Brunette Confidential Returns

I've been completed a 10k run in Santa Monica, been to Las Vegas & back, had a "friend" visit from London, and meet a hot Toronto Police officer that is flying out to visit me in less than 10 days. Extremely busy as you might understand. Clients meeting this afternoon and my writing workload as well, Brunette Confidential will not be thrown to the wayside. This brunette is fierce (and sometimes a bit wicked) and posts will continue within the next three days or less. Thank you for those that have continued to check back. Now where is my magic lasso?

Friday Morning & Bagels

Friday, I woke in a poor mood. I was developing a mild head cold and I was sick of the lack of progress in my life. Essentially, I want a new life. Ever get like that?

Best cure for a bad attitude is a bagel. I went to my favorite hang-out and ordered the French toast bagel. I was in desperate need to feel better. I got a call from a woman that has the most amazing jewelry product (her stuff isn't patented yet & I can't give details) which I'm getting on Monday. My mood went up two notches! French toast arrived, my attitude was swinging up to touch the sky.

As though things couldn't get better, a well-built good looking guy sat down next to me. Actually, this was a guy that my sister has been teasing me about since the first time we had seen him a few weeks ago. He had sat down in our vicinity and my sister kept talking loudly about my being single. Anyhow, back to Friday, the bagel girl walked by and stopped to tell him that he had cream cheese spread across his right cheek. I glanced at him and he was at a lost for words. The bagel girl gave a girlish laugh and pranced off. I bet he was used to woman falling over him all the time. I decided to ignore him and get engaged with a short story rewrite that I had been working on. It worked.

"What are you studying?"

My mood did a complete 180. I felt much happier but a mild head cold was still in effect.

The conversation leapt out into several directions and we chatted it up until we were both done eating. I told him that I was a broke writer and he told me he had just had the worst two week of his life. What a connection! In the end this is how the whole deal closed, he said:

"I should give you my business card."

"Well, I need to sell some writing before I ever get a chance to buy a house."

I thought is this guy that ambitious to sell a house to a poor writer or was he just not use to having to play that boy role of asking a girl for a number. In any case, I don't want to date a guy who can't ask for my number directly and I don't chase boys. Okay, I have, and that was only a mistake on my part like the bartender because it has NEVER worked when I made the first move on a hombre.

"Maybe you have a house to sell. I'll give you my card."

I was at a lost for words. "Sure. I'll pass it on to other people. I need an ice tea refill."

He stood up and the bagel girl came out and started to flirt with him again. It was so cute to watch. I walked out of the bagel shop and I heard him say that he had to give me a business card . He ran out after me and told me his card was in car. He drove a white Infiniti. He pulled his card out.

"I don't have any of my good cards on me."

"That's fine. I don't need the good card."

That was it. Funny isn't it? I no idea what the dude was thinking but I'll tell you what I've thought about it.



Did you guess who that was? He's eating a bagel. Still can't quite tell? Here's a close-up of this bagel lover.



It's Stephen King and my bagel boy had been talking about him all morning to me. He told me that Stephen King had been living in a trailer home trying to make it. He threw out his first novel and his wife had pulled it out of the trash and well, the rest is history. Well, I flipped the business card over it had his cell phone on the card. I smiled at him and told him to have a beautiful day. I drove off feeling pretty good. I can't wait to run into him again at the bagel shop.

Mr. Right isn't for Me

A car collector and world travel whose genetics were ordered like Pierce Bronson, why wouldn't I be crazy for Mr. Right? A few factors to consider.

1. I found out that he graduated from high school in 1980 and I was only five.

2. He's a bad kisser.

Whoops! I think we hit the real reason! Unlike the tongue jam by the bartender, I can only describe that foretelling first kiss as feeling like I had a limp sea anemone sitting on my tongue!



No limp wet riders allowed!

In addition to the fatal first kiss, there were other aspects that this leering and perceptive brunette was able to entangle in her web. And this will be best expressed as:

Brunette Confidential Rule #4: Never trust an unmarried forty-something year old man that takes his date to a Moroccan Restaurant.

It may seem a far cry from reason but I have the evidence to back this BC Rule #4 up. Strangely in the last year, I have played with older men that have all taken me to a Moroccan-themed restaurant. Don't get me wrong. Moroccan food is amazing. Bellydancing is wonderful to watch. The low seating and lush fabrics hanging from the walls are seductive and cozy. But, I think most Moroccan-themed restaurants are operating on a fake sense of romanticism. Who would argue against me? Most of the other couples that I spied at the restaurant where filled with first and second dates. The posture of many of the men and women were too stiff for it to have been a month-long romance or even a special year-anniversary date. Maybe because it was a Tuesday night but, I certainly didn't see a single married couple at the establishment.

Or, it might be that unmarried forty year old men understand woman better. These men want to impress ladies, particularly younger ladies, by flashing a young and adventurous spirit. That night at the restaurant, Mr. Right kept his mind on stories. The problem was I was listening. It was at the serving of the second course that I knew it was our last date. He had dished up earlier in the date that he had taken a friend to the airport. The first round of mint tea was served and his story changed. He told me that he had spent the day by actually taking a friend to pick up a new car today (one of those impressive I've got loads of money and important friends stories. Okay, why does his story about how hew spent his day keep changing? As the fruits and sweets were served for dessert, Mr. Right slipped and told me about his last girlfriend. She had beena 28 year old emotional and financial wreak (if he only knew my story). He told me bought her a car that at some later date he hoped she would be able to repay. Clearly, he forget his fragmented story of what he had done that day when next he said that he took her to pick up her new car next to airport. Mind you, he didn't mention that he had done it today. He kind of slipped and said that the dealership was next to the airport. My brunette sensibilties put a few other details together and I realized that he had bought her the car today. Hey...It's great that he bought a car for a woman that he dated for only two months and he said he dumped for been crazy and instable. I don't think I'd buy a car for someone like that but, I'm not like everyone. However, what I didn't like was his indirect approach. Not a trust-worthy sort of fellow. Hello, just tell me that you spent your day buying a new car for your ex-girlfriend but, then I wouldn't be sitting with him at the Moroccan restaurant. Wait, why was I sitting with him at the Moroccan restaurant. Hmm...He had mentioned several times that he wanted to be like Pierce Bronson and now I was starting to get it.

The other turn off, as if there could be more, was something that struck me deeper than that. For the last year, I had dated and worked with forty-something men and I think I've learned something about that age group. They're fucked up. Okay. I couldn't resist! I'm no angel. What I mean is that these men are working hard to obtain material status symbols that truly don't mean anything when compared to the heart. These guys think it'll really get a great looking lady in bed. It might work for red heads or blondes, but not brunettes. Another aspect of the forty-year old single men is that they take an alpha male approach to dominating conversation, status, and women. They love to tell the stories of beating up all the other high school kids or talking about all the fancy porche cars that they once owned. None of it is interesting. Not even at a Moroccan restaurant where the lights are dim and mask the appearance of age.

Every new man is a gamble. I'll take a risk for the right one but so far its back to sweet spring nights under the gentle sounds of suburbia. As a star shoots across the night sky, I know what I'm wishing for.

My Date with Mr. Right

It happened so easily. Last Wednesday, I went for a 6.2 run. The route I take through lovely Orange County consists of passing through some of the finest homes built in the early sixties. However, I had several thoughts bouncing through my head that day that made me want to just give up on all my efforts at writing, finding love, et cetra... Maybe, I was just tired hitting that fifth mile but at that exact moment that I had those thoughts...I looked up.

Walking toward me was an old lady wearing a hot pink jogging suit. She smiled at me and I began that runners-etiquette-thing. As I went to do the wave, I noticed that she was pulling an oxygen tank behind her and she had clear plastic tubes hooked-up to her nose. Life had sent me a little message at the perfect moment. I smiled and waved at her as I ran past.

Instead of throwing away my life efforts, I went to the beach.





It was 84 degrees in Laguna Beach when I arrived shortly after noon. I wore an all white outfit in ode to my Italian travels of last summer. I stood at top of the steps that went down to the sand. For a moment, I took the time to survey the sand, the people, and the dolphins that were cresting in the ocean waves. It was an absolute perfect day. I was wearing my favorite pair of pink heels and I kicked my shoes to the sand one at a time. I noticed that two men standing in the volleyball court had stopped to watch me. Not that I was seeking that sort of attention, I was in Laguna for a day of vacation and perhaps it was my sheer joy at being there that was noticeable. As I walked down and picked up my shoes, these two volleyball players did that classic move where one guy throws the ball at his friend, friend misses, and ball rolls to girl. I kept walking and sidestepped the entire situation.

Four hours later, I had nearly finished a book and I had a tan. I packed my things up and I headed back to my car. The light had turned red and as I was waiting for the light to turn green, a man that was standing next to me said that I was wearing the most beautiful beach outfit he had ever seen. I thanked him and smiled because he was handsome. He walked me to my car and got the digits.

He called the next day and we made arrangements to meet at Dietrich coffeehouse at sunset.

The Date with Mr. Right

What girl isn't aware of Pick-up Artists and Newport/Laguna Beach Sharks? I had dated them before and our date almost started on the wrong foot when I thought he had suggested that we meet at his home for drinks. I went to a gas station before I was even in the area to confirm that this wasn't the case. He was either good on the fly or I had made a mistake. My mix-up was partially due to the fact that he owns four condos behind the Dietrich coffeehouse. I wasn't certain if he lived there or not. I later learned that he lives in a house on the hill. After correcting the mix-up, we met. He was better looking and younger than I remembered him. At 6'2, chiseled masculine features, athletic body, and successful entrepreneur, Mr. Right was fit to walk inside the pages of a Danielle Steel novel.


He had a beautiful picnic basket in tow. We walked across the street, where we had met, and we found a spot where we could watch the sunset and the moon rise. He spread a blanket (I couldn't not help but think how many other girls he had done this with) and I watched him set down plates of slice d'anjou pears, granny smith apples, brie and extra-aged white cheddar cheese with olive oil crackers. In addition to that, he handed me two crystal flutes. He pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and the cork went flying toward the ocean.



He told me about his many adventures and mishaps caused by traveling the world. He had just refurbished an Airsteam and sent it to Germany, that week, for his next set of adventures. Now, he had told me about the Airstream on both the day that I met him and on our first date. He was quite proud to boost that refurbishing the upholstery had used 7 cows worth of leather and that there was flat screen TV, which had been 32 inches on the day that I met him and on our date was downgraded to 26 inches-hmm...These are the sort of details that a smart brunette will most certainly notice. Actually, he spent too much time talking about money and travel stories, which in my book is never fun. I didn't like how much he was trying to impress me. Hadn't he read Neil Strauss? Forget, The Game, nobody likes to hear people talk about money and business. It's in complete bad taste and it might also indicate a wee-bit of fabrication. My wealthy friends never speak of their bank accounts or their property holdings. However, I've come up with a new theory. Men talking about possessions and income on a first date is a characteristic of men. I called a male friend of my up and tossed the idea at him. He thought it was just a chracteristic of Orange County men. I still have more research to do before declaring anything.

I hadn't had anything to drink since Fat Tuesday. I didn't want him to get the wrong impression about me being a religious fanactic but, I gave up cussing and drinking for Lent. Not that I'm catholic, I like the idea of purging vices once a year. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to give up cussing, the world is to abundant with idiots on freeways, but I hadn't had a drop of drink for over 35 days. I did have two glasses of champagne and I made Mr. Right drink the rest. We packed up the picnic and we jumped in his classic Range Rover for a drive to one of his favorite bars and sushi restaurant.

Now the thing is, he brought me into the bar so that I could meet one of his friends. Afterward when I was retelling the story of my date, I recognized the guy as being the dude on the volleyball court that had kicked the ball to his friend who "accidentially" let it roll to me. Kinda of strange. Had Mr. Right been waiting for me to leave the beach? Hmm...My memory is a bit foggy from when I walked onto the beach but I swear it was Mr. Right that had been on that volleyball court that day. Actually, he told me that he is an avid volleyball player and that he plays with pro-volleyball players at that Laguna Court all the time. The only mystery to me is: Did he wait for me to leave to the beach that day? Or, did life present a moment in which two strangers would meet at a street intersection?

I'm brunette. That's for certain. After having sushi and drinks on the beach, our date ended with Mr. Right asking me if I had ever been near death. (Kinda freaky, but again, like how we crossed that street on wednesday, it felt natural and not forced-perhaps he's just a master PUA). I told him two stories which I'll leave to your imagination now. He gave me a hug and I kissed him on the cheek. He told me that he taking the left-over sushi and cheese to give to one of the few Laguna Beach homeless.

He was perfect in every way. Tall, dark, and handsome. Worldy, wealthy, and sensitive. Who is this guy? And what does he really have up his sleeve? I have a few of my own ideas.

Secrets of Attraction

I like to read books. I like long walks in loud cities. Driving in the countryside is wonderful, too. No, this isn't an eHarmony ad. This is a post on Attraction and attraction is not always of the flesh.



The birds and the bees are in full blossom this April. The world has turned once again. One of my favorite drives is on a the orange county toll road known as the 241. The sloping hills have got fire with the spring wild flowers. Driving along, I catch myself being memorized by vistas of green hills and low white clouds that are harmless as the hawks soaring in the blue sky. I can't help but know that when I close my eyes that these are the sorts of places I image. These ancient sand dunes now covered by California chaparral are glistening with the sort of peace I only dream of ever obtaining. Once, the road turns and the sky is clear, in the distance, the island known as Catalina, appears to just float from the shoreline. It's then that I know the drive is almost over. I'll have to wait for another day to pass before driving it again. I have real attraction to these landscapes. I know that my time with this place is limited, however, the city of orange has cut down the 22,000 acres of wild land to 5,000. Over 14,000 homes are expected to be built on this land and that includes residential skyscrapers. When I think of the future, I wonder how reasoned is civilization? Once those homes are laid, the landscape and the history of those sand dunes will be lost forever. Future generations will not be able to understand the beauty that the native Indians had once thrived in nor will they be able to image how California looked without the cars, the track homes, and the fast food restaurants. I've seen it all be lost to the entrepreneurial spirit of the Irvine Corporation. Limited time makes the heart grow fonder.



The sexist book is that of Boccaccio Decameron . In its Canterbury Tale-esque narrative structure, 12 people have traveled to an inn to tell stories in order to escape the plague. The Italian story narrates some of the most attractive stories translated to English. While some maintain the pleasure of Playboy, I'll stand by the Decameron as one of the hottest books written. If there ever were secrets to attraction, I'm certain that they are written in this book.

Frankfurt to Florence

Get this video and more at Brunette Confidential Films

April

April is the fourth month of the year in the Gregorian Calendar and one of four with the length of 30 days.

April begins (astrologically) with the sun in the sign of Aries and ends in the sign of Taurus. Astronomically speaking, the sun begins in the constellation of Pisces and ends in the constellation of Aries.

The derivation of the name (Latin aprillis) is uncertain. The traditional etymology from the Latin aperire, "to open," in allusion to its being the season when trees and flowers begin to "open," is supported by comparison with the modern Greek use of ἁνοιξις (opening) for spring. Since all the Roman months were named in honour of divinities, and as April was sacred to Venus, the Festum Veneris et Fortunae Virilis being held on the first day, it has been suggested that Aprilis was originally her month Aphrilis, from her Greek name Aphrodite, or from the Etruscan name Apru. Jacob Grimm suggests the name of a hypothetical god or hero, Aper or Aprus.



The Anglo-Saxons called April Oster-monath or Eostur-monath, the period sacred to Eostre or Ostara, the pagan Saxon goddess of spring, from whose name is derived the modern Easter. St George's day is the twenty-third of the month; and St Mark's Eve, with its superstition that the ghosts of those who are doomed to die within the year will be seen to pass into the church, falls on the twenty-fourth. In China the symbolical ploughing of the earth by the emperor and princes of the blood takes place in their third month, which frequently corresponds to our April; and in Japan the feast of Dolls is celebrated in the same month.



The "days of April" (journées d'avril) is a name appropriated in French history to a series of insurrections at Lyons, Paris and elsewhere, against the government of Louis Philippe in 1834, which led to violent repressive measures, and to a famous trial known as the procès d'avrill.



April was originally the second month of the Roman calendar and had 29 days. Julius Caesar's calendar reform in 45 BCE resulted in April having 30 days and becoming the fourth month, as the year now began in January.



Thanks to Wikipedia, Google, and various other websites & blogs for the information and pictures on this post.

Dance Foe Ever!

@3:34 after getting home from dancing with a rad brunette all night, I realized how much fun I can have without thinking about the past. Then, I check my email:

Friday, 31 March 2005

Email To: Miss Brunette
Email From: Mr. Never Was

Hey Yo,

My fiance is an art teacher who stole my heart. I met her on Halloween when I
walked up to her and said "you totally want to make out with me"; She
pretended not to but of course she really did want to. We took a trip to
Vegas and did the nasty back in December and a baby decided it wanted us to
be parents so that's what we shall be.

With the arrival of the baby I think we'll stay in Funkytown for the next
couple years at least. I love other places in the world but with all the
friends and fam in this city, Chicago is home.

Life sucks sometimes no matter where you are and what's going on. (wow, that
was random)

What are you doing losing weight? Just don't loose that ass. It's an
ASSet.

So you're enrolled at UCLA. Crazy,,,, Um you may already know this but your ex-boyfriend, Mr. Last Significant, should be enrolled there some time this year. How's that for finding Mr Right?

(I have to interrupt to pinpoint that my Mr. Right isn't my ex! I think it was this hot guy that was a rad dancer who's name I've almost forgotten...Almost. I'll forget it when he doesn't call back. Right, back to the email.)

Anyhow, hope all is well, keep me posted. I'm used to writing 2 paragraph
emails at most but why? It's strange that now that humankind can so easily
communicate we choose to keep it so brief. Hmmm?

cheers
Mr. Never Was


There you have it in a nutshell. I'm not as depressed about being single or thinking I've lost anything (just like Julia Roberts). Life certainly has it own plan (its wondrous how the past peeks its head into the present in strange ways). However, now I'm upset that there was an unspoken promise that the West Coast is my home & not that of an ex who has been living in NYC attempting that same-old painter gig! Traitor! What's more. I googled my ex's name & I read an interview which is about how he has taken a break from the old fine art painting gig & has written a novel that he has turned into a screenplay which he will direct if it ever becomes anything. I'm not lying to you. Double traitor! I would throw a temper tantrum, maybe I have, but I think I'm going to sink into bed with my lovely little pup & reminiscent about something a bit more recent, like my evening of dancing. Oh, the life! I really wish you could have been there, my lovely secret agents, to have seen this guy. Dana Point is killer.

Nite!

Miss Brunette

Congratulations, Mr. Never Was!

Friday, 31 March 2006

Email To: Miss Brunette
Email From: Mr. Never Was


I'm sure you heard by now, I'm engaged and getting married....scary....quite
a world away from where I was in life just a couple months ago.

Anyhow, what's happening in your world? Are you pregnant yet? If not what
are you waiting for?

Cheers,
Mr. Never Was

_______________________________________

After a lunch of ice tea and clam chowder (friday is always clam chowder day), I clicked my inbox open and read the above message. Mr. Never Was, now that's a story...

At the start of my relationship with Mr. Never Was, he introduced me to the photography studio where I began work as a stylist. And it was that job that gave me the opportunity to leave my last significant partner. After the passing of a few years, Mr. Never Was admitted to me that he had set my interview at the studio just so I would leave my then boyfriend and, as he put it, he could go out with me.

It's remarkable how a hot shower one day can open up thoughts of people from the past and the next day receive an email from someone that was directly involved with old affairs. It almost makes me want to not think beyond this exact moment. But, Mr. Never Was had always been my mr. maybe. We've had countless drunken nights where we passed out under freeways and kissed each other when we thought the other was passed-out. But, despite those fun and childish encounters, we just weren't made for each other.

Mr. Never Was has always been kind and cruel to me, like that email. He's done my laundry and brought me food when I was too sick to leave my apartment. I've let him borrow my car to impress a date that I knew was the wrong girl for him. He'd threatened to beat up guys that hit on me at bars because he said he didn't like'em-problem was I did. One of the more iconic memories I'll have of him was an evening where we attended a performance titled "Addictions." The house was standing room only and there were several performance artists expressing ideas and concepts on Addiction. At a certain point, one of the artists asked the audience what they were addicted to. Mr. Never Was, raised a hand and stood up, the room turned to him. He took his hat off and said that he was addicted to loving me. I'll never forget the way my cheeks blushed and he stood and the room watched. So on and so on the stories have unfolded between us and and who I always believed was my mr. maybe was only a mess of affairs and unhappy frustrations. It was good for me to leave the city and to leave him. Though we were never together, we had always been intimately close.

The effects of of his email on this brunette heart was the stuff of an English romantic comedy. Or maybe I'm like Julia Roberts in My Best-Friend's Wedding. In any case, I found myself quite unhappy. My best friend in Chicago had just married and it was because I had set her up on a date that she met Mr. Right. Not that I had anything to do with them discovering love for another, I was just Cupid-like in shooting arrows & inviting them back to my place where I promptly went to sleep & they promptly made out on my couch. Alas, if I didn't feel damn sorry for myself being alone & all, I might not have been so upset when I read the email from Mr. Never Was.

Marriages are great events in which to celebrate love & feel sorry for yourself in the same beat. Now that almost all of my friends seem to be headed on paths of bliss, I going to spend my evening boxing at the gym, steaming in the sauna, and driving down to the Hennessey Bar & Grill in Dana Point. Though I have a personal resolution to not drink until Easter, I'll mix it up with a sexy outfit, a glass of cranberry juice, and hair divine enough so that I can flirt with all the boys and I won't have to worry about anyone threatening to beat them up. Now, I know better than to think that I'll meet Mr. Right, I do know that I aim to have fun and dance my worries away. I won't let a tear drop for feeling sad for myself because I certainly have no idea where the road goes...

Actual Love

Showers are such a wonderful moment in the day to rinse away the worries of sleep. Last night, I had terrible dreams about old men chasing me around & trying to capture me. Yuck! Dreaming of smelly old men telling me that they like my hair isn't exactly a night with Fabio. But, as I stood in the shower for an extra round of shampoo, I knew exactly what had caused it.

Yesterday, in a spring time effort to be fertile with ideas, responsible in actions, and hopefully in my career & business, I sent emails to former clients updating them on what I had been doing. At promptly three minutes after I sent an email to one particular male and older client (48 years of age isn't old in my book but this guy isn't Fabio), I got a response. My relationship with, as I shall call him from this point on, Mr. Ego, has been a tentative battle between work and dealing with his flirtations. I've invented boyfriends, should have told him I had girlfriends, and I even crept to the lowest of places by constantly being "sick" just to avoid him. But when the pressure is constantly having Mr. Ego want to ride you, well, all is fair. Mr. Ego isn't capable of understanding the word NO!

At the heart of our relationship, my writing and design services were selected by Mr. Ego in order to help him (this won't be a surprise) write his life memoir. I provided research, interviews, book structure, and _______________(list all the things that a book needs except the actual writing). Mr. Ego wanted the kudos of telling people that he had written the book, which he did, and I'm quite proud of having coached him well enough to get the first draft complete. Yet, it wasn't the work that was ever the problem, it was all the other moments in which he tried to woe or buy my affections. My family detested his constant advances. A real boyfriend that stepped into the picture for a moment wanted me to sue him for harassment. My friends wanted me to drop him as a client. Never the less, I got the first draft completed and I had other engagements to pursue.

Ten months later and since the start of the year, Mr. Ego has been leaving me messages about he looks like a new person since he lost his gut from spin classes and that he had written "awesome" new pages for the second draft of the book. Sickness, I swear it was the truth, and other projects had been preventing me from meeting with him. In the email I sent yesterday, I asked him to send the pages for a quick and gratis-free read. Then I read his email that stated he didn't want to email the pages because he really wanted to meet with me first. As Brunette as I am, I understand that if I meet him for lunch its not to read thirty pages at the table. Cough-Cough-excuse me, I'll can't make it.

I use Enjoy Conditioner this morning in my hair. I needed to hydrate my locks. As I stood there like a Matisse bather poised and staring into space, my thoughts kept bubbling.

My memory went back to the last significant relationship I had which was in Chicago. It was in the spring of 2003 that we went to the Esquire movie theater, on Oak Street. It's a spectacular movie theater because of the thousands of little yellow light bulbs that twinkle under the marquee. Stepping out of a movie from the Esquire feels like you've stepped into a new film. Oak street feels like a reproduction of some small brownstone street in New York. It keeps the movie buzz going. However, that night, some three years ago, we were watching Love Actually on the silver screen. The components of the film were at the point just the stuff of romantic comedies and dramas. Many people just didn't like the film.


Love Actually pitches its story line like this:

General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed-but I don't see that-seems to me that love is everywhere. Love actually is all around.

I was a great message for the 2003 holiday season. Yet, for me I knew that I actually wasn't in love with the man sitting next to me. Maybe it was because Hugh Grant was president or a writer fell in love with a woman he couldn't speak with, I realized I didn't love my boyfriend like I knew I should. The vibe wasn't there for me and it hadn't been there for the passing of nearly a year. Old habits die hard.

Before I just start sounding like a bitter and reminiscent Brunette, forgive me. But perhaps there is reason to my madness. In the web-like nature of relationships that people form, I'm always amazed by how people reach out for another or the grounds for reaching out to meet new people. Sometimes the grounds for meeting people are built on motivations like lust or need. Like an older man hitting on a younger woman or a younger woman hitting on an older man, the delicate web between the couple has a questionable underpinning, is it love or is it need? If I were more like certain Jane Austen characters, I might think that I should just marry the wealthier older man and be set for the rest of my life. Wrong. I just can't be force to be with people that I'm not in love with.

What then is love? I heard a man once describe to a group of people that love is like the arrival of a baby. It's brought from out of the mystery of life and it just is. Love at first sight is actual love, he said. Love isn't something that can be forced into existence. It has to be constantly fed and cradled. And it should begin with the gaze of one lover to another. I think that Lovers can feel instantly the territory that they are about to cross into when they lay eyes on another for the first time. I didn't need a man or a movie to point that out to me. Yet in all my nightmares and disappointments, I think that's how it should be. I just hate it when people are confused by lust or need and they attempt to force things into existence.

All of these thoughts were came and went as quick as the shampoo and conditioner of my hair. A momentary stop into the meaning of life. Now I had to face the day.

Sex & German Architects

Pam Anderson may be leaving the west coast for Las Vegas but, this girl is staying put. Since my own relocation to the land of sunshine and plenty, I've become a home tour afficiado. I have no specific plan that helps me learn about these jaunts into the private homes of the elite, I just have a wayfarer's sense of direction for these matters.

Last Sunday, I found a post on a blog about a rare viewing of the R.M. Schindler's Mackay Apartments (and yep, Schindler's German). It was being sponsored by the Mak foundation and the raison d'etre was that a group of German architects that had been invited to stay for the year and they had just received their eviction notice. Okay, it was suppose to be more jubilant than that. These architects were having an art open house to showcase their work which in my experience from my days in Chicago only meant disaster.

Sunday was a sort of day that memories are built upon. Los Angeles looked magnificent as a dense veil of black storm clouds circled the back of the city and kept to the hills. The sunlight streaming through the clouds seized on every reflective surface and marble clad building in the skyline. Riding the 110 freeway toward the 10 was made like a drive into thoughts I had lost inside an old drawer. I haven't seen the city quite as beautiful as it looked that day.

I found the house tucked inside the mid-wilshire district. It was set back from the street and protected by a thick hedge. The modernistic sensibility was present immediately. Amidst the geometry of the street, the house, and the landscaping, there was a desolate element in the landscape which may have been just the impending storm overhead. There were no signs posted for a joyous open house nor left over party cups from last night's gala. It was just a breeze passing down the street and me. Until I looked up to the balcony and saw a man in a blue crew neck sweater smoking a cigarette and staring at me. He took a sip of his coffee and I watched him adjust his black frame glass that were a notorious badge of any art crowd. I felt home immediately and so I yell at him:

"Can I come inside?"

He told me to open the door.

Inside the house, I was alone. Only the ghost of Schindler was tracing the walls in his voodoo like pattern of rectangles and squares, intimate spaces and quiet rooms. Lingering inside the house, it wasn't difficult to feel a sense of disconnection between the home and the German architects. Only the faces and the tongues of another made home. I kicked an English dictionary and wondered if anyone but me had come to this art open house affair.

Left alone to wander corridors and rooms, I found little to experience other than the architecture. It would have been a fine home for anyone that the real opportunity to live inside it. The floors needed children and families, not experiments in living. I came to this decision because there was no remnants of living, showcases of work, nor the signs of life typical to even a college dorm move out . I wondered what these architects had done for the last year. I could see trips to the near-by Carl's Jr., drinks on the roof top, and maybe a night or two at some famous place like the House of Blues. Then I found this door.



I found the man that had been watching me from the balcony. He was sitting on the floor watching a projection on the window curtain of a desert. He watched me walk into the room and he spoke German to some one other than me. I went to a table that had a large ballot box and several neatly fanned-out entry forms. A blond hair man rushed to me with a pen.

"This is real." he said to me and his eyes were the color of the sky.

"I know its real."

"It's real." he said back. I wasn't certain if he felt as if his German was failing him or his ability to convince me. I smiled at him.

"Complete the form because this will happen."

I laughed because he was so desperate to let me know that the room was real and the project of some building in Las Vegas was real. Everything is real. My dreams are real. The light from the projector and the light from the window is all real. I took the pen from his hand and told him I would fill out the form.

The questionnaire

The Heidi Fleiss Dude Ranch Project

We have been selected as architects to build the first dude ranch for women.

1. What room would you most like to have sex in? For example, Water Room, Air Room, Fire Room (Please select from the presentation boards)

2. Would you prefer to select a male before entering the ranch or would you prefer to mingle in the bar and wait room to select a male. Please describe your thoughts.

3. Would you like better:

a) A romantic encounter (candle light dinner, roses, soft music, boyfriend like experience)

or

b) an expedited experience

3. What other services would you like to have at the ranch? For example, Spa Services, Massage, Horseback riding, Culinary classes, et cetra...

4. How old are you?

5. Would you visit? Please leave your name, email, and phone number so that you may be reached in the future.

I could feel the two men in the room staring at me as I wrote my answers down using the black sharpie. The letters feather and bled on page. My writing looked crazed. The blond man left the apartment. He didn't say anything to anyone. He just left. I turned to the presentation boards to study the images.

The rooms were beautiful designs of water panel walls, soft beds, and hidden fireplaces. There was honest beauty in the drawings and the aching desire to be treated as a real project.

"We spend all of our time on this." the man that had been sitting on the floor was looking at my calves as he spoke to me. Embroidered on my leg was the flight of the phoenix. I adjusted my weight in my pink heels.

"I heard about this project on NPR. Do you know what that is? NPR?"

He didn't respond and it was my cue to speak and so I told him about the radio report concerning the first brothel for women. It had been one of those radio reports that caught your attention between stock prices and stories of war. It was the first time that I had heard of Heidi Fleiss being involved or these German architects living rent free inside the Schindler apartments working on a commission to build the ranch. It was real after all.

Before I left, I thought the man had wanted to tell me something. I could feel the breeze from the street pushing inside the house seducing me to leave. I had enough of the silence and watching dust float in beautiful rooms. I looked to the man. He stood up from the floor to walk me to the door. I liked his eyes.

"It's just a question of money." I looked at him and gave him my questionnaire. He folded the paper inside his pocket. He took his hand and ran it threw his hair. We were suspended like a photograph. Lost like images of the city before a rainstorm or a desert where nothing exists.

There are too many moments in life in which priceless things are lost. I'll remember his dark hair most of all.

I've lost my jump rope!

I went to the gym yesterday & had a fun jolly old time skipping rope to the killers. 20 something minutes later and I'm exhausted! Wow! I'm glowing-what a super cool workout! I walk straight out of the gym & leave my jump rope. Duh?! I just know some work-out bandit has taken it & I'll never see it again! Clearly, a lost jump rope poster & reward is in the works. If any one spots my jump rope, please contact me immediately.

No, I haven't wandered off to Italy to take pictures of the Brangelina Wedding!

Okay, I wouldn't mind the job. But, I think I would end up with zero shots of the famed couple. More important, does any one care? Okay, this beautiful house, owned by the famed Mr. George Clooney, would be a great place to chill out. Whoops? Did you say George was on the balcony wearing only briefs? I wouldn't know because I'm checking out 15 different kinds of gelatto ice cream-wait!!!!George Clooney on the balcony in briefs-Where's my camera?

First Draft of Novel Complete!

Hand written in two moleskine notebooks, I have finished my newest novel at 330 pages.

Q & A

Where have the Notebooks have been?
The notebooks have been with through two jobs (design firm & the other big money ticket job-don't ask-I'm not telling you where t I strip-joking, alright!). The black moleskine notebooks played a significant role as I rode the Orange Country Metro & Transit line (majority of pages written on the 7:00am train to San Juan Capistrano). Actually, the notebooks traveled with me constantly. I meant to finish the book at the start of February but illness kept me from thinking clearly (I'm not Marcel Proust).

Where happens to the Notebooks now?
As soon as I complete the first draft on my computer, I'm burning the hand written notebooks. There will never be a reason to have any one witness my madness first hand.

Hey, what's the novel about?
I'll tell you when I'm done.

What are you going to do next?
The second draft will be more akin to a first draft. When I finished the book today, I hit an important psychological milestone: The first draft. Like finishing my first novel (unpublished and hidden in a storage unit), I felt ecstatic about just completing the novel. Today, however, I feel the burden of this novel and its work ahead of me. I can visualize the book complete and I understand the work that needs to be done to get it to the tier of writing that I expect of myself. First thing on the list of what I'm doing next so to pray for the patience and the stamina that I'll need to complete a true working draft.

In conjunction to finishing the next draft, I am drafting the query letter for the book. It provides a great means of focusing the work.



Okay, I'm taking a night off to watch a movie. I hope its good.

March Book List: Detox

While a decent brunette or any lady-like princess would never tell too many drunken tales of swallowing countless Jaeger bombs or the tales of narrowly escaping the flea-bags that paid for them, I'd like to hand it to a simple concept that can turn evenings into pleasant thoughts and events. Oh, don't yawn yet. If more individuals attempted to limit their intake of coffee, booze, and/or other bad habits, then we might live in a more content and peaceful world (or we might all implode-hmmm...). Okay, I'll get to the point.

First there is Fat Tuesday, in which red bulls and vodka are pitched into martini glasses and women walk around wearing next to nothing or in other parts of the country it means drinks are served with Mardi Gras beads, take it as you like but Fat Tuesday has its deep spiritual roots in Christianity. Up next to bat, Ash Wednesday, Lent, purge yourself of sin for 40 days and nights. Not that reporters stick around the French quarter or take their recorders to T.G.I.F. to interview those drinking Hurricanes at midnight on Lent. The ancient tradition of fasting and sacrifice has never been an exciting subject for most. Yet, check this Brunette out, who in the midst of the race to the end.

Detox the mind, body, and soul. Let the chemicals and the substances that typically rule your life kick to the wayside. In my own quest for purification, I've made my journey a battle to not cuss and drink. 40 days and nights seems an eternity when you get cut off on the 405 freeway. During the first week, I stopped drinking. Not that I drink too much as it is, but since I was cut off from the joy of toxins, I found that I need something bad. What ever could that be? It turned out that despite all my kickboxing, yoga classes, and jaunts to the health club, I actually smoked a total of 5 cigarettes in the first week of Lent. I never smoke. So, I have added the additional item to my list: Smoking. No cheating, ladies and gentleman!

Detox doesn't have to work on a Christian calendar as any trip to the bookstore will point out. The health fads and our culture of beauty and perfection does indeed promote the concept of an annual detox. In this girl's opinion, March is that month between the forgotten New Year's resolutions and the desire to look good in a bathing suit for summer. Those that will be wearing the two piece suit and that will look hot on the sand won't be jumping to the gym at the last minute in order to get in shape. March is the time to rid yourself of built-up toxins and purify yourself. The March Book List is a compilation of worthy titles that can lead you on the path of healthy detoxification. One movie graces the list by genius Todd Haynes that will prevent you from going to the detox extreme.

Take care of your bodies and most likely you'll have some lovely little hottie wanting to take care of you (no promises if you ask the hot boy on the beach to rub suntan lotion on your back, that he will or that he is even straight). The March Book List Please:



Detox Solutions

Detox Solutions: 14 Plans to Detox Your Life
FROM THE PUBLISHER
Modern living can be toxic to the human body--but these 14 tailor-made plans help combat the unhealthy effects of bad air, bad food, and bad habits. There are natural, easy-to-follow solutions for quitting smoking, increasing energy levels, reducing stress, busting the sugar habit, losing weight, and more. There's even a pre-party plan to help minimize the unpleasant side effects of occasional overindulgence, and one to handle a hangover. With simple and delicious recipes, thoroughly illustrated exercises, instructions for massage and other alternative therapies, and plenty of lifestyle tips, this guide has all the tools you need to look and feel your best.



Detox for Life: Purify Your Mind, Body, and Soul

Editorial Reviews
Book Description
Be kind to yourself, get rid of bad energy, overcome damaging habits, and purify your mind, body & soul. In this rejuvenate book, author Josephine Collins provides authoritative information and sensible advice that will help you make the wisest choices for improving your entire well-being-from the way you think to the way you look and feel.
Each of the four sections in Detox for Life-Mind, Body, Relationships and Space-takes a straightforward approach to helping us release the stresses of modern living. Each section includes a choice of flexible, step-by-step detox programs, encouraging the reader to follow at their own pace. You devise a program tailored to your own lifestyle, one that you can easily follow and which will benefit you all the more.

Informative charts, easy exercises, self-help questionnaires, and simple meditations make Detox for Life a book to treasure and return to. Josephine Collins' method encourages you to maintain balance and harmony and above all being gentle with yourself.



The Detox Cookbook: Cleansing for Food Lovers

The Detox Cookbook: Cleansing for Food Lovers
FROM THE PUBLISHER
Whether looking for a regular detox regime or just getting back on track after a period of indulgence, the health-conscious will gain energy, lose weight, cleanse their livers, and feel fantastic with the help of this collection of mouth-watering recipes. Brilliant color photography illustrates these fresh, healthy meals.

Safe (1995)

BC Remark: One of my favorite movies that also features the architecture of Richard Neutra!

Plot Summary
Genres: Thriller, Drama
Tagline: In the 21st century nobody will be...Safe.
Plot Synopsis: Safe has been described as a "horror movie of the soul", a description that director Todd Haynes relishes. California housewife Carol White seems to have it all in life: a wealthy husband and a beautiful house. The only thing she lacks is a strong personality: Carol seems timid and empty during all of her interactions with the world around her. At the beginning of the film, one would consider her to be more safe in life than just about anyone. That doesn't turn out to be the case. Starting with headaches and leading to a grand mal seizure, Carol becomes more and more sick, claiming that she's become sensitive to the common toxins in today's world: exhaust, fumes, aerosol spray. She pulls back from the sexual advances of her husband, and spends her nights alone by the TV, or wandering around the outside of her well-protected home like an animal in a cage. Her physician examines her, and can find nothing wrong. An allergist finds that she has an allergic reaction to milk, but explains that there is no treatment for that sort of allergic reaction. She sees a psychiatrist, who does nothing but make her nervous. In the hospital, Carol sees an infomercial for Wrenwood, a new-age retreat for those who are "environmentally ill", and leaves her husband and stepson to try and find salvation at this retreat: headed by a phony, grandstanding "sensitive individual" named Peter Dunning.



Detox in a Box

BC Remarks: I love things in a box!

Editorial Reviews
Book Description
The Detox Box, created by holistic physician Mark Hyman, M.D., gives you everything you need to complete a safe, effective, and medically informed detoxification program at home. Designed for total cleansing to remove toxins and allergens, boost immunity, and restore energy levels, The Detox Box includes:
• A 64-page book explaining the science of detoxification, including specific instructions for 7-, 14-, and 21-day detoxification programs. A convenient record-keeping section helps you track your progress.

• Two assessment questionnaires help you gauge your levels of exposure and customize your program.

• Two CDs: Disc one explains how you can aid the body in detoxifying from pesticides, air pollution, and impurities in our water; Disc two leads you through three 20-minute yoga sequences designed to support the process.

• 70 flash cards make it easy to follow—and stick with—every step of the program, before, during, and after. Contains detailed information on diet, supplements, and inner cleansing practices. Includes preparation checklists, daily schedules, shopping lists, important tips on completing the program, and more.

From the Publisher
This integrative learning kit is based on the same program Dr. Hyman uses with his clients at Canyon Ranch in the Berkshires Health Resort in Lenox, Massachusetts.

Drink more water and search for the good life with Brunette Confidential. This was brought to by an agent looking to serve the people.

March Hero: The Garden Project

In keeping faith to promoting charities, I've discovered a program that believes not only in the worth of cultivating the earth but in cultivating the spirit. Located in San Francisco, The Garden Project began in 1982 as the project of Cathrine Sneed whom established a work program for prisoners and the poverty stricken. She combined the efforts of several individuals to "transform the abandoned buildings and fields into a farm that would grow organic vegetables for homeless shelters and soup kitchens – a job training program that used horticulture as a metaphor for personal growth, while benefiting poor communities."

The fruits of her labor also produced receipes for the table. Originally published in Sunset Magazine, her lentil soup is legendary. Let this receipe inspire you to click over to the website and receive more information or perhaps, through the Brunette Confidential monthly community hero charity list, others might strive to begin organizations and charities that lead to a greater good for our cities, our homes, and our spirit.

CATHRINE SNEED’S LENTIL SOUP
Serves 8 - 10


1 pound (2 cups) lentils
6 cups chicken or vegetable broth
2 tablespoons cumin seed
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 head green cabbage (1 lb) shredded
6-8 leaves curly kale (optional)
6 carrots (about 1 lb) peeled and sliced
2 firm ripe tomatoes
6-8 green onions
Salt


Sort lentils and discard debris. Rinse lentils and put into 6-8 quart pan. Add 4 cups water, broth, cumin seed, olive oil, cabbage, kale, carrots, and tomatoes.
Bring to a boil over high heat, then cover and simmer gently, stirring until vegetables are soft and blended, about 1 hr. Trim ends from onions and chop. Ladle soup into bowls, add onions, and season to taste with salt.

Kissing

Monday night there was rain falling on the homes and heads of hundreds of thousands of Southern California residents. What bliss so many of us found that dared to venture in our cars in search of adventure! My own beacon of light guided me with my best-friend to have drinks at Ocean 33 in Mission Viejo. A lovely old-Chicago styled sort of bar complete with a murals of artists and working class people. Of course in our conversations the talk of love, fate, crushes, and lust would fall over the calamari and spinach dip but, that wasn't as important as the fact that the bar closed at 9:00PM and we were in need of a new watering hole.



Suffice it to say, that we took through the rain and made it to the bar where I indeed have my secret little crush on a certain bartender. I wasn't lying to you when I said that his black hair and blue eyes had me enchanted in a few posts back. However, the wisest girls know better than to ever allow a crush to be more than that. Let me explain, to save a bit of heart ache, don't fall for a guy until you have real ground on which to land. Unlike most wise brunettes, I took a different path once I was served my second martini made by his truly. Bliss indeed! Rain and martinis, eye-candy and pink high-heels (which I actually broke on my quick jaunt to the restroom but I borrowed a stapler from a waitress and all was good)! My best-friend, indeed, my girl to the end, ran to my aid like a beach volleyball player setting up a spike at the net. In a few swift moves, my naughty friend played like Cupid and made the suggestion that the bartender drive me home. This didn't actually happen but it got his wheels turning and so he asked me if I'd like to have drinks with him after work. What girl would say no?



Exactly thirty minutes later and one beer too many, my heart-throb was sitting with me at some completely random dive bar. I couldn't have been in a better state of heaven. Though, the female bartender played the raunchy daisy duke girl part too well, perhaps attempting to shock "somebody like me" who didn't fit the bar stereotype of late twenties to god knows how old biker types with beards and bandanas. Yes, my little crush is a bad boy. The only time I've ever had a psychic tell me my fortunes was at the museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago for a summer solstice bash (a 24 hour drunken mad house of art, installations, loud music, carnival-like events and of course dancing-its no wonder they stopped putting it on). The woman whose name I want to say was Mystic Rose or Cloud read me a few cards and then looked up at me.

"Bad boys are not good for you, stay away." the psychic looked at me as if she had just wasted her breath, "Okay, your reading is done."

That was it. I can't seem to be able to stay away from bad boys. Despite how much this psychic's words linger at the back of my head, I can't stop being attracted to them. Bad boys are just a class of extremely sexy men and woe is my heart for it! So, back to being bayside at some biker alley of a bar, my bartender kept talking with me and I decided it was time for a game out front which was perfect timing because last call had just been yelled at the few remaining Monday night drinkers.

The night rain wasn't allowing for us to stand anywhere but under the canopy of an architectural firm. Since this post is about kissing and not about how to get the kiss, without putting my cards on the table, I used a wee-bit of my own physic thinking in order to get to that moment in which time slows down and the guy leans in for the kiss.

There we were kissing at almost 2:30am. At a certain moment, we were standing in the rain and I just knew some MTV music director would cut the scene by means of its sheer cliche worthy style. Kissing and style is truly what this brunette has wanting to get at in this post. I'm a firm believer that the first kiss tells everything about two potential lovers. If the kissing is off, then most likely you and the guy will never make to a third date let alone any sort of red-carpeted aisle with rose petals and rice. Kissing has to be fiercely passionate and within the parameters of a kisser's idea of heavenly kissing.

My bartender kisses like an Italian. When I was on the island of Capri, Italy, I had the sexiest and best dressed owner of two villas kiss me under a grove of lemon trees. I truly had the most romantic night of my life with him. He even proposed marriage to me but I had to decline based on how he kissed me. He took his tongue and filled my mouth with it. I couldn't do anything but wait for him to take it out. Didn't like it.....Can anyone see the wheels of this brunette's mind whirling? Hmm...The bartender and I stood kissing outside the biker bar/architect's office for about thirty minutes. I guess I didn't hate it...Although, he did kiss me twice or maybe three times in that whole Italian-mannered "push his entire tongue into my mouth" sort of way. I started to get scitterish.



The rain continued to fall softly on my wind shield as I drove home. I noticed that he followed me a few streets until I turned onto the freeway. What drives us all is to connect and kiss like the gods of Greece. Kissing has to be one of the best human inventions. Yet, it has to be the right mouth.

Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the romance of kissing under the rain, maybe I'll never kiss him again, however life may unfold, it's important to kiss your lips up and ready for the next one.

Louboutin Fetish

A brunette will kill for shoes or least make you want to die by the sheer force of her sexy ankles and toes.

STYLE FILE: I'm in love with a Bartender or maybe just where he works.

Can I tell you a secret?

Yes, darlings, at the moment, I'm in love with a bartender who evens knows my name. Now I'm not a silly brunette or a drunk but I have found this lovely black-haired (gasp) and blue eye (lovely) southern boy who makes flawless red raspberry martinis (so why wouldn't I be in love him?). In fact as though this love resume isn't strong enough, once he started to tell me about how he designed his home, I was then star-struck and lust filled with amour.


Top Bars and Places for A Brunette to Hang with a Beauty

NOBU

After spending a hide away afternoon at the new Getty Villa, head over to Nobu for the finest sushi you may ever have in your life. Master Nobu Matsuhisa hits the wallet but his food hits the tongue in a way you will never forget. Oh and don't forget about the sake....

EL COYOTE

There never to be a problem with getting it on at one of the booths at El Coyote but, why limit yourself?! El Coyote has always been a place of lively drinks and wild times.

JAVIER'S CANTINA & GRILL

In the swell orange county, there exists the stupendous Irvine Spectrum. The Arabic-inspired outdoor shopping mall is the haven for the Ryan Seacrest-inspired crowd. That aside, there is some real eye candy to be found and I'm not talking about the mojitos! Weekends are extremely packed but who really wants to talk anyway? Phone: 949-872-2101

UPS Delivers A Knock-out!

The sun was glorious as UPS delivered a one-two knock on my front door. Right there, in the midst of suburbia nation, I was ready to put my gloves on and fight. Okay, I was excited about the gloves but I'm no "million-dollar babe."

Just a "Million-Dollar Brunette!"