Paparrazi

For the past three days I have been a “Professional Wedding Photographer.”  Yeah, you heard me right.  My BFF from Barber School conned me into it.  The conversation went something like this and before I forget, she is a Sagittarius (I LOVE SAGITTARIANS)………..

“Hey there Gurl, how you be?”

“Fine,” she says this while laughing sheepishly.

“I get into Denver about 1:00 p.m. but I have to pick up the car.  I am staying in DTC, I will call you when I settle in at the hotel and then we’ll go have wine and long conversations okay? Oh and BTW, I volunteered you as the Wedding Photographer for the next three days and no one knows that you are not a photographer.  I brought my Nikon, and text book on photography you need to read and a list of the photos you need to take.”

“You are so not serious are you?  I would rather drink a cup of bleach.  You know I hate weddings and especially brides.  Woman, I did hair and makeup for brides, models, fashion shows, famous people for years.  I HATE PEOPLE!!!!”

“I know, but you are my dear friend Desiree, and I know you would never let me down.  You are a born actress and you look like an eccentric NYC photographer anyway.  I know you can do this!  Please….do it for me.  No one will ever know and besides the bride cannot afford a photographer.”

With lips pursed and a frown that needs Botox, I say…”Alright, but I am doing this for you and only because you never ask me for anything.”

I am sooooo glad it is over and I pulled it off and guess what?  The photos are GORGEOUS.  I guess if you are just an artist no matter what, you can create something out of nothing.  I did it.  The weekend is over and I emerged unscathed…well, except for the all Neanderthals.

The Salon Bizzzzz

A couple of days ago a close friend of mine started telling me why one of our mutual friends quit her job in the salon we all worked in at one time or another.  I asked why she left and she began to tell me a story about how another employee was helping her with her resume before she left and realized that this woman never stayed at a job longer than a year or two.  Then she followed by a summation of maybe this was her pattern and the reason she left.

That statement stayed with me for a few days because I know both of these women.  The younger one is still working there and I thought, “This silly young woman has no idea what a believer’s life can be like.” We, as believers, living in this grace administration, are under attack and the adversary goes to and fro and in and out, 24/7 and sometimes when you work in such an evil place like this one, it is just easier to leave.  I pray the older woman recognizes her full power in the word of God and kicks ass from here on out.  Yeah Baby!!!

Analysis by Paralysis

Sometimes when a person is trying to figure out what went wrong; it’s easier to either work it backwards or to try to figure out what it is not.  In critical writing, it is easier for me to ask myself, “Des…??? Ask yourself what it is not.”  I recently discovered in relationships, you can use the same analysis.  Regarding friendship and my relationships with men that have gone sour, I ask myself the same questions I would as if I were tearing apart a story.  You do know that in fiction as with any art, there is no room for analysis right?  If you do that then the art no longer becomes art.

I learned this from Julia Cameron.  She says in her book, “The Artist’s Way,” in which she states, “Creativity cannot be comfortably quantified in intellectual terms.  By its very nature, creativity eschews such containment.  In a university where the intellectual life is built upon the art of criticizing-on deconstructing a creative work-the art of creation itself, the art of creative construction, meets with scanty support, understanding, or approval.  To be blunt, most academics know how to take something apart, but not how to assemble it.”

This is true.  So in order for me to understand what went wrong with a story I am working on or in a lousy relationship I am in-be it friendship or with a man, I ask myself these simple questions to analyze it.  I step out of my artist’s brain and I begin to tear it apart until I come up with the answers.  This way I can understand structure, purpose and above all what I have learned.  More often than not regarding men, I come to the “Ah ha,” moment and try to learn something from it.  Here are the favorite questions I like to ask:

1.)    Stand back; relinquish all emotion for the piece or the person.  Ask yourself what it is not.

2.)    Ask yourself, why.  Why did the artist write the piece in this way to move the story along?  Why did you (taking full responsibility for your own actions), get involved with this person at this particular time in your life?  Why did you think they were so wonderful?  Why did you ignore all of the warnings from friends, relatives, business associates?  Why did you go full force no matter what the red flags were?

3.)    Start from the end of the story or the end of the relationship and work it backwards all the way to the beginning.  Jot down a few key points in the story or relationship.  Remember, good story-telling is almost the same as real relationships in life.  It’s just that the real-life stories are boring because they are real-especially if they happened to you.

4.)    Now, the most important part of the analysis, what have you learned?  Usually in good fiction, a reader has learned what the purpose of the story is, like how the main character has changed in reaction to the conflict and how the audience related to this conflict and the characters on the page or in the film.  You know that feeling you get when you walk out of a good film, and you tell everyone you know about the film and the story stays with you for days?

Life is the same way.  When relationships end and we get screwed, we walk away scratching our heads and we are left with ourselves to answer these questions.  It is our free-will choice to either learn from it or run right back into another lousy friendship, relationship, business partnerships or whatever.  It is also up to us to stop these types of relationships.

In my relationship with myself, I have discovered as in the stories I am writing, I can choose to stop the story, put the character in any situation I want and watch that character wiggle and squirm and either learn from it or continue to be incredibly stupid.  That too is interesting for the reader.  This is when we stand up and yell, “Stop, how stupid are you?  Don’t answer the door!”  In real life we have the power to say no-to leave these awful relationships no matter who they are-an awful boss, a needy friend, a slut who lives next door to you and is trying to get your husband into bed, an awful spouse.  Leave!  Don’t answer the door!  Pack up and move!  Execute your free will for goodness sake!  As in fiction, when we are yelling at the character to not answer the door, so were our friends and realtives telling us when we got involved with the idiot we moved in with.

Only I can stop the insanity of the ridiculous relationships I insist on having in my life, but you want to know what?  I sure am getting better and better at it and I am realizing that most of the people on this planet are full of shit and don’t deserve to be in the same room as me.

Crying

It’s not often I cry and this week I cried on three separate occasions.  The first time was on Mother’s Day due to a family argument.  I refuse to explain why because not all parties are here to defend themselves, and the second occasion was because I saw a dumb program on Oprah.

I guess Glen Close did a story on prisoners in jail who get to train dogs.  There was this one guy who trained a dog since she was a pup and then it came time to give her up.  They showed the soldier who got the dog-a survivor from Iraq, who suffers from severe P.T.S.D.  They brought the dog back to visit the prisoner and when the dog saw him she ran and wiggled like crazy in excitement.  It made me cry like a baby.

Finally, I cried because I volunteer as much as I can to the University of Denver Alumni Association (my Alma Mater) and this morning was commencement.  I love to volunteer for this event.  When the graduation song began to play, I began to hold back the tears.  I turned my entire body around away from my friends to contain myself.  When children sing at Christmas time, I do the same thing.  I have been crying for silly events most of my life.

When my father was dying he asked me to carry out a few things before he took his last breath.  One of them was to not cry at his funeral to which I was delivering the eulogy.  If you knew me, you would know that I was my father’s right hand girl and I was devastated when he left.  I managed not to cry but woke up the next day with the worst stiff neck in my life.  The stiff neck was from holding back the tears.  Boy I’ll never do that again.  My mother once said, “No one has ever hurt me as much as my children have.”  I know what she means.  I have three sons and each one of them has destroyed me to the point of complete ruin, and yes, I have spent a fair share of my life crying over them and their actions and over dumb ass men I have chosen to spend my life with.

The only ones that I have been able to forgive and forget have been my sons and one man in my life-they’re father.  I have never been able to quell my emotions whether it be anger, sorrow, broken heart and the like and I seriously doubt at this point in my life-I ever will but I thought about it long and hard recently and thought, “Why should I stop, it is what makes me, Desiree.” I think crying proves I have a heart.  I collect hearts, real and fake ones and you wanna know something?  I like people who have a  big heart and I loathe the ones who pretend they have one.

The Who

Yesterday, while watching hubby wash his car-yet again.  I wondered off into a pipe dream when I heard a song by The Who-called, “We Won’t Get Fooled Again.” I was fifteen years old when the song was released and it was summer time.  I closed my eyes and remembered my first boyfriend, Danny.  If I keep my eyes closed long enough, I can still hear his laugh and the way he smelled.  He taught me how to French kiss that summer of 1971, among other things.  It may be one of the finest memories I have of my young life.

Life was simple then.  All I cared about was Danny, Yardley lipstick, The Rolling Stones,  Led Zeppelin and of course Pepsi in a glass bottle with my occasional Mr. Goodbar.  My favorite outfit was a pair of orange and hot pink bell-bottom pants that had fringe on the bottom and I wore it with a midriff top.  Boy what I wouldn’t give for the perfect body I had then.  It is the very reason my father had the worst summer of his life.  His daughter went from awkward Tom Boy to a statuesque model.  I was difficult to tame and I would sneak out every evening to be with Danny.  He lived across the street from me and was two years older than me.

I changed that summer of 1971.  I became a woman and every summer after that, I have never looked back.  Through years of experience and lots of falling on my ass, I became the woman I am today.  I wouldn’t change a thing.  I did not know it at the time-but I was one of the many American teens who walked through the door of not only losing my virginity but experiencing a Renaissance of music.  So many artists came out of that era.  To us, we just thought the music was great to make out to at parties.

I do not know what ever happened to Danny.  I hear even now and then from friends, that he worked for the same company for thirty or so years and now works for Parks & Recreation.  I wonder while he is tooling around-doing God knows what, if he thinks of that summer too when he hears The Who.  One may never know.

I have been lost in the world of fiction lately because I am editing my novel, “A Matter of Degree.” I spend all of my night and my days writing, editing and getting into the heads of the characters I have created that reality seems to be an enigma. I forgot who I am. Oh I have had brief moments of clarity and out with friends, like going to see “Phantom of the Opera.” with Barry a few weeks ago, but mostly I am alone. Me, the computer, the dog, and the window I peer out of off and on throughout the day and evening. Days, turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. I now know how an actor feels when they finish shooting a film. I have always been a huge fan of “Actors Studio” because I loved hearing actors and directors talk about the process in which they live when they are creating their art. The one thing that always bothered me was when an actor would say he or she had trouble letting go of the performance, like they had become the character. I found it to be a little on the creepy side. Now I know. I am in the zone of Mattie Tafoya, my main character in the book. I live, eat, and breathe this novel and will feel a little sad when it is all done. The book has been with me since I started it in 1992. Soon it will be time to let it go, get it published and hope the general public will love Mattie and the other characters as much as I do. Although I dropped off the radar with my friends and family, I am not sure how to assimilate any longer. I guess I will have find out. I too do not know how to let go of the performance

The Ugly Ex-girlfriend

Ever have a crazy ex-girlfriend call your husband? Well, that is just what we had last Thursday night-all night until about 3 a.m. The first call began at about 1 a.m. and it went something like this.

“Hello?”

“Is Michael there?”

“Who is calling?”

“His cousin Rachael.”

“And…you would be calling in the middle of the night because why now?”

“Never mind.”

She hung up and the calls lasted non-stop for about two hours. Oyyy Gevault, don’t ask. Anyway, I just wanted to say that when you know your husband is telling the truth it’s actually quite fun. Now mind you, she left him for someone else four years ago and married the British bloke. This was almost too good to be true for my husband because he has been waiting for her recompose all this time. Oh well, her stupidity, and my gain.

We laughed all weekend about how infantile she is and how she has not gone on with her life. As the calls progressed, so did her desperation. Every time she called my husband, he let me listen on the extension. It was difficult not to laugh but here is how the final call went.

“Michael, you said you’d wait for me.”

“I love my wife, stop calling.”

“I am dying, I have Cancer.”

“So!”

Dawn

Dawn is not my friend,

With it comes a sting,

An aching of birds chirping,

It has its nerve to call itself light

What light does it bring to me?

It is a counterfeit, a farce,

A serious blow,

That I may never recover

Desiree DiTommaso

February 20, 2009

Empowered Women

Recently while tooling around with Barry, who I call my “gay husband,” he said, “Have you noticed the time you stay at a job in getting less and less?” I laughed so hard I nearly choked to death. Only Barry can make me laugh so explosive. I attribute this to two vital changes in my personality of late.

1.) Menopause

2.) After 32 years of being a barber, I am done. I will never work in a barber shop professionally again unless I own it.

Something happens to a woman when she experiences menopause and I am not sure if it is the same for everyone, I only know what happened to me. When I was a young woman I was shy, yes you heard me correctly, I was shy. No one would ever use that word to describe me now. I was a push over too. I know, those of you who know me are scratching your heads right now like you just stumbled upon Jimmy Hoffa’s body. I do not know if this sort of transformation happens to every woman but it happened to me and I am not going back-only forward. Let me give you some examples of how I used to handle situations when I was young as opposed to now.

Let us say I was employed in a barber shop back in the day and another employee spread a rumor about me-which they did all the time due to extreme jealousy, and what I would do then and what I do now. Here is a would be conversation with my manager taking place while I was crying…

Old Me: “I just don’t understand why she keeps doing this. All I want to do is come to work, do my job and go home.”

Manager: “I think if you were to talk to her about it with me she would stop.”

Old Me: “I do not want to do that because she will say she’s going to stop and then as soon as you are not around she will be lobbying against me with the other employees and then no one talks to me.” Do you know she told everyone I was sleeping with a client and another employee?”

Now mind you, it has always been my policy not to go out with a client or another coworker. In 32 years, I have an impeccable record. Now here is how that same conversation goes today, this actually happened.

New Me: “Do you know he is telling everyone I screwed him?”

Manager: “Yeah, I know, he told me that too.”

New Me: “You sound as though you believe him?

Manager: “I didn’t want to but you two left at the same time?”

New Me: “Are you nuts? He is fat, gross and disgusting. I couldn’t be that drunk.” Besides, according to the law, once I officially notify you about sexual harassment at work, you must file a charge and address the issue immediately.”

You see, not just menopause has charged the way I do things but more so wisdom, time, and experience teaches one to fight back as I never would have back when I was a beautiful young uninformed lady. I was scared to death back then. Now life is a chess game to me and I enjoy strategically making my moves and I always win now.

Lately Oprah has been doing a series on how menopause affects women hormonally. I sure hope she addresses how it liberates you as a woman. You have two choices when menopause hits, either embrace it and let it empower you and become the woman you know to be, or go kicking and screaming and continue to be powerless. This woman embraced it and took my place right next to all the other successful and powerful women in the world. You know who they are, just look around you.

When my recent manager refused to deal with the situation that I could have sued him for, I packed my gear and walked out the door and told him, “I can no longer work for a man I do not respect.” I think that says it all.

P.S. Do what I did, start the “Menopause Hit List” aka: The Menopause Last Supper,” get rid of all the idiots and toxic relationships you’ve been having.  What the hell are you keeping these people in your life for?

Desiree Answers the Proust Questionnaire

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Any holiday with all of my children, grandchildren, other family members praying before we eat. It’s such an over whelming feeling to see all of their lovely faces.

What is your greatest fear?

I never have fear-ever.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Ann Bolelyn.

Which living person do you most admire?

Neil Simon.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

That I talk too much.

What is your greatest extravagance?

Designer accessories.

What is your favorite journey?

The one I take every day in my mind.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Being politically correct.

What do you dislike about your appearance?

My nose.

Which living person do you most despise?

He knows who he is.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

The word “possibly.”

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Writing and my three sons.

Which talent would you most like to have?

To sing like Mariah Carey.

What is your current state of mind?

Driven.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My vocabulary. I would stop using the “F” bomb.

If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?

That every one of them had more money so I didn’t worry about their welfare any longer.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Giving birth to three amazing sons.

If you were to die and to come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

Leona Helmsley’s dog.

If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?

A lion, king of the jungle.

What is your most treasured possession?

My bible.

Where would you like to live?

The Caribbean and the Upper East Side.

What is your favorite occupation?

Dictator-that’s what my sons think I am anyway…LOL.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My laugh.

What is the quality you like most in a woman?

I do not care for women, just men…always men.

What do you most value in your friends?

That they continue to take my calls.

Who are your favorite writers?

Stephen King and me.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?

The one I created. Her name is Mattie Tafoya.

Who are your heroes in real life?

My father and Anwar Sadat.

What is it that you most dislike?

Selfish people.

How would you like to die?

Firing squad.

What is your motto?

“Noli Me Tangere.”

Vogue: Strike a Pose

Can I just tell you that I love my life again?  I feel soooo great.  I no longer care what happens.  I reclaimed my life.  It was long over due.  I need to quit letting men be the center of my life.  Oyyyy Gevault. 

 

I went to a party on Saturday night even though I was sick as hell.  Most of my friends are in the 20-30 age categories.  I was just kicking it watching everyone do Jello shots (I was the designated driver) and it was so funny because as I observed, I realized that it is ever so chic to strike a pose over and over again with your digital camera.  These crazy kids all have their own signature poses-seriously.  I guess to put on their My Space pages or maybe Face Book?

 

I remember the first time I noticed someone doing this-it was Paris Hilton on the red carpet.  Then it was Kim Kardashian and then it was Britney.  Back in the day the only ones that knew how to strike a pose were models and starlets.  Now everyone has a pose they can call their own.  Does Hollywood know this?  How about all those super models?  Have they validated this practice?

 

I know one thing is for sure…I used to model back in the day and there is no freaking way I will ever strike a pose even though I am a veteran at it.  I will leave the vogue-ish posing to the younger crowd.  I don’t want to become the next Donetella Versace for goodness sake!

Fake Boobs

Two weeks ago, I was in Las Vegas visiting my oldest son. Now as most of you already know, Vegas is called “Sin City” with good reason. As I made my way through the city, I realized it is filled with women with fake boobs. Some where on planet earth there are doctors laughing all the way to the bank. I have considered getting the procedure myself several times. Now mind you, I always come back to square one and decide not to get it done, thanks to my good logic.

In my spare time I can be found watching old movies in my bedroom. I recently watched three old films, “The Graduate,” “Annie Hall,” and the original “Stepford Wives.” There is not one set of fake boobs in any of these films. I ask you, have we created a monster? Dare I say monsters? I think so. I don’t know about you but when I see a woman with fake boobs, I have a difficult time not staring at them. It’s like they have some sort of hypnotic feature. Then I watch the men in the room get hypnotized by them too. They eventually look like the cartoon characters that have those eyes that pop out of their heads.

I ask you, when are we women going to get the same advantage? You know? guys with altered penises? When do we get to be hypnotized by this altered state of sexuality? I’ll just bet if that ever happens, men will be lining up to get the procedure done. Hmmm, fake boobs…I think they turn men into boobs. Thanks to the doctors, we have created Frankenstein; there is no turning back as a society. Maybe they will look as ridiculous as tattoos and body piercing in twenty years. Maybe we will see them in the convenience stores and our grandchildren will point and say, “Look at the dummy.” You know, like we now do with people who smoke? I’m going to go watch an old movie-one with black and white film, real boobs, and people who smoked like trains.

Barack Obama

To all my Democrat friends and family.  Tomorrow is the big day, right?  I wish you all good luck and may the best man win-who will lead this country fearless for the next four years.  I want to share with you something so special I did yesterday.  I went to a black gospel church in Montebello, called “Now Faith” and heard some of the best voices in the world making a joyful noise to the Lord but even more moving was the passion this church had for Obama.  I enjoyed myself immensely.  You know who made an appearance?  Mark Udall and his lovely wife.  I really must say I was moved in all areas of my heart.  Tomorrow will reveal the winner.

The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

As usual, I awoke marveling at the dreams I had the night before. When hubby asked what I was thinking of. Hmmmmm…I am always hesitant to answer this question due to the graphic nature of my dreams-especially if they are sexual and besides since my dreams are so intense, he gets bored when I tell him. So I filter a lot out. I never know how he will accept my train of thought. This morning was no exception.

I was reflecting on the most recent dream. I was a famous photographer taking photos of a beautiful couple dressed in wedding attire from the 1920s ala The Great Gatsby. I was trying to get the best performance out of the girl for the photo when her manager butt in and said simply this, “If you want to get a perfect shot, ask her to give you the vitals look?” What the hell does this mean?  I thought, but did it anyway and voila, a perfect glance down toward her feet. She looked as though the marriage was an arranged marriage, not a happy one.

Anyway, right before hubby posed this question, I was off and running in fragments of thought about the old lady in the film Titanic in the opening of the movie, when someone handed her old hair comb when she began to day dream about the last time she saw it. It was when she took it out of her hair to pose nude on the couch so Jack could paint her. Then I began to think of the movie Kate Winslet was in, called “The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a tremendous non-linear film written so well. In this film Jim Carey wants his mind erased of Kate’s character. Then, I thought of the scene when he and Kate are in the Hamptons and it is night time on the beach and how they never got a chance to say goodbye. Do you see why hubby gets bored when he asks me about what I was thinking? It’s difficult for him to keep up because he has never heard of any of these movies or books.

Then I began to think of the character Kirsten Dunst played in the same movie with Jim Carey. Kirsten is the assistant in the film and then I began to think of the characters I have known in film and novels that played whores. Then I began to make the distinction that almost all whores in film and novels are unintelligent and that good girls are almost always intelligent. Whew! This train of thought all happened within about 10 minutes. It’s extremely tiring to be me and even more difficult to get what I am thinking about on the page-especially when I am writing fiction. Most often what happens when someone asks me what I am thinking, I merely reply, “Nothing.” It’s easier. Sooo much easier to play the dumb girl in real life but I don’t think I can ever play the whore!

Britney Spears

Last night was the 2008 MTV VMA awards. I watched like I always do and was bored out of my mind-mostly because of Britney Spears. I feel that the three awards Britney Spears received were not valid. I do not know who votes for the winners but I feel there were so many other people way more talented than Britney that deserved to win. I like Britney I just don’t think she deserved the awards. Come on, she was up against Fall Out Boy for one category and she won? I think the other videos were done so much better than hers. I know, I feel sorry for her too. She is bipolar and has a huge journey ahead of her but is that any reason to give her awards? I think not.

Then there was Christina Aguilera. Oyyyyy, I know she is talented too but Rhianna’s performance was way better. T-pain was awesome too and then there was Kanye West. I nearly cried watching his heart-felt performance. He lost his momma, did they give him an award because he went through grief too? Nope. I guess all those crazy-ass statues were just meant for Britney last night. Which led me to believe it’s all a bunch of bull shit. Why did they bother letting the rest of the more talented people show up and perform?

Here is a run down of last night:

Kid Rock: He looked and sounded great

Katy Perry: One of the performers I thought that should have won instead of Brit.

Pink: Freaking AMAZING!!!!!

Travis Barker: Oh man, he is such a bad ass drummer

T.I: Off the hook

Lil Wayne: Awesome

Chris Brown: He is so talented

Paramore: OMG! Are they good or what?

Rhianna: She is the queen of everything

90210

So last night was the big two hour season opener of the new 90210. I was glued to the set and although the reviews today have been awful, I liked it. I think because I was a fan of the old show and I thought the new one was good too. Jennie Garth looks fabulous. Her skin is luminous but I was disappointed in my all time favorite, Shannen Doherty. She did not look so good to me and I am not sure if it was because in all the scenes she was in, were dark or because she didn’t look so good period.

Maybe in upcoming shows she will look better. Her boobs are too big for her small frame and she needs to change her hair. When her character, Brenda and Jennie’s character, Kelly-did a scene together it was obvious to me who aged better. I hope as the season progresses Shannen changes her looks. She still is my favorite and I look forward to more episodes. Below are the latest reviews.

Entertainment Weekly: It’s “corny but trying to be hip, crammed with subplots until the producers figure out which ones the audience responds to, and cast with mostly young faces that its network (The CW) prays will become teen idols.”

Variety: It’s “a pallid copy of the original fish out of water story only with shinier cars, fancier clothes and Botox aplenty.”

Hollywood Reporter: It “doesn’t embarrass as much as many had feared.”

Boston Globe: It was “pretty bad.”

Newsday: It’s “a perfectly competent and reasonably seamless revival that understands what made the original tick (and tick and tick), while being infused (occasionally suffused) with enough contemporary touchstones to remind new viewers that this isn’t their parents’ (or at least older siblings’) trusty fave.”

Associated Press: “All the expected ingredients were there: gorgeous teens, lots of style and extravagance, raging hormones, and always the potential for backstabbing, broken hearts and payback. Same old, same old at West Beverly Hills High School.”

Heroes

I have always been a Mama’s girl and I guess to some extent a daddy’s girl too. I call my mother every morning without fail. She looks forward to it. She is eighty-two and very healthy and feisty. I love my mother and think she is one hell of a good friend. Oh it wasn’t always that way between me and her but through the years we worked through all of the animosity and in the end we became good friends.

About a month ago, her beloved dog Yogi, died and it devastated her. He was great company for her as is my dog Dayna. She called to tell me he died and she said simply this as she sobbed, “I fed him and then let him out to do his business like I do every morning and I went to check on him to let him in and he was on the lawn. I thought he was asleep so I yelled at him to come in and he did not respond so I called him again and finally I went out there to check on him. He was listless and I said, Yogi. Then I realized he was dead.”

Yogi was a Welsh Corgi and truly a wonderful dog. He lived eleven years and was such a good friend to my mother. Now she has a beagle that she bought from a shelter. Her name is Brandy. Today I took her and Brandy to Pet Smart to get a new collar and doggie tag then I took my mother and the pooch back home. I had a beer at my mom’s and was petting the pooch in the kitchen when I had this overwhelming urge to swat the pooch on the arse like I do my dog and she cowered. It was so sad I started to cry. I realized this dog had been abused. It was heart-wrenching. Of course I apologized profusely to the new pooch but on the way home I thought, “Who does that? Abuse animals?” I would love to take people who abuse animals, children and senior citizens and horse whip them.

I want to go to sleep now and forget the atrocities that occur on planet earth. My husband is a police officer and sees and hears the evils that occur in this world everyday and I often wonder how he deals with all he has seen and heard. Yes, I know fire fighters are heroes but good cops are too. My husband is a hero.  He is a good cop.

The Latest

Last night, an old friend called and I spent the better part of the evening talking to her and catching up. She asked me what I was into these days. She said, “Dez, I loved working with you because I always knew what was hot.” Funny, I would never describe myself as such. I just know what I like when I see it. I go shopping like I write. I never know how I want to express myself and that to me is what personal style really is-expressing yourself. Most of the time, it ends up being in fashion. So here is the latest.

Music: “Duffy,” I just can’t stop listening to this CD and BTW, I will return it to its original owner soon…LOLOLOL.

Skinny Jeans & Leggings: They’re back. I bought a pair at the Guess store two years ago and they are in uber fashion right now but here’s the thing…skinny jeans are for skinny girls and I am not talking about Yoga pants either. There are a pair of denim leggings and a shiny black pair I am lusting after but I just have not mustered the courage to pay $68.00 a piece for them yet. Oyyyyy-don’t ask. I am vying for every color you can imagine for colored tights for fall. The two best web sites for both…. www.americanapparel.net & www.hue.com Go and conquer girls.

Foundation & Skin Care: I went back to my old stand by made by Erno Lazlo and just as soon as I did I started getting compliments on my skin again. This program has the best results for my skin.

Eye Shadow: I can’t get enough of every color Loreal’s H.I.P. line. I have almost every color but the greens and blues.

Blush: I am mad for Smashbox’s Soft Lights Blush in Prism. I use it on my cheeks, decollate, and eyes.

Eyebrows: I started using an eyebrow lipocil that you can only get online by Talika. It has made a difference in my disappearing eyebrows. Not a huge difference but enough that I notice. I am still using Nioxin on them too.

Jewelry: Everything I like right now is big, gaudy, chunky in loud colors and ever so sexy. I dug out all of my old costume jewelry from the 70’s and I get asked every where I go where did I get it from-who knows? I bought it thirty years ago! I think most of it came from two stores that no longer exist in Colorado.

Skirts: Skirts are so hot right now. Buy a big flowy floral one that comes just below the knee and wear it with the crazy colored tights, a great pair of red or purple suede high heels and all that gaudy jewelry, a cinch belt, and a great sweater set ala the 50’s and you’ll be a hit.

Nail Polish: I am crazy about the new burgundy brown color made by OPI. Black nail polish is on its way out so use up what you have.

Hair: I am still wearing my bob and loving it but I might change the color next salon visit to a brown with burgundy highlights. Tracy at “Higdon’s Hair Studio” is still my go to girl for anything in hair.

Purse: Big purses are hot for fall and I am using a big patent leather one I bought two years ago by RAFE until I splurge on the Jimmy Choo bag I want so bad.

Lip Gloss: I am still in love with any lip gloss Victoria’s Secret makes.

Fake Eye Lashes: My favorite set is the Dior Black Lash Kit @ Sephora for $33.00

Boots: I dug out of the closet two pair of short boots I adore. One is a pair that is from my days in the clubs in the 70’s and the other is a pair I bought two years ago made by Enzo A., one is black leather and the other is a black suede pair.

Shoes: To date it’s my favorite black suede pumps made by MIA from the 70’s and my Airwalk black & white sneakers I bought at Payless for $9.99. Of course I am still saving for my first pair of Christian Loubouton shoes. They run about $900.00. That is going to take awhile….. LOLOLOLOL.

And finally, everyone always asks me where I got my fan from. Yes, I use a fan and for some very good reasons. First and foremost because I am Latin and Latin girls use fans to cool themselves off. Second, Karl Lagerfeld has always used one so why can’t I? Third, BECAUSE I GET HOT FLASHES!!! Hahahaha. I have a collection of fans, most of which I got online at Ebay. Now you know!

Pretty Girls

I was driving to the bank…you know…to deposit all of my gold? I was at a stop light and noticed this guy’s bumper sticker. It read, “Behind every pretty face, there is someone who is tired of her bullshit.” On the other side of the bumper there was another bumper sticker that read, “It’s all about you isn’t it?”

Of course I had to speed up to get a look at the guy. He was about my age, average with balding gray hair. His car was an old Saturn. As I drove ahead I thought, “This is a guy that got burned more than once by a pretty face and is going to tell the whole world he is bitter.” Why would you do that I ask you? Not to mention I took offense to the whole pretty face BS. I am sure there are hundreds, if not thousands, of not so pretty girls that are breaking hearts too and are actually tired of “his bullshit.”

BTW, does he not know how ridiculous and tacky it is to put a bumper sticker on his car? It’s about as ridiculous as all of those damn stuffed animals in the back window. Maybe the stuffed animal girl would make him happy?  I’m thinking no.

Falling In Love

It’s been quite sometime since I have hung out with a four year old and for the last four days, I’ve done just that. Can I just tell you I feel like I am a hundred years old and I could possibly break my hip? Oyyy Gevault. I never knew a child could make me do the things I have done recently.

• Trudging through mounds of toys in the store to find the perfect Barbie doll.
• Making cereal over and over and over and over
• Buying yogurt in tubes that resemble the squeezable popsicles I bought as a kid.
• Making marshmallows in the fire
• Making grilled cheese sandwiches
• Scrutinizing the juice isle in the grocery store
• Eating Cheetos until my teeth were orange
• Playing with my exercise ball until I felt as though I would get a hernia
• Picking up strange globs off of my carpet and getting no answer from the four year old as to what it was. She looked at me like I was nuts
• Laughing until milk came out of my nose
• Wiping a little girl’s bootie after she went poop-OYYYYYYY. Don’t ask!!!!!!!!!!
• Eating Spaghetti O’s…who knew they made them with little meatballs now?
• Falling so deeply in love I thought I could never come back to reality.

I truly love my grand daughter. These last four days have been the most difficult in my life but I would not trade the memory for all the gold in the world.

The Lost Art of Slapping

One of my favorite expressions is “Come here so I can slap you!” Do I mean it? of course not. I can go to jail for that but I was thinking about it in the shower this morning. I think it is because I spent most of yesterday reading, writing, and watching old films. It occurred to me the fine art of slapping has all but disappeared in our culture. It was prevalent in old films as a way of making it clear that the enforcer meant business.

Back in the day, in Film Noir, if a guy got fresh with the Femme Fatale, she slapped him. Pow! Is that cathartic or what? It definitely gets your point across now doesn’t it? Think of it…if we brought the art of slapping back into fashion, the very first person I would expect to slap someone is Mrs. Edwards. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when John Edwards had to tell his wife he cheated and has a baby from his whore. Pow! I would love to see his face stinging with pain and having to go to work with a red face reminiscent of an old film-with his wife’s hand print on his face, like the clay ones we made in Kindergarten. Yeah…slapping…it works for those types of situations.

Now lemme think for a minute…who else would I or someone else love to slap?…hmmmm…I’ve got it! I would love to slap the ass that put a map on an invitation to a coffee klatch we were late for recently. We walked in over an hour late and they looked at us like we were the heathens who were late for church. Pow! Or how about the guy who told me I had a nice rack after I told him I was married. Pow! Yeah that’s what I said buster! I am married! Pow! Who does he think he is talking to me like that huh?

Now there is an expression that cropped up in recent years called “bitch slapping,” but I have never actually seen anyone execute it in public. Maybe bitch slapping occurs behind the scenes or maybe I am just not in the places bitch slapping takes place. I did manage to find an interesting You Tube video on bitch slapping. Here’s the link (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ainuR9vSfPg), and BTW notice the alcohol bottles lined up in the kitchen? Maybe these bitches need alcohol to bitch slap. I’m thinking the real art of slapping is innate and needs no substances to provoke slapping. Slapping is a lost art and by golly it should be resurrected-any takers? LOLOLOLOL

Dez

The King of Queens

 

 I believe I am a dream machine.  My dreams are so lucid it is difficult to determine what reality upon waking is.  A few nights ago I dreamt I was in my own television sitcom.  It was “The King of Queens.”  I was Carrie and Doug was my husband and my father was Jerry Stiller.  My television dad was sitting at the table and I was defending him.  There was some sort of mix-up in something he did and Doug was angry at him.  I kept thinking in the dream, “Des, this conflict has to be resolved in thirty-minutes when the show is over and that includes the editing and the commercials.”  I kept stressing and trying to deliver my lines with comedic timing and the canned laughter in the background was not cued properly.  So the laughter started before I could finish my lines.  I was getting frustrated and thinking I had to talk to my real husband when we were off camera to tell him he was delivering his lines too fast. 

 

Funny…way too funny…because my husband kind of looks like Kevin James, the actor.  When I woke up it was difficult for me to let go of the dream and start my day.  Oyyy.

I Remember Rosie

I remember the first time I met Rose Marie DiTommaso. I was a mere nineteen years old and anxious to meet the mother of my boyfriend Joe. We had about a year to solidify our relationship void of the infamous family he spoke so highly of in the year of 1976, a Leap Year. I was of course intimidated because I wanted to make a good impression for me and for him. To meet the grand dame of the family was a huge honor.

There were many times we spoke on the phone me and Rosie but now I was about to finally meet her. It took me an entire year to understand Joe and Rosie because they had such thick New York accents-something I was not privy to in all my years of living in Denver. We were scheduled to have dinner downtown at a restaurant called Benihana of Tokyo, then go out to our favorite club and dance until the wee hours of the morning and then back to my apartment to sleep. Dinner was wonderful and I was amazed that a woman could be so funny and pretty at the same time. Her comedic timing was impeccable. Right before she would say something funny there was this look that was on her face that all who knew her know what I am talking about. The evening was a memorable experience.

So I can hear the audience now saying…yes? and then what happened?… because of what was so often blurted out by Rose Marie as though it was a nut stuck in her throat and just dying to come out to save her. The next morning I woke up bright and early with a terrible hang over and Rose Marie looked up at me from the couch (she preferred the couch to sleep on where ever she went) and I posed the question, “Would you like some coffee?” She said, “Yes.” and joined me in the kitchen. As she stirred her coffee she got that look on her face I will miss as long as I live. She was shuffling through my cabinets looking for sugar and she turned and said simply this in true Rosie fashion, “Is this the crap you feeding my son?” I was frozen in my own kitchen like petrified wood. I am positive if you go back to that apartment all these years later, my frozen half baked smile is still some where in that kitchen.

I chalked it up to her being from NY. No, I didn’t like it much but I grew to love this woman with all of her flaws. Yesterday I came across a photo of her and cried most of the day and will never be able to fill the void I feel from losing my friend, my mentor, and my confidant. Over the years this woman taught me how to say what was on my mind and not be afraid, how to cook, how to believe fearlessly in God and above all how to love unconditionally. Last week I went to dinner in a fine restaurant and wore the necklace she left behind for me and with every bite I longed for her to be there at the table with me. Yeah, I know, she’d probably say something silly but at least she would be there with me. Every woman holds in high regard the woman who gave her the wings to fly. Rose Marie DiTommaso gave me my wings and she will forever be in my heart. I will never forget her.

The Fixx: Reach The Beach

 

 

The Sleeper House

 

 

 

 

Here goes one of those crazy dreams only Desiree can have.  So I dream last night I am in this really cool house.  It’s kind of like the sleeper house that sits on top of a mountain here in Colorado.  I know why I dreamt it because yesterday me and the hubby went shopping in the outlet stores in Silverthorne and as we were driving in silence listening to music I saw the house.  I actually went to a really nutso party there once in the 80’s.  So as we pass it my mind wanders to back in the day when I was younger, the friends I had then, and old boyfriends.  I go off in a pipe dream and finally think to myself…I really had some crazy good times to take into life as I age.  I was wild as hell.  I am glad I did all that stuff because now I kind of giggle when I think of it.

 

So in my dream last night I am at this cool house and it’s a fierce party but the music is all from the 80’s.  There are tons of people and I am eavesdropping on a conversation between a couple who are arguing and I listen in to what they are arguing about.  It seems trivial to me and I leave to go to the bathroom.  I go pee and as I am zipping up my pants I look in the mirror and I am aghast.  I have an old 80’s layered haircut and goofy 80’s clothes on.  I have neon green, blue and pink rubber bracelets on my wrist and I look in the mirror and say…Uuuuuuuggggghhhh, I can’t believe I am stuck in the 80’s.  Why couldn’t I be stuck in the 40’s when it was really cool?  I here the song “One Thing Leads to Another.” by The Fixx playing over and over and I search my brain to try and remember if the CD player has been invented yet because it sounds like a damn album is stuck on the record player.  That is all I remember of the dream but I was so glad to wake up and see 2008.

 

BTW

Have you heard commercial for the “E! True Hollywood” on Joe Francis of “Girls Gone Wild Fame?”  I am going to paraphrase here…  Joe says something like….”If you mess with me it’s gonna get ugly.”  OH YES!!!!  That would be like Rob Lowe (another pretty boy) saying…”Freeze MoFo.”  PAAHHHLEEESSSEEE!!!!!!!  Joe Francis is a Fugese.  I am so freaking scared over here.