Vaguely Urban

Friday Flotsam XVIII

This weekend, Team SoCal is heading to Chicago to visit my beloved SearceMaster K and her dashing Mr. Bell Tower.  We will be attending a Cubs game, dining at Blackbird (as featured on Top Chef - eeee!), and generally seeing the windy city through the eyes of two of our dearest friends.

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And don't even think about burglarizing my house while I'm gone.  The joint will be full of people much more bad-ass, and MUCH better looking, than me and Dave:

Not content with us hiring a dog walker (and yes, thanks to that previous Flotsam post, we got a FABULOUS one!), Ginger has retained a couple of hot lesbians to tend to her needs for the weekend.  The little dog is very, very happy with her choice of attendants, expecting that these two will be particularly generous with the jubgina rubs. (Her favorite thing.)

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I don't know why I'm so excited about this, but I had my end of lease inspection for my car on Wednesday and I aced it!  No damage charges!  I *can* keep my things nice!  It only took 32 years to hone the skill.  My mom and dad have never been so proud!

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Happy Friday, sweet readers.  I hope the weekend bears leisure and delight for each of you!

Report From The Desert

This past weekend was my beautiful friend KHJ's bachelorette party in Las Vegas.  I didn't know many of the other girls before this weekend, but after two plus solid days of drinking, lounging, and dancing, I sure do now.  And my life is totally the better for it.  These girls were SUPREMELY fun. 

Not only did I have awesome girl-bonding time, I also learned a lot.  Allow me to share the take-aways from my education:

• Getting a cabana or two at the Venetian pool is a genius plan.  The people-watching, the boobalicious butler-babe, the chilled fruit plate, the respite from the sun --- so divine.  Pricey, yes, but for a special occasion: worth it.
• NOT worth it, on the other hand, is The Bank at the Bellagio.  I'm talking, not even worth it when getting escorted into the VIP area, gratis.  It may be the latest thing, but it's packed full to the gills with obese geriatrics (like, twice as old as me; and I'm old); toothless, camera-bag toting idiots; and dickish staff.  Seriously bad.  Though if you persevere, you can throw a damn fine dance party with your own posse in a side hallway.

• You can discover marvelous new product options from girls you have known for mere hours.  Simply neglect to bring along your usual bar of Dove, and be generously loaned (and instantly addicted to) Kiehl's cleansing milk.  Skin like a newborn silkworm.  Or steal some spritzes of Freeman alcohol-free spray gel from the girl with the high-gloss mane and get piecey texture our of your day-old blow out.
• A 9mm Glock is a fearsome thing, and commands respect when you hold it in the palm of your hand.  Even with the magazine taken out.  Everything a handgun symbolizes adds to the surprising heft.  Sight along the barrel, and feel powerful and a little shakey all at once. 
• Some people, when they say they are allergic to or otherwise intolerant of dairy?  They are not lying.

Friday Flotsam XVII

At the risk of spoiling the ending of Melati's eventual (ahem) recap of this year's Tequila Stakes Croquet tournament... let's just say that California did itself proud.

The little Ninja didn't know her dad was such a croquet MASTER.

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Watching America's Next Top Model this week, Dave asked if Cover Girl was the worst of the drugstore make up brands.  Oh, Dave.  It's not that simple.  My feeling is that, although better than Rimmel and Wet-n-Wild, Cover Girl is inferior to Neutrogena, L'Oreal, and probably Revlon, too.  On par with Maybelline, is my understanding.  Do you agree?

Not that I'm knocking drugstore cosmetics.  I love Maybelline mascara - Lash Discovery, Full-n-Soft, and of course Great Lash - though for a big night out it's got to be Yves Saint Laurent Effet Faux Cils.  And I have this one midnight blue Cover Girl eyeshadow with a little super fine-milled silver shot through it.  It makes an outstanding powder eyeliner.  Not so much for work, of course.  It's not that kind of firm.  L'Oreal Lineur Intense is a fabulous gateway liquid liner for those interested in exploring the wet side.  Oh, and speaking of wet, Wet-n-Wild lipliner #666, a.k.a. Satan Stick is a great punched-up nude.  For 99 cents!

Those are my best drugstore recommendations.  What are yours?  Gentlemen?

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I'll be rocking the YSL mascara and midnight blue liner, along with a faceload of other makeup, this weekend at a bachelorette party in Vegas.  I'm stoked because this is finally a bachelorette party that I didn't organize, so I can just show up, bring my biggest energy, and have fun without worrying about executing. 

Clever Dave was extremely liberal in the amount of Vegas naughtiness he said was tolerable.  So of course that takes all the fun out of naughtiness, and now I'll be tamer than I would have been if he attempted to impose restrictions.  Darn you, reverse psychology!!! 

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Happy Mother's Day to moms across the land, but especially mine.  I love you, Mama.

Or He Could Get A Trapper Keeper

Dave's new job, like lots of jobs, requires him to keep track of many different projects.  In the span of one meeting, he might get comments and instruction on 10 different deals.  This is a far cry from the law firm model, where an associate typically go into a meeting for one case only.  In a law firm, you have the luxury of a separate legal pad (so that's why they're called that!) for each case, and grab the right one as you head into any given meeting. 

Dave can't really bring 10 legal pads and flip among them during his multi-project meetings, so he's trying to figure out how to keep his notes on separate projects straight. 

Perhaps it wasn't the most helpful idea, but I suggested he go to a trusty old school Pee Chee folder.

Bonus:  If the legal team is asked to provide arithmetical support, he can refer to the multiplication table on the inside pocket.

He rejected my Pee Chee idea.

I'm not sure what Dave's been doing for notes, actually.  But he's probably appreciate any ideas, if you're willing to share.

Memorialable Day

I'm thinking this Memorial Day weekend calls for a pub crawl in Venice Beach.  Who's in?

Friday Flotsam XVI

Anybody know any ethically-unimpeachable underemployed dog lovers in West LA?  With Dave's new gig and my old one running us ragged, we need a Ninja walker.

Won't you please be my paid servant?

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A rad pie chart from my friend Brady:

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This evening we head into the desert for the Tequila Stakes Croquet Tournament Pre-Party Featuring Pinot Noir and Prep Work.  We'll be grilling and drinking pinot and then going to bed really early so that we're at our best for the tourney.  Sure we will.

How I Found My Long Lost Gay

Couple months back, an All-Attorney email came round from one of the IT guys up in our San Francisco office. Clint Taylor. 

Now Clint Taylor is the very name of one of my old buddies from college.  Well, not the very name, but the very first name, with an equally common last name. 

The reason I left the first name intact is that College Friend Clint taught me two very important things.  The first was how to be a Grade A fag hag.  Or more accurately, he provided me with sufficient opportunity to practice my haggery that I inevitably reached the pinnacle of fruit fly-dom.  It's still one of my most useful skills.

The second thing I learned from Clint Taylor is that, when your name is Clint, it is important to print it in block letters.  To write it in script is to invite confusion that your name is something that homos traditionally eschew:

I lost touch with Clint when I moved to New York (we had no Facebook in those days), so it was with fledgling hope in my heart that I replied to the IT Clint Taylor's email, saying I knew that his name wasn't the least common name ever, but was he perchance the Clint Taylor I knew from UCLA circa 1996?  Well, it's times like this that my singular first name is quite handy, because the answer came back immediately:

"Did you used to drive a Volvo?" Hell YES I used to drive a Volvo.  I'd found my Will Truman!  Clint Taylor!

I replied:
"Do you take care to write your name in block letters?"

Seconds later, my phone rang, and I was joyously reunited with my long lost gay.  I'll never lose him again! 

Friday Flotsam XV

Very sporting of you all to not point out my erroneous "XIV" last week.  Or maybe your Roman Numeraling Skills are just as crappy as mine.  Which puts just that much more pressure on me to get it together and be a Shining Example unto you. So this week I think I got it right.

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Is there anything funnier than when somebody pronounces "annals" as "anals"?  I mean, that's gotta go down in the anals of history as one of the funniest things ever.

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I decided my legal arguments would have increased oomph if I used more-contemporaneous analogies in my briefs.  "Plaintiff's exorbitant request for  damages is as laughable as Criss Angel's accent."  "Plaintiff's reliance on the Lindaugh case is misplaced.  Lindaugh has as much relevance to the instant case as does Winona Ryder to any casting decision since A Scanner Darkly."  And so forth.

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Apologies to Winona Ryder for the cheap shot.  That was mean.  Also I just IMDb'd her and I see she will be in the new Star Trek movie.  Plaintiff wins!  Also I made up the word "Lindaugh" by just type type typing away.  Don't go cite-checking it for God's sake.

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This weekend, the Magnum is going down. 

Or, as Eia put it, "Let's P.I. that bitch."  Took me a bit to figure out the reference.

   

Nancy Silverton Was There; Mario Batali Was Not

This web site was originally supposed to be kind of about Los Angeles.  Things quickly devolved into profanity and boob pictures, but back in the day it was at least ostensibly about the city I live in, the city of angels.

In a nod to the days before all the posts were about lots of booze and one small mutt, I wanted to tell you about a nifty little novelty that has popped up on The L.A. Restaurant Scene.

To celebrate Dave's new job, I made a resbian at Osteria Mozza, which is still pretty much reigning as the rad restaurant of the moment.  It was very delicious, and the space was beautiful.  But the part that was worth remarking upon was the doggie bag layaway.

Being a dainty flower, I was unable to finish my entree.  When I asked them to pack it for the road, they did, but instead of bringing a box or a molded foil swan, I got a small, stylish square of cardboard.

Claim check!  This way, I could collect my remaining ravioli on my way out at the end of the evening, rather than have them clutter the experience during dessert, cheese, coffee, and other requisite delicate flower courses.

It was pretty rad.

Friday Flotsam IVX

My masthead is restored to it's original splendor!  Many thanks to my awesome web designer. 

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I have never seen a single second of a single episode of The Hills.  I'm very ok with that.

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My friend Elizabeth from college didn't have a middle name until she was 16.  On the morning of her 16th birthday, her mom came into her room and told her that she had Elizabeth's birthday present, and it was a new middle name, and the middle name was Anna.  Elizabeth, re-telling this story in college, conveyed as sense of delight about the experience.  She adored the name from the start, and adored even more that her mom had thought about what would be a good name for her daughter.  Elizabeth's family was rather wealthy, lest you think that the gift was a sad attempt to cover for necessity.  I love this story, but it makes me think about how most of us are born with our names, and they are a part of us since before our memories begin.  We don't question them and most of us don't change them.  I mean, what if Elizabeth had hated the name Anna?  I guess plenty of women change their last name when they get married.  So that's kind of like a wedding present name.  As long as the new name is an upgrade, anyway.

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Speaking of milestones (flotsam segue!), today is Dave's last day at his firm.  He will be unemployed for precisely two days until Monday, when he starts his new gig, where he will hob nob with Hollywood royalty and maybe even stand at a urinal next to Will Ferrell or similar.  Certainly the holiday party will be better.  Dave kicked ass to score this job, and will kick ass at the job as well.  But wish him luck anyway, if you please!