Do you remember back in the 80s (please tell me you are old enough to remember the 80s!) when the “power tie” was all the rage. I don’t know a lot about men’s fashion, but from what I recall, the power tie was a bold, colorful tie that got a man noticed at the office. Well, yesterday, I found the “power dress.” However, I think if I wore this particular dress to work I’d get fired. It is just that damn hot!
When I put on this dress last night while shopping for something hip to wear to an upcoming art gallery reception, I almost had to do a double take. Was that Lucie staring back at me in the mirror, or had I incarnated Mae West (and surely you must know who she is!)? I’m telling you, this strapless, body-hugging, curve-emphasizing dress was so sexy, so va-va-voom, I nearly didn’t buy it because I thought it was too Jessica Rabbit (and, damn it, if you don’t know who that is, I’m gonna scream) for me. But, luckily, that little bit of diva in me couldn’t walk out the store without it!
And you know what? I think every girl needs a power dress in her wardrobe, or just something that makes her feel absolutely drop-dead sexy. Cuz we all know we’ve got plenty of those “feeling fat” frocks lining our closets!
Ciao,
Lucie
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
'Tis Better To Have Loved...And Loved Again!
My Granny always says the best way to heal a broken heart is to find a new love. And I think she knows what she’s talking about. She’s had four husbands. Now, I know what you’re thinking. That she’s one of those gold-digging dames who marries for money and skips out when it stops being fun. Uh, no. My Granny was married off at the age of 18 (as was done in those days since men felt women had little purpose other than childbearing and housekeeping) to an utterly detestable man. She stuck it out with this guy for ten long years until she finally got so sick and tired of him that she kicked his sorry butt to the curb. Divorcing your husband in 1940s small-town America wasn’t very popular, but my Granny was such a strong, independent woman that she didn’t give a rat’s ass what any of the gossip mongers might have said about her. She worked as a beautician (which is where I believe my hair obsession comes from) and supported herself and her two sons on her meager wages until Cupid stepped in.
Where many woman might have given up on finding love again at such a ripe old age (being single and 30 in those days was a fate worse than death for most women!), my Granny soldiered on. She never lost her faith in Cupid’s arrow, and wouldn’t you know it, it wasn’t long before she caught the eye of a recently widowed pharmacist. This guy, whom I came to know as Grandpa, was Prince Charming incarnate. So what if she had two kids already. He had three of his own! They married shortly after and lived happily for some thirty years until dear Grandpa died suddenly from an aneurism.
My family members were devastated by the loss of our beloved patriarch and, understandably, so was my Granny. But Cupid wasn’t done with her yet. He pointed his arrow at the heart of an older gentleman living down the street and before anyone could protest, they were shacking up seventies-style. Of course, he eventually made an honest woman of Granny. But, unfortunately, ill health claimed him shortly after their marriage.
Now, you might think that being up in years, having two husbands in the ground, and one bastard ex-husband floating around somewhere, that Granny might have felt like she’d gotten dealt a crap hand. But no. Granny quickly met and married yet another older man who’d fallen under her spell. And, yes, he’s still kicking after 14 years of marriage!
My Granny still keeps my Grandpa’s picture in a silver frame by her bed, and I know that he was her greatest love. But Granny was savvy enough to understand that you can’t just hide yourself away after the loss of a love, allowing yourself to slowly descend into loneliness and despair. She knew that there were other loves to be had. Different loves, maybe, but loves none-the-less.
I truly believe that Granny is right. Just because one guy didn’t work out, that doesn’t mean the next one won’t. Just don’t get so hung up on your last love that you aren’t open to receiving your next one. That’s the key. Cuz you just never know who might be right around the corner, a bull’s eye on his heart, and Cupid poised above his head. All it takes is little willingness to believe in the never-ending cycle of love.
Where many woman might have given up on finding love again at such a ripe old age (being single and 30 in those days was a fate worse than death for most women!), my Granny soldiered on. She never lost her faith in Cupid’s arrow, and wouldn’t you know it, it wasn’t long before she caught the eye of a recently widowed pharmacist. This guy, whom I came to know as Grandpa, was Prince Charming incarnate. So what if she had two kids already. He had three of his own! They married shortly after and lived happily for some thirty years until dear Grandpa died suddenly from an aneurism.
My family members were devastated by the loss of our beloved patriarch and, understandably, so was my Granny. But Cupid wasn’t done with her yet. He pointed his arrow at the heart of an older gentleman living down the street and before anyone could protest, they were shacking up seventies-style. Of course, he eventually made an honest woman of Granny. But, unfortunately, ill health claimed him shortly after their marriage.
Now, you might think that being up in years, having two husbands in the ground, and one bastard ex-husband floating around somewhere, that Granny might have felt like she’d gotten dealt a crap hand. But no. Granny quickly met and married yet another older man who’d fallen under her spell. And, yes, he’s still kicking after 14 years of marriage!
My Granny still keeps my Grandpa’s picture in a silver frame by her bed, and I know that he was her greatest love. But Granny was savvy enough to understand that you can’t just hide yourself away after the loss of a love, allowing yourself to slowly descend into loneliness and despair. She knew that there were other loves to be had. Different loves, maybe, but loves none-the-less.
I truly believe that Granny is right. Just because one guy didn’t work out, that doesn’t mean the next one won’t. Just don’t get so hung up on your last love that you aren’t open to receiving your next one. That’s the key. Cuz you just never know who might be right around the corner, a bull’s eye on his heart, and Cupid poised above his head. All it takes is little willingness to believe in the never-ending cycle of love.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Straight Up or With a Twist?
How do you like your sex? I mean when it comes to romance novels, of course! Are you one of those who loves to push the envelope? The kinkier the better? Or, do you prefer your sex scenes to be more sensual and less frank and graphic? Or, do you want to skip over the whole thing and just find out that the deed was done when the heroine tells her bestfriend, "we did it nine times" without even a peek behind the bedroom door?
Well, whatever your taste, you're in luck because there's something for every one. Personally, I hate having the bedroom door closed on me. To me, there's nothing worse! I'm gonna spend 300 pages with the heroine as she pursues her man, and then when she finally gets him in her bed, I don't get to see it? Come on! That's just cruel. But I guess there are those that want to leave that encounter to their imaginations. To hell with that!
So, here are a few links to some fab authors who will satisfy your desires be they erotica, erotic romance or sexy romance:
Eden Bradley - for those who like it rough (literary erotica)
Leigh Court - for those who crave the rakish Victorian hero (erotic romance)
HelenKay Dimon - for those who like to mix sex with humor (sexy romance)
Enjoy!
Well, whatever your taste, you're in luck because there's something for every one. Personally, I hate having the bedroom door closed on me. To me, there's nothing worse! I'm gonna spend 300 pages with the heroine as she pursues her man, and then when she finally gets him in her bed, I don't get to see it? Come on! That's just cruel. But I guess there are those that want to leave that encounter to their imaginations. To hell with that!
So, here are a few links to some fab authors who will satisfy your desires be they erotica, erotic romance or sexy romance:
Eden Bradley - for those who like it rough (literary erotica)
Leigh Court - for those who crave the rakish Victorian hero (erotic romance)
HelenKay Dimon - for those who like to mix sex with humor (sexy romance)
Enjoy!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Hair Gone Bad
If you've been reading this blog at all, you know I have two obsessions. Johnny Depp and hair. So, it makes perfect sense that this photo of Celine Dion stopped me in my tracks...
Ok. What is going on here? Her hair looks like it could make a nice home for a few woodland creatures. How is she even holding her head up? And look how tiny it makes her head appear. Yeah, she's taking chances all right! This is just wrong, wrong, wrong!
Ciao,
Lucie
Ok. What is going on here? Her hair looks like it could make a nice home for a few woodland creatures. How is she even holding her head up? And look how tiny it makes her head appear. Yeah, she's taking chances all right! This is just wrong, wrong, wrong!
Ciao,
Lucie
Friday, November 09, 2007
What's in a Name?
Apparently, not much! I must admit that I get hung up on certain ridiculous things about men, like how much hair a man has (he should have more growing on top of his head than in his ears, for instance) and a man's name. We have certain expectations of a person when it comes to his or her name. For instance, you can't meet a woman named Candi and not expect her to sweet and bubbly. Right?
So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked into a meeting I had scheduled with a man named Norman, expecting to find some old guy with grey hair and wrinkles staring back at me. And, actually, that's exactly what I saw. But the surprise was he wasn't Norman. Norman was the young guy sitting across from him. A young, CUTE guy! I almost did a double take when he introduced himself, I was so shocked. What on earth was his mother thinking when she named him? Did she not see Psycho? Cuz he was certainly born after Norman Bates made his big screen appearance. And, his last name was a little spooky, too. I won't repeat it here to protect his identity, but let's just say it's a word you might scream if you happen to see a mouse hiding in your kitchen cabinet.
Go figure!
Ciao,
Lucie
So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked into a meeting I had scheduled with a man named Norman, expecting to find some old guy with grey hair and wrinkles staring back at me. And, actually, that's exactly what I saw. But the surprise was he wasn't Norman. Norman was the young guy sitting across from him. A young, CUTE guy! I almost did a double take when he introduced himself, I was so shocked. What on earth was his mother thinking when she named him? Did she not see Psycho? Cuz he was certainly born after Norman Bates made his big screen appearance. And, his last name was a little spooky, too. I won't repeat it here to protect his identity, but let's just say it's a word you might scream if you happen to see a mouse hiding in your kitchen cabinet.
Go figure!
Ciao,
Lucie
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Being Cheap Versus Being Smart
I am lucky enough to have a job that pays me a rather healthy sum for my hard work (no joke), but in my past I’ve had plenty of crap jobs that barely paid enough to cover my rent, let alone travel, dinners out, martini bars, and designer shoes. And making the transition from being an underpaid, overworked cog to a rightly paid (notice I did not say overpaid!), overworked cog was not exactly easy. Even though my pay doubled in size, my anxiety about spending money didn’t shrink at a similar rate. I would be equally consumed by guilt for spending $3.65 on a chai latte or $75 on a silk scarf. So, when it came time for my first trip abroad, you know I chewed off quite a few nails trying to find a cheap flight, cheap hotel, cheap everything. But I quickly learned that being cheap doesn’t always mean being smart.
I managed to find a super cheap flight from LA to Paris and then from Venice back to LA. It was less than $700, at least $300 cheaper than any other flight. The catch? The return flight had a nine hour layover in Frankfurt. Not only that, but the flight from Venice left at 6am, meaning I had to have my butt and all my bags to the airport at 4am. So, on about three hours of sleep, I dragged my luggage through the watery walkways of Venice to the train station where I found a line of cabs waiting to take cheap suckers like me to the airport. Why was I a sucker? Because I could have taken a water taxi directly from my hotel to the airport. But, oh, that was too expensive! How much money did I save by walking to the train station and grabbing a land taxi there? Oh, about $10. I quickly came to learn that there are some things more valuable than money.
Time, for instance. Because I’d had so damn little sleep, when I finally arrived at the Frankfurt Airport, a 45 minute flight from Venice, I was so tired all I could think of was sleep. But sleeping in an airport with angry-looking guys carrying machine guns hovering over you and an assortment of travelers blowing cigarette smoke in every direction was a bit, uh, difficult. Not to mention the rows of hard plastic seats with built-in armrests that made it nearly impossible to stretch out. The lesson I learned there? Anything more than a two-hour layover isn’t worth the savings.
Not only is time often more valuable than money, sometimes you waste money, wasting time. I’m talking about valet parking in LA. It is often very difficult to find a parking spot in this town, and unless you want to spend fifteen minutes driving around the block looking for a parking spot, you use the valet service. But I know plenty of people who would rather drive six blocks out of the way to find a parking spot than pay a measly $3.50 to valet their car. (And yes, I have been known to commit the offense, too). Not only are they wasting their time, they’re wasting their money. Do they really need that $3.50 so badly? If so, they should stay home because driving around in circles for fifteen minutes is going to burn that much worth of gas in their pursuit for a “free” parking space.
Lastly, what is the big deal about splitting a meal down the middle? You know, you’re out with your girlfriends and you’ve all had a good time gabbing over plates of pasta, Greek salads and tiramisu. Then the bill comes and everyone starts picking out specifically what their plate cost. So, the pasta pomodoro cost $11.95 and the Greek Salad cost $7.95. Are you really going to squabble over a couple bucks? Now, I’m not saying that if your girlfriend drank three martinis at $9 a pop and you only had a glass of sparkling water that you should have to pay for her drinks, but come on, let’s be flexible here. Just find a reasonable figure and settle on it.
Let me be clear. I’m not about to pay $1,500 for a freaking purse or $3,000 for a first class seat on a four hour flight. I’m not rolling in so much dough that I can throw my money away. But there are times when you just need to look at the big picture. What, exactly, are you saving? A trivial $3.50 on valet parking? A mere $300 on a flight with a hellacious layover. A pitiful $4.00 on dinner? Get over yourself.
Be smart, not cheap!
I managed to find a super cheap flight from LA to Paris and then from Venice back to LA. It was less than $700, at least $300 cheaper than any other flight. The catch? The return flight had a nine hour layover in Frankfurt. Not only that, but the flight from Venice left at 6am, meaning I had to have my butt and all my bags to the airport at 4am. So, on about three hours of sleep, I dragged my luggage through the watery walkways of Venice to the train station where I found a line of cabs waiting to take cheap suckers like me to the airport. Why was I a sucker? Because I could have taken a water taxi directly from my hotel to the airport. But, oh, that was too expensive! How much money did I save by walking to the train station and grabbing a land taxi there? Oh, about $10. I quickly came to learn that there are some things more valuable than money.
Time, for instance. Because I’d had so damn little sleep, when I finally arrived at the Frankfurt Airport, a 45 minute flight from Venice, I was so tired all I could think of was sleep. But sleeping in an airport with angry-looking guys carrying machine guns hovering over you and an assortment of travelers blowing cigarette smoke in every direction was a bit, uh, difficult. Not to mention the rows of hard plastic seats with built-in armrests that made it nearly impossible to stretch out. The lesson I learned there? Anything more than a two-hour layover isn’t worth the savings.
Not only is time often more valuable than money, sometimes you waste money, wasting time. I’m talking about valet parking in LA. It is often very difficult to find a parking spot in this town, and unless you want to spend fifteen minutes driving around the block looking for a parking spot, you use the valet service. But I know plenty of people who would rather drive six blocks out of the way to find a parking spot than pay a measly $3.50 to valet their car. (And yes, I have been known to commit the offense, too). Not only are they wasting their time, they’re wasting their money. Do they really need that $3.50 so badly? If so, they should stay home because driving around in circles for fifteen minutes is going to burn that much worth of gas in their pursuit for a “free” parking space.
Lastly, what is the big deal about splitting a meal down the middle? You know, you’re out with your girlfriends and you’ve all had a good time gabbing over plates of pasta, Greek salads and tiramisu. Then the bill comes and everyone starts picking out specifically what their plate cost. So, the pasta pomodoro cost $11.95 and the Greek Salad cost $7.95. Are you really going to squabble over a couple bucks? Now, I’m not saying that if your girlfriend drank three martinis at $9 a pop and you only had a glass of sparkling water that you should have to pay for her drinks, but come on, let’s be flexible here. Just find a reasonable figure and settle on it.
Let me be clear. I’m not about to pay $1,500 for a freaking purse or $3,000 for a first class seat on a four hour flight. I’m not rolling in so much dough that I can throw my money away. But there are times when you just need to look at the big picture. What, exactly, are you saving? A trivial $3.50 on valet parking? A mere $300 on a flight with a hellacious layover. A pitiful $4.00 on dinner? Get over yourself.
Be smart, not cheap!
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Good Hair, Bad Day
So, even though my hair is looking particularly fab today, I feel like crap. I woke up at 3am from a bizarre nightmare in which I was sharing an apartment with my mother (horror of all horrors!) and my real-life neighbor (not so horrible, but odd none-the-less), and I couldn't get back to sleep. So, I came to work on about 4 hours of sleep. And then I had to drive to Diamond Bar (really out of the realm of my LA Life) to go to a business meeting. Even on a full night's sleep it would be a challenge not to fall asleep during that, but on a meager 4 hours? Puh-lease! I was straining just to keep my head upright. And forget about the 50 minute drive just to get there. If not for the incessant blathering of my nearly-retired co-worker, I'd have slammed the car into a guard rail and gone up in a ball of flames. Luckily, though, he was driving.
So, here I am, struggling to get through the next 2 hours without collapsing into a heap under my desk. But, oh, how I would love to close my office door, spread out on my floor and drift off into a sweet lullaby. My luck, though, I'd have some dreadful nightmare featuring a flesh eating virus or that all my teeth fell out.
But at least my hair looks good...
Ciao,
Lucie
So, here I am, struggling to get through the next 2 hours without collapsing into a heap under my desk. But, oh, how I would love to close my office door, spread out on my floor and drift off into a sweet lullaby. My luck, though, I'd have some dreadful nightmare featuring a flesh eating virus or that all my teeth fell out.
But at least my hair looks good...
Ciao,
Lucie
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