San Francisco: I love you, I love you not

Let me begin by professing my love for the City by the Bay. Restaurants? The best anywhere outside New York. Live music everywhere. SF, you are colorful, hip, young, fast-paced and laid-back at the same time. You are cultural, literary, interesting and fun. (If I were describing a man here, I'd gladly introduce him to Mischa.) SFMOMA is as amazing the 3rd time as it is the first. The 5th Floor Restaurant served up gastronomic perfection. City bustling, views spectacular, company, THE BEST.

You're waiting for the "but", I can feel it. (Pun intended. keep reading....)
San Francisco, you made me love you, but I can't marry you. (Neither can Mischa.) You have dark secrets. Let's begin with our cab ride from the airport into the city.
Cabbie #1: Hispanic. (I don't think race is all that important to the story, it just seems funny as the weekend unfolds.) He told us, unprompted, about a wonderful cultural event in the city this wekend not to be missed! His excitement grew with each tawdry, nearly-pornographic description of the goings-on of the Folsom Street Fair. Among the less blush-inducing events: You can get a spanking for a dollar. Lots of leashes. (Uh, no dogs.) Piercings. (Icky ones. TEE. EM. EYE!)
I suggested that his time would be better spent at church on Sunday. Yes, I did.

Cabbie #2: Middle Eastern. We asked him about the claims of Cabbie #1 regarding the Street Fair. "That thing is for FREAKS!" Ok, I was gonna say that, but I didn't want to be judgey.

Cabbie #3: Indian. Suggestion for the weekend? Folsom Street Fair. Again, unprintable (or fathomable) descriptions followed. Dress code for the Fair? Naked, he claims. Advised us to stay at least 12 inches or more from the proximity of the "naked people". (Please hear this in your head in a thick, Indian accent. It was like a SNL sketch.) Thanks for the awesome advice, Padmaj.

Cabbie #3: Asian, probably South Pacific. Normal. Cultured, educated. Whew!

Cabbie #4: Jamaican. By this point, I was doing my own sociological study of city life through the eyes of the cabbies. (I wonder if I could get a grant for that?) This time, his taxi tactic was don't ask, don't tell. I asked him if there was anything happening in the city this weekend. (There was the above-mentioned event, attracting 20,000 people, a huge Octoberfest, another huge concert and art in the park. The city was humming!) "I don't know", he says. I asked him, jokingly, sort of, how many people get run over every weekend. "Oh, none. This city is full of good drivers." (That is a lie. It is full of freaking insane drivers, and thousands and thousands of oblivious tourist-cattle everywhere! Throw in the deadly, clanging cable cars and I'll bet a good weekend has only and hundred or so fatalities!) Jamaican cabbie was like he was on the San Francisco Image Comittee or something. (Also, awesome accent.)

San Francisco, it's not you, it's me. We can still be friends. I'll always love you. Thanks for a wonderful weekend with amazing friends, but I need a little space. Preferably, 12 inches or more.

just Dawn

We Miss you Too. Really.

Can you tell we're both busy? No new post since Sept. 6th? How very wrong of us. (Visualize me shaking my head, eyes cast down in shame as I write this.)

Between my intensive perusing of those viral e-mails about Wal-Mart patrons from the south, and Dawn's Play-Doh art gallery on her desk, we've been utterly swamped.

So, don't let our lack of writing (due to our hectic and envious social lives) deter you from checking in and reading. Because you never know when some brilliant piece of witty and entertaining writing might show up on our blog. (Actually, let's be honest - more plausible is that it'll be some insignificant post centered around either cynicism, personal opinions regarding Lady Gaga's sanity (or lack of) , or our juvenile and mutual excitment over Mac's new line of eye color cream that come in cute little pots. )

You're giddy with anticipation, aren't you?

Just Michelle (which should be obvious by the "Lady Gaga's legitimately crazy" comment.)

Ah...the Past.

I was just thinking about all the ways that life changes the further along in it that you get. For those of you who are young, take notes.

I used to worry about what color bikini would not make me look like Casper the ghost.
Now I spend the greater part of January through March trying to figure out what the hell am I going to wear to the beach that won't frighten kids.

Speaking of the beach, I used to make sure to get a little bit of a tan....tan fat is better than white fat, right? Now I am keeping my eye on a wierd spot on my thigh and cursing the evil sun for every wrinkle on my forehead. (THANKS Mom and Dad, for raising us in the freaking melanoma desert!)

I uesd to worry about how much the Brazillian wax was going to sting.
Now I have more interesting anxiety (though a similar uber-personal relationship) with the mammogram machine.

I used to get 10 Victoria's Secret catalogues a week. Now I get: Support hose! 20% off!! (Please refer to earlier post called I'm Mad at My Mail.) Seriously.

I used to go "Oh, I have fun plans next weekend! I'm going to cut out lunch for a couple of days so I can lose 5 pounds and look cute in my new dress!""
Now: Hire personal trainer for 4 weeks, eat no carbs, fat, anything white, no sugar, and cut my daily calories down to 300. I do cardio, taekwondo, and stretch every day. I ice everything on my whole body, and have even experimented with laxatives. Did I mention I am starving? I gain 2 pounds.
On another note: What's a new dress?

I used to go to concerts. Awesome, screaming, lighter-lighting, heavy metal, testoroned, kick ass, mosh pit, freakin ROCK SHOWS!!!
Now, I have seriously caught myself saying: "What is this awful crap the kids are listening to?"

I used to have disposable (read: accessories and makeup!) income. Now I have a kid in college, an elderly Labrador with medical needs, another one who, combined with the first one eats enough dog food to feed 14 horses. The last time I blew a benjamin or 2 at the Mac store?....can't remember.

I used to be hot.
Now I "look good for my age." Ladies over 40...Is that the worst compliment ever?

I'm from Vegas, Baby!!! Party starts at 1:00am!!! Woooooo!!!..
Now I'm in bed by 10:15. (Ok, really? This one is actually better.)

Ok, Middle-aged pity party over. There are LOTS of reasons it's good to be a grown up. I'm not a bulimic, insecure, drama queen like I was in my 20s. I have an awesome job. I have a couple of friends I have known for 25+ years. I am going to Africa. I have a great relationship with my mom. I even have some pretty good stories. I have no regrets. You don't get all that in your 20s.

I know, 20-somethings, you think I'd trade it all for that smooth skin, firm body, and idealistic free spirit that I used to have. Now that I've thought about it, I don't think so.

Bring on the Botox bitches!
just Dawn

Oh Paris!

For those of you COMPLETELY out of touch with celebrity/Las Vegas happenings, (which I hope is the majority of you, really.) I can't just let Paris Hilton's latest foibles go unnoticed. I tried, people. For the record, I completely ignored LiLo's court/rehab troubles. I have eschewed the latest Brangelina break-up rumors, no matter how many grocery store tabloid checkout photos have showed hideous, meltdown photos of a visibly infuriated (read: freakin' batshit crazy) Angie. Really people....I IGNORE THIS TRIPE.

Why can't I let this go, you ask? Confusion. I can't decide what offends me the most about this story. Socalite, (read: no-job-havin' rich chick) Paris Hilton, riding in her BFs Escalade in LAS VEGAS, is pulled over by LVMPD because of a "strong odor of marijuana" emitting from the vehicle. Offense #1 and 2....The arrogance of cruising Vegas, smoking weed, with the windows down, in the nondescript, economy, ESCALADE. (Sidenote: I grew up in Vegas. DO NOT do that.) Paris, being Uber-famous, asks the cops if they can step inside the Wynn Resort and Casino, home of all things holy and moral, so she can have privacy from the paparazzi, and because, (go Paris) she had to pee. I'm ok with her to this point, believe it or not.

Next, Paris goes into her purse for who knows what, and, IN PLAIN VIEW of the COPS, drops her cocaine. Really, Paris? I am less offended by your stupidity than I am by your arrogance.

NEXT....as if stupidity and arrogance were not enough, her defense? The drugs WERE NOT MINE!!! Holy shit!! Really? Hey Paris, 6th Grade called...they want their excuse for getting caught with cigarettes in their purse back.

Paris H. claims that the purse was not hers. Her lip gloss and asthma medication (I'm sure cocaine is AWESOME for asthma!) were in there, but, yeah, not. her. purse. Ladies, how many times have you said something like, "Hey Misch, can I take your cheap purse out on the town, despite my millions, and don't bother to clear out your drugs! I'm just gona toss in my meds and lipgloss and I'm outie!" Yeah, right, PH. Offensive #3.

More outrage: Wynn Hotel comes out in a statement that Paris is BANNED from their establishment!!! Really Steve and Elaine? Have you ever BEEN to Vegas??? The answer is, yes, you have. I went to high school with your kids. You are Las. Vegas. Icons. You are the king and queen of Las Vegas. Your hotels changed the face of my hometown. Please, please, please do not pretend in the media that a gazillionaire like PH, or ANY celebrity or high roller could not order ANYTHING straight from the concierge of any Wynn property. Because they could. Midget stripper mud wrestlers? Done. Pam Anderson blow up doll? Latex-clad foot fetish dominatrix? Done and done. Cocaine???? They practically leave that on your pillow with the chocolate mint at night!!!

Wynn, YOU offend me more than dumb ass Paris and her (sorry, NOT her) miniscule amount of illicit drugs. Am I for drugs? Certainly not. Am I for blatant hypocracy? Have you MET me? Wynn, make this right. Please stop pretending to be some Fuzzy Family Friendly vacation destination. Offer Paris 50K to appear at your next club opening. Free Paris! Free Paris!

To quote my funny, wise, Vegas-wrestling diva..."In Vegas, Paris can't Wynn!"

Just Dawn
Go Rebels!