legs so I can wear cute shorts and am constantly charging my iPod.

Now? I haven't even listened to my iPod in weeks. I shave for my work wardrobe but wear stretch pants to practice. More than that, my entire commuting schedule has changed. Rather than go to the gym near my office to avoid what most people would consider a miserable drive, I'm heading across town during rush hour to make my favorite classes. I can't say I don't mind or notice the traffic, but it doesn't really bother me, either. These all may sound like little, trivial details, but so much of my identity has been wrapped up in the gym, it's a little disconcerting to suddenly develop entirely new habits.

When I haven't been working or at the gym, I've been living life in LA - spending every weekend at the beach, going out with friends, celebrity-spotting when I can. Last Wednesday, I had two good sightings - at the same restaurant. First, James Spader, who is one of my favorite actors and childhood crushes, was eating with what looked like his wife and family. If I had a Top 5/Free Pass/Celebrity Sex Loophole List, I can confidently say that he would be on it.

A little bit later, Jillian The Bachelorette walked in. She and her friend ate at the bar but did not reveal any clues about what or who might have contributed to what is supposed to be the MOST EMOTIONAL SEASON FINALE IN BACHELORETTE HISTORY. (I typed that literally as Chris Harrison spoke it - I'm watching while I write.) I liked Jillian a lot when she was on The Bachelor last year, but she grated on my nerves a bit this season. I don't blame her for that; truthfully, I think that show is just so formulaic, they've reduced her to little more than a methodical rotation of sound bites. It didn't help that the series was extra long this year. But she looked like a cute, normal girl when I saw her, and maybe it was the wine or maybe it was James Spader, but I couldn't help but think that I liked her again.

Of course, given what takes place on TV tonight, I reserve the right to change my opinion.

The Secret (of my success)

Of all the interesting things the psychic told me, one piece of news that would have been helpful was that, late at night on Friday, our office was broken into and my laptop stolen.

I came into work this morning and was greeted by the receptionist and the cleaning crew, who are usually long gone well before business hours. The burglar had climbed in through an open window; we're on the second floor, but the rooftop of the shorter, adjacent building served as a simple step-stool. He didn't get too far before our motion sensors set off the alarm; he left a trail of items that he was clearly considering taking, but the only thing he made off with was my computer. I hope he is wowed by my way with words: I have four-plus years of press releases, pitch letters, and marketing copy immortalized on that thing.

Fortunately, most of the information is at least moderately retrievable. I've backed up my system, not recently, but enough. What's not saved elsewhere as a document is likely retrievable on the web. I'll have to spend some serious hours rebuilding my media lists, but the work will mostly be technical - the information is ingrained in my brain.

There is irony in the fact that while most of the office saves to the server (which would be backed up) my business travel is frequent enough that I only to save to my hard drive. And wouldn't you know it? I'm traveling to New York tomorrow. I'm throwing a cocktail party at the Spa on Thursday night for 50-60 people. Before that, I'm meeting with beauty editors to introduce new products. What's more, I was actually supposed to be traveling to Scottsdale this week, for an event I have planned there on Thursday, but the New York trip took precedence and also tripled my workload.

It wasn't the best week to lose my laptop.

However, I do believe in looking at the positive. For one, it was only my work laptop. It was only work. Thank God my home is safe and my personal possessions are mine. (Even though I absentmindedly slept with the keys dangling out of my door on Saturday night. I can be stupid. But awfully lucky.) Two, I got to see a forensics team in action today. Dusting for prints in our office! Who ever gets to see that? (And have it not be a traumatic experience?)

But one of the things I think is funny is that I have been needing a new laptop for a while. Last week, I finally voiced my need to our IT guy, but didn't have the time to follow up on making a formal request. Fast-forward to today, I lose my old laptop, and was greeted with a brand new one in it's place. I'm not sure of the exact details, but someone ordered this computer a month ago, it wasn't what they wanted, the company had no record of sending it, and so we basically got a new one for free. It's been sitting around, waiting to be used.

One of the most persistent themes of my reading, which was also significant last year, was that I am highly attuned to the spiritual realm: according to both clairvoyants, I am extremely intuitive (stop, you're making me blush!) and should be honing the ability to connect with the other side. The woman on Saturday made a big point of saying that my purpose in this life is to to encourage my "knowingness," and know that I have the power to manifest anything I want.

Wouldn't it be funny if, just by voicing my half-hearted complaint last week, I managed to manifest myself a brand new computer?

A few weeks ago, I remember asking HR if we were going to close early. It must have been that Thursday before Memorial Day, because I knew we'd close early on Friday but due to various travel schedules, there were only a handful of us in the office the day before. He said no, and I went back to work. An hour later, the management company rings our bell and tells us we have to vacate by 5:00 because they were shutting off the water for the night. The few of us left in the office joked that, eager beaver that I was, I must have orchestrated the whole thing.

And who knows. Maybe I did.

Grammar Police Patrol: Badvertising

A few days ago, I noticed that someone in Showtime's online advertising department would do well to hire a proofreader:

Unless, of course, this is the Week of Right, but I'm pretty sure they meant start the week off right.

Then, yesterday, I was driving home - or, rather, sitting in horrific traffic on the 110 South near Dodger Stadium - when I passed this curious billboard:

"TRIPLE HOPS BREWED FOR GREAT TASTE." Ok. Yum.

"GREAT TASTE OF YOUR DODGERS" Huh? Great taste of my Dodger's what?

Is Miller Lite saying that it tastes like the Dodgers? I hadn't realized there was a market for that. What, exactly, do the Dodgers taste like? When I think of fluids associated with baseball, I recall A.) sweat, B.) spit from chewing tobacco, C.) steroids, and D.) every female that's partied with A-Rod or Derek Jeter. None of those are attributes I look for in a beer.

Then I thought maybe they left off a word. "Great Taste of the Dodger Game" might make more sense. "Great Taste of Summer" would be even better. How about just "Official Sponsor of Dodger Stadium"? I don't know if they actually are, but it might be a better use of Miller's marketing budget than this confusing ad.

I've finally narrowed it down to two options: either they meant to say that the Dodgers have great taste, and therefore drink Miller Lite, or simply that the Dodgers enjoy Miller Lite's great taste. In which case, why couldn't they just say, "Enjoyed by the Dodgers"? Simple. Clear. A Unique Selling Point.

What say you? Are you looking for a job in advertising? Because I can think of two departments that clearly could use the help.

Off her gourd

Maybe I've been working in marketing for too long (or maybe I just have a dirty mind), but does anyone else wonder WHAT ON EARTH that woman was thinking before she let this serve as an advertisement for her nutrition company?

Let me reiterate: this is an ad. It's not some unfortunate candid shot that slipped past the photo editor in a rush to make deadline. Someone paid actual money to have it look like this, and had final approval before it ran.

I'm guessing the intention of the ad is to show that eating vegetables can be fun. Except, the only people that really look like they are having fun are Dr. Dildo there and maybe Granny in the second row. Both the redhead and the broccoli bouquet woman appear appropriately mortified, and smartly hide behind their herbage. Ms. Artichoke might be trying to express something, but her face is too frozen with fillers for me to guess what.

It turns out that Sra. Squash is not a doctor, but does hold degrees from Princeton and UCLA. Which, at the very least, should show that all the intelligence in the world still can't buy a lick of common sense.

Things that boggle my mind

- Why this one woman, in response to my dining room table ad on Craig's List, keeps making plans to see/buy it, and then flakes on me every. single. time. After the second time, I would have been too embarrassed to reschedule; however, shame seems to be in short supply among the Craig's List crowd.

- How companies can spend money on throwing an event, and then forget to put the address on the invitation. This would be the same company I had problems with before. They have problems with every piece of printed collateral I've ever seen - and they are a magazine. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that they're being run by a six-year-old. What does surprise me is that better media outlets are dying by the day, and yet this one keeps plugging along.

- That we have this amazing technology called GPS. I admit, when I first bought my iPhone, I felt a bit guilty and frivolous - I never spend so much money on gadgets. But if anything helps me justify the purchase, by far, it's having a navigation system. I've used it a number of times, mostly as a back-up to another set of directions, but tonight, it really came in handy. I was driving home from the gym when an accident on the 110 closed all three lanes of traffic. Police were routing everyone off one of the exits, and I had no idea where I was. Fortunately, I was able to use the GPS, figure out my location and subsequent directions, and I was back on track within ten minutes. Without it? I'd likely still be driving around in the dark, somewhere in the vicinity of Dodger Stadium.

- That LA can have a seasonal high of 80 degrees while the rest of the country suffers from subarctic temperatures. How did I ever get so lucky?

- Chuck Bass Fridays. This doesn't so much boggle my mind as make me all hot and bothered. The idea of a bunch of people in a room that just look like Chuck Bass? My ovaries just might explode.

Body issues may come and go but creativity is forever

The following was from an email written ten freaking years ago, dated 12/2/98:

REASONS WHY I LIKE BEING FAT

1. Lack of self-confidence provides a challenge to meet boys
2. Flab rolls are a convenient place to keep house keys, small pets, any inconvenient item
3. Insulation in the winter
4. An excuse to buy all new clothes!
5. Pears are good for you, why not look like one?
6. Breasts become much less noticeable
7. People must really like me for my personality
8. Dress Barn has really good sales
9. Give the makers of cellulite creams a chance at the market
10. Crushing beer cans with arm flab

Of course, this type of email could only have been written by someone who knew, deep down, that she wasn't really fat. But it was my first year out of college, in my first few months at a desk job where I was given no responsibility and nothing to do, and my confidence was in the toilet. I may have gone up to a size four (OMG! The horror!) but I definitely wasn't crushing anything with arm flab, and, if I really had gained weight, I would have known that I am much more of an apple.

I have a ton of emails printed out from that fall. I must have known, even back then, how miserable and desperate and unsure of myself I sounded. I was missing college - we all were - and sitting in an office all day with nothing to do. When I was hired, it was the fall of 98 - the height of the economy. My position hadn't existed before and no one knew what to do with me. So I spent that first year emailing my friends, comprising ridiculous poems and late-night worthy top ten lists. Here are a few more, for your enjoyment:

10/1/98 - Top Ten Reasons to be Glad We're Not in Syracuse:

1. Get to see the sun rise every morning
2. The Big Apple much more impressive than Otto the Orange
3. Same fish, bigger fishbowl
4. Syracuse, 1 Rat [popular bartender]; NYC, rats everywhere
5. Work up a better sweat in the subway than at Archbold [the school gym]
6. Much too expensive to buy shots at the bar, therefore reducing embarrassing throw-up stories
7. No one is ever Jackass of the Week
8. We only get tested on our ability to suck it all up
9. Hazing refers only to the weather
10. Getting laid is much more of a challenge

And, my favorite, also from 10/1/98:

Once upon a time, I went to this school
Lived in a house, and followed no rule
I lived with these girls, who knew how to play
They drank and they smoked, in and out, every day.
Two-for-Tuesdays, abound
Wednesdays, All You Can Drink
Ladies Night Thursdays, turned into Happy Hour
I think.
It was a time of true happiness, and utter despair
When the boys that we loved, seemed never to care
Remember My Toe Dust [nickname]
And my need for closure?
My heart was just crushed from that heavy bulldozer.
It was somewhat similar to your plight with Sig Ep
Boy-with-girl-name caused you often to fret.
Short Ted was a trip
Brendan and Evan, a joy
Why was it so hard, to find just one nice boy?
Though life could be bleak, we'd often have a killer time
Party like rock stars, at your favorite, and mine.
44's was our haven, through thick and through thin
When all else was low, it provided a grin
No Paddy Murphy coaches?
A test the next day?
There's only one choice - Fours showed us the way.
The next morning, hungover, we'd lazily rest
Sitting in the Sun Room, with a plate of Gary's best [house cook - we were so spoiled]
Classes were optional - we'd rather watch Rosie
Sipping our coffee, and being quite nosy.
Listening in as everyone sat, and voiced their complaints
About this, about that.
We'd mope and we'd talk, nosh on graham crackers
Ignoring our homework, cause we were such slackers.
I long for the days of fun and denial
Hanging out, drinking, doing nothing worthwhile.
The days now pass quickly, and we're busy with such things
But I know we'll stay close, whatever life brings.
The real world may suck, but after a long, hard day
The furthest I'll be is a phone call away.

Working hard for the money

In the ten years since I've been out of college, I've attended my share of crazy corporate holidays parties. There was the over-the-top, open bar and buffet at China Club, late-night karaoke at Lucky Cheng's, and the celebrity-peppered lunch at Pastis. But never have I experienced hilarity like yesterday's, in which my company brought in a flying money machine.

The money in the machine was fake, but the amount we grabbed would determine our end-of-year bonus. My company has always been generous with holiday gifts/bonuses, but I wasn't sure what, if anything, we would get this year. Frankly, given the state of the economy, I was surprised we had a holiday party at all. As it turned out, the machine didn't really work in my favor - I grabbed about half of what we've been given in recent years - but I can't really complain. It was more than I was expecting, and the laughs alone provided enough holiday cheer to last another decade.

Well, almost.

Is it still giving back if I'm getting so much out of it?

Getting away from the drama of the condo purchase, and the election, and the downward state of the economy, I'd like to tell you about this work project I've been busy with.

It's well documented on this blog that I have a tiny thing for soap operas. Well, I had a tiny thing. I haven't watched any in a few years, and most of my affection for the genre is really borne out of nostalgia for when I watched them back in the 80's and 90's. Last year, I had a chance to meet and work with one of the women I grew up watching. This year, I had another.

About eight months ago, I got a phone call from this woman's manager, claiming that the actress, who lives in Pasadena, has been a long-time fan of our products, and if we ever needed a spokesperson, they would love to talk to us. My company doesn't use a spokesperson - we don't even have an advertising budget - but I was intrigued by the idea of working together, so I said I would think about it and get back to her.

The woman (I don't want to mention names here, due to work and Google) has been actively involved in the fight against breast cancer through a locally-based but nationally-reaching organization. I thought, what if the soap company and the soap star co-created a soap bar, and donated all the proceeds to this organization for breast cancer research? Everyone loved the idea, and, indeed, a soap star was born.

We came up with two products - a single bar for $8 ($5 of which is donated) and a gift set of two bars and a natural wood soap dish for $20 ($12 of which is donated).

In the time I've been working on this, I have had such a blast. The actress and her publicist have been a dream to work with, and the organization has been helpful and thankful. We did an in-store event yesterday in Pasadena, and have another in Scottsdale on Wednesday. The press is rolling in, and I've had the satisfaction of not only working with one of my childhood idols, but actually helping others in the process. And it doesn't hurt that the soap is beautiful to boot.

No pressure whatsoever, but if you feel so inclined to restock your shower, or maybe have a gift to get for someone anyway, I'd like to encourage you to buy a bar or two. The soaps are 100% natural with no artificial dyes or perfumes, making it safe for all skin types, and ideal for sensitive skin. You'll be supporting me, fighting breast cancer, and maybe even reminding yourself that it's absolutely possible to love what you do.

Starry-eyed

What. A. Week!

I made an offer on the condo. They countered, but didn't raise the selling price, only changed a few details of the contract. The building is only 40% owner-occupied, which banks, apparently, don't find so desirable, so the seller wants me to get pre-approved by their broker in addition to my own. They also changed some of the time frames and buyer/seller payment agreements, which are negligible. I love the place. Everyone I've talked to has assured me this is a good, sound purchase. I feel in my gut that it probably is. There is just one thing that has me worried.

Mercury is in retrograde.

I know that probably sounds ridiculous. In a way, it is. Who on earth would make such a huge decision based on astrology? Anyone who would probably shouldn't be saddled with the responsibility of buying a home in the first place, right?

While I don't necessarily subscribe to everything the stars supposedly tell us, I do believe in this retrograde thing. I can't explain why. Just like I believe in ghosts, or that water freezes below 32 degrees, I just know. Here's a great link which explains Mercury in retrograde and specifically, how it relates to buying real estate. Even if you don't believe in astrology, you have to agree, the link gives some good advice.

I can't, in my right mind, turn my back on this opportunity because of the stars. But I can take what it dictates to heart, and go over this contract with a fine tooth comb, ask every question in the book (maybe a few times), and be more diligent than I ever have about anything in my life. Because this is, without a doubt, the biggest and most important purchase I've made in my life.

Being as diligent as I need to be may take a few days, and therefore, cause me to lose the place. In a weird way, I'm kind of hoping that I do. I wouldn't mind an excuse for this to fall through, so I won't have to decide to defy Mercury. It would almost be reassuring if they went with the second offer - I could convince myself I dodged a bullet. Of course, it would be even better if the second offer fell through just in time for my return from Peru when Mercury will go direct. Then I can swoop in and take back my place with the security knowing all my stars have been aligned.

In the middle of all this craziness, I've been planning for a big work event tomorrow. And don't think Mercury hasn't affected that, either! Remember, around this time last year, I did a big store event, only, up until four hours before it, we didn't have a store? I had one of those moments today. Fortunately, we found a band-aid to get us through tomorrow, though I think we're going to need some serious stitches to get us through the month.

Good thing Venus, master of cosmetic surgery, is fully direct.

UPDATE: For what it's worth, here is a perfectly articulated summation of how I felt about the debate tonight. It's like Mercury has resurrected Paul Reiser from the past (seriously, where has he been the last ten years?) just to vocalize my thoughts, because I haven't been able to put my finger on exactly why I felt so ambiguous and empty inside tonight. Yes, most of the pundits are agreeing that Obama won, and yet, I still don't feel like it was enough.

Small fortunes

I've been looking for condos on and off for a year now. Today was the first day I found not one, but two, things in my price range that were not only acceptable, but places I would be excited to move into. I'm not jumping into anything yet, for a number of reasons, but it is encouraging to see that the market has come down enough to make buying a reality for me.

Of those reasons, one is that my financial adviser, among others, is convinced the market will continue to go down for at least another six months to a year. He specifically told me that if I'm not being forced to move, don't, unless I get an amazing deal. The two places I saw today seemed like amazing deals, and one I would actually consider putting in a bid for. Except for the other reasons. One of which is that Mercury is currently retrograding, and you are never supposed to make big purchases in such a period. I would never base such a huge decision solely on something as flaky as astrology, but if there are other factors, I will certainly take the solar alignment into consideration.

One of the other factors is Peru, which is only three weeks away! I'm not about to start something fairly major and ripe in legal entanglements when I'm leaving the country for seven days. I'm kind of hoping that the second place I saw today will still be on the market when I get back. By then, Mercury will be direct, I'll be in the country, and I'll likely get it for much less than it's listed for now. And if not, then that will be a good sign it wasn't meant to be.

Speaking of Peru, almost everything is booked! We fly into Lima on a Saturday, stay in the suburb of Miraflores Saturday through Tuesday. Then, Tuesday, we fly to Cusco for our four-day excursion to Machu Picchu. Only one full day is Machu Picchu. Another is an Indian Village tour, another is a city tour. You can view the full itinerary here. Friday we fly back to Lima and we are staying in a super nice hotel for our last night, to make up for the fact that we're staying in a hostel in Cusco. I don't think it's like a bad hostel, just like a really, really, really basic hotel. But still. For that last night, we got an amazing rate at the Miraflores Park Hotel, and I think it will be just what the doctor ordered.

I can't get too excited about Peru, though, until the next ten days are over. I've been working on this really exciting and fabulous work project that culminates on October 1, and, until then, my attention is focused on that. I'll write more about this project either this week or next, and I hope you all will support me, as it is not only a personal pet project of mine but it also helps a great number of people across the country. More info to come.

I watched the movie Fiddler on the Roof this weekend, for the first time, ever. It seemed appropriate to title this post, "If I Were a Rich Girl" [(Yubbi dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum (or na na na na na na na na na na, if you prefer the Gwen Stefani version)], simply because I am looking at the lowest priced, reasonably liveable condos on the market. And that I'm staying in a hostel, despite the fact that I am 32 years old and really, REALLY, appreciate things like a hot shower. Clearly, I am not rich, but make plans like I aspire to be. But I have to honestly say that I feel EXTREMELY rich right now, wealthy in experience and friends and luck and energy... I am a rich girl. If not on paper or in my pocketbook, in life.

More information about my travel preferences and celebrity predilections than probably anyone needs to know

Whenever I travel to New York on business, I always try to take the 7 AM Jet Blue flight out of Burbank.

Jet Blue is, especially in these trying times, by far the best airline. Seats offer a fair amount of legroom, the planes always seem newer and brighter, and, most importantly, there are working TV's at every seat. Delta offers seat-back TVs on a handful of jets; however, and I say this from a lot of experience, they very rarely function.

Burbank is a small, friendly, civilized airport, and even though it's farther away than LAX, I more than make up for the drive time when I can quickly navigate through the tiny terminal.

And while having to wake up at 4:30 AM to make a 7:00 flight may sound like a God awful inconvenience, that's really the best way to do it. There's no traffic at 5 AM, and shorter lines to heed. Plus, the later the flight, the greater chance for delay. This proved true on Tuesday, when the FAA had a small midday meltdown and grounded hundreds of flights across the country. I had already been in the air a few hours by that point and, thankfully, wasn't affected.

But what I really like about the early flight is that, so long as I don't sleep on the plane, it automatically acclimates me to Eastern Standard Time.

Usually.

I've been a mental mess since waking up Wednesday morning, and despite the fact that I'm now back in my normal time zone, I can't help but still feel more than a little bit off.

Sleep patterns aside, the trip was fantastic. The event was one of the best I've ever done - not because of me, this time, but because of the partners who hosted it at our spa. I saw a lot of friends, but, more importantly, had quality time, which, sometimes, in New York, gets compromised.

I didn't have much time to spend outside the hotel, but the weather was gorgeous - in the 70's, crystal clear, zero humidity. In my one venture across the street, I ran into David Schwimmer, and he looked good, amazing in fact. Wearing a worn-in, frat-boy baseball cap and muscle tee that showed serious guns, I did a double-take. I'll never forget how douchey he seemed when I met him four years ago, but after being blessed with the vision of those biceps, I've easily, already forgiven.

Update from Atlanta

Sure glad I wasn't on this flight.

Time traveling in Tucson

So. You know how on Wednesday I said that I had planned to spend my free time at Canyon Ranch doing Sunrise Yoga and getting a facial? Well, that didn't happen. Rather, I opted to further my "when in Rome" theory, deciding to draw on the resort's wealth of resources to experience my first Clairvoyant Reading and Shamanic Journey, instead.

I've always been intrigued by the idea of going to a psychic. But, I don't know - it's hard to know who to trust and who might be a quack. And I've never had any dire questions or need for knowledge; rather my interest has been borne out of a sheer curiosity that, while never abating, also never quite seemed important enough to risk part of my paycheck.

Shamans, on the other hand, weren't even on my radar until recently, and I probably would never seek one out; but when I saw the experience listed on the program menu, I figured I might be looking at a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

It's been almost 36 hours, and I'm still trying to come to terms with the experience. Both of them told me things that were spot-on, made perfect sense; they also both came out with concepts that were so seemingly random and unattached to anything in my life right now, they may as well have been referring to another person, or, at least in one case, another life.

For instance, the Shaman told me that I was very tuned into the animal world. Did I work with them now? Because I could read them and converse with them and had a very intense, deep connection with them. Ummm, not so much. I mean, I enjoy a cute puppy or kitten as much as the next person, and, sure, I felt a connection with my childhood pet. But now? I think most animals - wild and domestic - are dirty, annoying, a nuisance. (Except for your beautiful, loving, baby-delicious pets! They, of course, are just as awesome as you think they are. And no, I don't mind their fur all over my black pants. Seriously.) So there was that.

But the Shaman told me plenty of other things that completely resonated. She said I have always been surrounded by strong women - and that certainly feels right. She saw a few of my lives, but kept going back to one when I was raised among gypsies in Morocco; in my present life, of course, I have my mom who raised me, my aunt who inspired my camp, my college, and my move to NYC, and the fact that I have worked almost exclusively at women-run companies.

She also said that I was an old soul - I have lived many lives - but in all of them (or at least as many as she could see), I died very young. That may sound morbid to you, but something clicked within me. I've written before that when I was a kid, I was obsessed with ghosts. I also had an irrational fear of death and dying, and never thought I would live to be 18. Once 18, I was sure I would never make it to 21. Then 25. By the time I was 25 I was over it and chalked the whole thing up to a simple fear of the unknown - I hadn't known what I wanted to be when I grew up, so I simply couldn't picture it. But now, this information just felt like a puzzle piece snapping quietly, seamlessly into place.

The Shaman went on to say that this was, perhaps, the oldest I had ever been, and I was having a hard time with aging, becoming an adult. After all, I have never done it before. I think that's an interesting explanation for some of the anxiety and ambiguity I've felt over the last few years; I'm sure it's not the only one. I do wonder, though, if it has anything to do with my working in the beauty industry. After all, for the last nine years I've worked in a field entirely centered around women uncomfortable with their age, wanting to look younger.

She said some other things that made sense - she knew I was a writer, that I preferred open spaces and didn't like to be confined, and that I didn't like to do things I wasn't good at. I suppose a lot of people don't, but I used those exact words in a conversation pretty recently. I also, apparently, had a life in Siberia. Later, when I shared that with my co-workers, they, in unison, exclaimed, "So THAT's why you're always so cold!" (I am. Always. Freezing.)

At the end of the session, she said that my mission for this lifetime is peace. I don't know if that refers to internal peace or bringing peace to others, and I didn't ask for clarification. I suppose it seems a bit vague and almost like something she should say to everyone. I mean, if you tell enough people that they were put on this planet to bring peace, I imagine a few will be scared or guilted enough to attempt it. Right? But then she told my coworker that her mission was to heal, and this woman, well, she is a healer. She's the founder and president of my company that is based on "natural, healing ingredients." I think her mission has been pretty much accomplished.

She said some other things that resonated but are too detailed or banal to go into here. Also, unlike the clairvoyant, she didn't record the session, so I'm sure I'm forgetting a few things, though the main themes have stayed with me. Since I do have a transcription from the clairvoyant, I'll post more on that later this week. Fifty minutes of fortune telling is way too much for this post. Stay tuned...

Asking too much or expecting too little?

One of the nice things about having a closet full of identical black dresses is that when you get a last-minute invite to a movie premiere, the biggest question is, "Do I have time to shave?"

The answer to that question was "no", so I just went in my work clothes, which were totally fine, considering that the premiere was for Meet Dave, and other than the studio executives and the people actually in the movie, the majority of the attendees looked like they came straight from summer camp.

Sadly, Eddie Murphy didn't show, but we got a great view of Gabrielle Union, and some of the other actors I couldn't name at the time. The movie was, expectedly, dumb, but I laughed out a number of times and it was still a freaking premiere for which I felt slightly fabulous. (I know - I live in LA. I'm not supposed to get excited about this stuff anymore. But I do.)

I had only been to one other movie premiere before, for this, when I still lived in New York. My client had donated makeup for the production, so we got a few passes, and while the movie sucked, the after-party was great. I don't remember much except my friend Maria flirting with Tim Robbins. How do you beat that?

I would stop name-dropping now except that I also have to share that I am going here tomorrow, for work. It is just a quick, 24 hour trip, but they gave us a discount on treatments and my company is comping the rest. Friday morning I will wake up for Sunrise Yoga, and follow that with a facial before my flight. Not that I enjoy waking up at sunrise, or even yoga, for that matter, but I figure, when in Rome. I am just a teensy, weensy bit excited.

I also find myself asking, Who AM I? Whose life is this? I've spent four out of the last five weekends in Malibu, New York City, and Las Vegas, on top of living the dream in LA. I am going to movie premieres and destination spas and making soap with a soap star. This is more than I ever imagined my life would be when I moved out here. And I am certainly enjoying it, reveling in it, really. But part of me also wonders if I have all this awesome showiness at the expense of something a little less fleeting. There's only so much goodness in the world, after all. Is there any left for me to possibly, maybe, one day get into a relationship?

Then again, relationships are fleeting, too. My cheap, Forever 21 dresses could last longer.