How to Convince your Boyfriend to Sleep with your Dog

Brunettes can doubt themselves like everyone else. They can wake suddenly in bed wondering if things are going to be alright. In the middle of last night, I woke up in a sweat. Okay, my petite little fan had turned off but, suffice it to say, I was really happy to have my dog sitting next to me. I pet his head and tickled his cute 7lb. belly and I promptly fell back to sleep.

In the morning, I woke up in my pink polka dot sheets. My sweet dog, Valentino, was sleeping right beside me.

The issue: Boys who dislike doggies in their Girl's bed
If a girl's dog is an indoor doggie not romping through mega rain puddles or tramping through dumpsters, tell me boys, what's wrong with the little guy sleeping on top of your toes at night?

Girls, You Make the Rules
Let's get this straight style agents, Don't be a push-over! Most guys that I've dated, including Mr. Cop, have made up rules about dogs sleeping in the backyard or at least rules kicking my dog out of my room. How it starts is the boy is trying to get to know your lifestyle, he meets the dog, and then casually, sooner or later, he asks:

BOY
(devil-ish all knowing grin)
Hey, where does the dog sleep?

MISS BRUNETTE
Why?

BOY
Just asking...
(Sip of coffee. Ever so gently he sets the cup down and looks at Miss Brunette)

MISS BRUNETTE
(not hungry or thristy anymore)
No, it's fine. He sleeps in my room.

BOY
In your bed?
(nose turned up)
The dog sleeps in your bed?

The inner voice is saying-what?! This is all that has to happen. Pick up your purse and leave the boy at the cafe. Or, promptly kick the boy from your room, kicked'em out the front door, and delete'em from your cell phone.

Maybe it's just too easy to dump guys based on a dog.

Boyfriends are Different.
Mr. Cop has mentioned to me that Valentino should sleep in a, gulp, a kennel. I can't image it? Valentino, the little guy that was so cute sleeping on a pillow beside me last night, stuck in a a kennel....hmm.. Jimminie Crickets! Mr. Cop is way to hot & sexy to just dump. I think I'll have to go undercover to work this to my favor. Here is my plan and I offer it you dear brunettes and style agents alike.

Operation Doggie Slumber Party

Here is a task list that will be put into effect once Mr. Cop & I are living together.

1. Regular doggie baths. Sorry, Valentino but it is for the greater good.
2. Never buy a kennel. That's a great first start.
3. Bonding time. Mr. Cop needs to get cozy with Valentino quick.
4. Doggie PJ's. It might sound quack but a cute set of doggie nightgowns might just save the night.
5. Talk about it. The pathway to public understanding is get it out there. Tell friend's & family, neighbors, even tell a postal worker, just talk about the cozy nights of sleep you get with your pooch. Pretty soon there's a trend sweeping the nation and your boyfriend starts to get it!

My plan is so simple that it is like clockwork. I can't wait to win! Really, I have to say, everyone wins. Boyfriends & husbands and their girl's doggies can all just get along.

Happy Dreams & Nonsense

My happy dreams of last night weren't just of Elvis holding teddy bears. I dreamt that I had woke in my dream to being in bed. This is like something Oprah would talk about as astral projection or something. I woke up in my dream & I realized that my bed was rolling around the streets of NYC. Strange, I know. I was laughing & so happy as the bed surfed though intersections & made rights on quite Chelsea brownstone streets.




Cut to:
Disneyland.

I was traveling with an old man and the young asian boy from Indian Jones & the Temple of Doom. We were in midst of a beautiful adventure that felt as safe as a trip with Disneyland. We were walking through haunted manisons and through underwater cities. We were captured by wonder with the details of these places.

And then I woke up smiling. It sounds absolutely silly but I woke myself with laughter before, which had been more frightening. This time I was so well rested, I felt at complete peace and I had a smile on my face. These are all the small signs of life walking in alignment with purpose. None of these dreams made much sense to me, mostly a bunch of nonsense, but at the end of a long cognitive day, with a brow of heavy sleep, and morning sweeping across the Californian land. It is not so much the dream as it is the feeling. I felt great and I wasn't even worried about traffic, work, or my love life. I just felt damn good. It was a happy end to a night of dreams and a yet more brilliant awakening. I like to cherish the small gifts of life.

The Gift of Giving

If you can't make out this image by plain lack of confusion, it's an overloaded cart filled with books. More importantly, notice that the cart is pointed toward the light at the end of the tunnel that leads to my parked car sitting outside the storage structure. One quick car ride later and I'm at the curb of the Salvation Army where I will begin to give away hundreds of books.

OMG!
I'm giving my library away to move in with a guy that lives in a different city, mind you a different country, and I still haven't found myself thinking that I am crazy. This must be some sort of man that has rocked my world. As my best friend, the Red Menace has put it blankly, When you meet the right one that's how it should be. Fast and quick. None of that dating for years to find out that you really aren't crazy for'em. I think that if I had listened to that deep down little voice I might have saved myself years of agony and boredom. I'm listening to my voice that says, Throw your stuff out. Move to Toronto. Kiss the boy that you love.

Moving
I hate moving. I'm notorious for my belly-flop attempts at moving. Ask my sister about the move from Chicago to Orange County. The night before my awesome sister arrived at Midway airport. I hadn't really packed anything and I got, um..., to put it politely, trashed. In fact, I was so hung-over the next day that I forgot to pick my sister up at the airport! Yeah, I know, miss brunette is a loser. Five hours later, I wake up with panic. I drive like hell to the airport and find my sister wrapped up in a Mexican blanket sleeping in the baggage terminal. As it goes, some family adopted my sister, gave her a blanket because it was four days before Christmas, and ultimately couldn't stick around for the beat down my sister was going to give me because they had a flight to catch. She didn't say a word until she got to my place and realized that I hadn't really packed. I had to call all my friends over and I paid two homeless guys, known in Chicago as Junkers which is a step up from wino and darelicks, to help me pack and move my stuff. My sister didn't stop yelling and raving about how awful I am not just as a sister for not picking her up at the airport but for not packing. The car ride to California would have been brutal if I hadn't bought a harmonica and the urban cowboy soundtrack. Oh the drama of moving!

Dilemma
I'm checking my calendar. One week and four days. I actually made it to my storage unit. I'm actually giving my stuff away.

But first, does anyone understand dreams? Ever since I visited Thomas Jefferson's house as a little girl I have dreamt of having a place just like it. The bigger dream, of course, is to build a library. My dream doesn't stop with the mere acquisition of books but my dream includes a very public donation to some humble public library in order to get a little plaque above the water foutain that says:

Somewhere Public Library hereby declares the greatest thanks to Miss Brunette for the largest collection of pink covered books in the nation.

I know I'm not asking for too much.

At the storage unit yesterday, I rummaged through all of my books. Most of the titles that I gave away were the easy to replace, as common as hitting a thrift store, books. Faded paperback covers, acid yellow page leafs, or taped book spines were also books that were added to the cart. The mound grew tirelessly. I whittled away books to the point that what remains is somewhat near a stack as tall and as wide as my shapely figure. I'm still not near being done. This was at the storage unit, not my computer room and my bedroom. Ask Mr. Cop about the house. He knows there's a bunch of stuff there but he never got to first hand witness my junk at the storage unit. Its best that he doesn't know everything.

Ford Explorer seeks U-haul trailer for a good time
It's time to rent the U-haul and things get crazy. At the U-haul website, things seemed good. I put all my info in the fields. I click the get quote field. What?! No, what?@#! U-haul won't rent a trailer to me. Shoot! I backpedal to the get quote page. I decide that I'll rent a truck for the 2515 mile drive to Mr. Cop's hometown. Okay price breakdown:

Car Trailer: $437
10' U-haul truck: $1,800
Gas: $Outrageous gas mileage for a U-haul Truck

Not an option for the stuff that I have. Most of it had been bought at Unique Thrift on the South Side. Hmm...

I told Mr. Cop and he couldn't believe that they wouldn't rent a trailer for my car. A 10' U-haul truck would too large, I said, which isn't really the truth but I do have a bunch of junk to get rid of so that is the truth.

MR. COP

Just pack your car up and throw the rest out.

(long silence as Miss Brunette thinks about all the stuff she has collected that she really feels is part of her life)

MISS BRUNETTE

Ah, okay. Sure. I'll try to do that.

Brunette Confidential Rule #5: Mortality is a bitch. You can't take it with you when you die.

HHonesty, I think this is the best possible thing I could be doing for myself. Throwing stuff away, giving things to shelters, and packing only essentials is the best possible thing I could be doing for myself. I never realized what a gift it is to yourself to pass things forward. I feel like I'm opening myself up to the opportunity to recreate a new sense of myself.

My stuff has been in storage for a year. I can recall when the movers arrived at my storage unit in Orange County. The driver said to me:

DRIVER

Why didn't you just throw all of this stuff away? Start Over? Isn't that what you're doing by moving?

I shrugged it off at the time and spent over a $1500 bucks renting the storage unit for two years.

Today, I'll be cracking the crypt to toss things that I haven't seen since my last days in Chicago. Time to let things go. Time to reinvent. Time to get to the storage unit.

The Book File: The Quick Escape

THE QUICK ESCAPE

If you've been watching a bit too much Dr. 90210, maybe its time to escape from mid-summer ruts. Here's a quick peek at five books that might get you off the couch and out into the world of adventure.

No.1



I love Alain de Bottom! His wit & incite have made it necessary for me to read most of his books! One day, I'll have read them all. This book is next on the my book list.

LIBRARY JOURNAL

An experienced traveler and the author of five books, including How Proust Can Change Your Life, De Botton here offers nine essays concerning the art of travel. Divided into five sections "Departure," "Motives," "Landscape," "Art," and "Return" the essays start with one of the author's travel experiences, meander through artists or writers related to it, and then intertwine the two. De Botton's style is very thoughtful and dense; he considers events of the moment and relates them to his internal dialog, showing how experiences from the past affect the present. In "On Curiosity," for example, which describes a weekend in Madrid, De Botton compares his reliance on a very detailed guidebook to the numerous systematic measurements Alexander von Humboldt made during his 1799 travels in South America. De Botton compares Humboldt's insatiable desire for detail with his own ennui and wish that he were home. There are also details about a fight over dessert, the van Gogh trail in Provence, and Wordsworth's vision of nature. Although well written and interesting, this volume will have limited popular appeal. Recommended for larger public libraries. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 3/15/02.] Alison Hopkins, Brantford P.L., ON Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.

No.2
Argh! Tis find a treasure with a shipmate named Captain Barry! Why not find a bit of retreat at the bottom of the ocean!

FROM THE PUBLISHER
Obsessed by a boyhood dream of lost pirate treasure, Barry Clifford launched a search for the pirate ship Whydah, which supposedly wrecked on the coast of Cape Cod. Very quickly he realized that he had taken on a daunting task. Others who had tried to find the ship before him had failed. Although locals came forward with gold coins and relics that could only have come from the lost pirate ship, skeptics claimed that the ship didn't really exist or had been picked over by Cape Cod's early settlers more than two hundred years ago when it sank. Ignoring claims that he was a fool and a dreamer, Clifford pressed on, until he found the Whydah. ... And then the story begins. Effortlessly weaving pirate Black Sam Bellamy's history with his own story, Clifford tells a tale of pursuit and perseverance, one that shows our inseparable link to the stories of our childhood as well as our connection to the historic past. Expedition Whydah tells two equally enthralling stories of obsession: Bellamy's tale of hard work and crafty piracy, and Clifford's own unbelievable quest to fulfill his dream of finding the sunken ship and building a museum to house her relics. What emerges is a fascinating portrait of a long-gone era of unimaginable adventure - and brutality - and a look at two determined men, one from the past, the other from the present, who let nothing get in the way of their goals.

No.3
What brunette doesn't want to wander through a bit of wine country & meet all the misfits that make wine!

FROM THE PUBLISHER

What is taste? Is it individual or imposed on us from the outside? Why are so many of us so intimidated when presented with the wine list at a restaurant? In The Accidental Connoisseur, journalist Lawrence Osborne takes off on a personal voyage through a little-known world in pursuit of some answers. Weaving together a fantastic cast of eccentrics and obsessives, industry magnates and small farmers, the author explores the way technological change, opinionated critics, consumer trends, wheelers and dealers, trade wars, and mass market tastes have made the elixir we drink today entirely different from the wine drunk by our grandparents.

In his search for wine that is a true expression of the place that produced it, Osborne takes the reader from the high-tech present to the primitive past. From a lavish lunch with wine tsar Robert Mondavi to the cellars of Marquis Piero Antinori in Florence, from the tasting rooms of Chateau Lafite to the humble vineyards of northern Lazio, Osborne winds his way through Renaissance palaces, $27 million wineries, tin shacks and garages, opulent restaurants, world-famous chais and vineyards, renowned villages and obscure landscapes, as well as the great cities which are the temples of wine consumption: New York, San Francisco, Paris, Florence, and Rome. On the way, we will be shown the vast tapestry of this much-desired, little-understood drink: who produces it and why, who consumes it, who critiques it? Enchanting, delightful, entertaining, and, above all, down to earth, this is a wine book like no other.

No.4

Get off the map! Leave the strip malls behind & hit the road with Lawerence O.

FROM THE PUBLISHER
From the theme resorts of Dubai to the jungles of Papua New Guinea, a disturbing but hilarious tour of the exotic east—and of the tour itself Sick of producing the bromides of the professional travel writer, Lawrence Osborne decided to explore the psychological underpinnings of tourism itself. He took a six-month journey across the so-called Asian Highway—a swathe of Southeast Asia that, since the Victorian era, has seduced generations of tourists with its manufactured dreams of the exotic Orient. And like many a lost soul on this same route, he ended up in the harrowing forests of Papua, searching for a people who have never seen a tourist. What, Osborne asks, are millions of affluent itinerants looking for in these endless resorts, hotels, cosmetic-surgery packages, spas, spiritual retreats, sex clubs, and "back to nature" trips? What does tourism, the world's single largest business, have to sell? A travelogue into that heart of darkness known as the Western mind, The Naked Tourist is the most mordant and ambitious work to date from the author of The Accidental Connoisseu r, praised by The New York Times Book Review as "smart, generous, perceptive, funny, sensible."

No.5

A fine short story collection is the perfect escape with a tight time schedule. It's terrible when the summer is too work related. Slow down! Enjoy life!

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

Since Salon.com shut down its Wanderlust section earlier this year (there weren't enough page views to satisfy investors) and since George, the section's editor, has been reduced to contributing a weekly column, this collection preserves in print articles that were likely to become Internet ephemera. The 40 stories are tuned for the computer-screen reader: they are all quick, attention-grabbing, first-person narratives--as short and direct as a shot of espresso. One-third come from well-known writers, including a handful of brand-name travel writers such as Jan Morris, Peter Mayle, Pico Iyer, Tim Cahill and even Tony Wheeler, the founder of the Lonely Planet guidebooks. The others come from Salon's multifaceted contributors, many of whom have published books of their own. The best work here uses irony to convey the complex nature of travel in the age of the Internet, when much of the world is only a mouse click away. Rolf Potts's story "Storming the Beach," for example, contains daily e-mail dispatches about the author's attempt to replicate the events of Alex Garland's novel The Beach by substituting the fictional beach with the actual Thai beach where a film of the novel is being shot. "The Last Tourist in Mozambique" details Mary Roach's discovery that it is easier to get the country's president to talk about transcendental meditation than it is to convert dollars into local currency. Salon has always been a self-consciously literary Web site, so it is no surprise that these stories survive the transition from the computer screen to the printed page. But the shutdown of the site's Wanderlust section may limit the readership for this pleasant anthology. (Nov.) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.

What Happens in Vegas, Never Stays in Vegas

Life does offer the spontaneous fulfillment of desire through miraclous coincidences. It's as simple as a fresco inside the Indiana Jone's ride at Disneyland.

Life offers a door, a wee window of opportunity, in which the seeker tends to knock with his eyes closed and is yet, somehow, guided by an internal, perhaps more enlightened sense, a third eye if you will. Within the passing of a few seconds, that open possibility, that opportunity to change and to discover the dreams within a real universe, is there to become tangible.

As it happened, my single girl life began to change once I walked through a certain hotel door at Mandalay Bay. One result of meeting such a wonderful guy is that I haven't been posting as much, please excuse me dear reader! I did just return from a week in Mr. Cop's hometown, Toronto, and I'm in the process of, I do believe, a life change. And it was writing an email to an awesome Cowgirl in Chicago that I started thinking about the strange chances that happen in life and in the end those very strange chances is what make life what it is.


TO:Miss Cowgirl@chicago.com
FROM:BrunetteConfidential@gmail.com

Miss Cowgirl! I'm so happy to hear from you! If you want to hear the full scoop on my life check out http://www.brunetteconfidential.com I’ve been so busy that I haven’t updated it since the end of June. The main excitement is that I met a fab guy in Vegas! It sounds so random, which is how life is, that it ended up as an affair that didn’t stay in Vegas (mind you-all that happen was single kiss)! In the meantime, he has visited me for two weeks and I just returned last week from visiting him in his home town-Toronto! I’m actually in the process of moving to Toronto to be with him! Wild & crazy! I guess I’m not too old yet-but let’s not talk about any future birthdays! HAHA! I’m applying to film production companies & looking to do anything with my styling skills. Know any photo studios up that way? I hope that things are going really well with you!


Cheers,
Miss Brunette


Hey-did you know that Mr. Never Was is having a baby? Funny thing, Mr. Never Was & his girlfriend/soon to be wife conceived the baby in Vegas from what he told me. Nothing truly stays in Vegas, does it? Tell me what you’ve been up to! Miss you tons!

Miss Brunette has Boyfriend Agent

When you get down to it, it isn't surprising that Agent Miss Brunette would happen to stumble into a romance with a cop, now is it? One trip to Vegas, a combined phone bill of $700 dollars, a 10 day California visit by a Toronto police officer, and Miss Brunette knew that she had fallen for the cop!

Oh, sweet romantic readers of brunette confidential, might ask how ever did this happen? Hmm..I'm still trying to figure that out but in case you missed a post or two, let me give the quick recount. I'll start this file at the beginning.


Miss Brunette meets Mr. Cop in Las Vegas while she is attending a psychic convention and he is shaking his money maker at a bachelor party. Case open and shut. Refer to case #LAX7579YYZ

INCIDENT REPORT

DESCRIPTION: To her surprise, Mr. Cop, of the cool guy modus operandi, calls up Miss Brunette on the Sunday as she is driving from Las Vegas to Orange County. He asks her things like what are you doing, where are you at, what is happening in your life right now? Miss Brunette is almost certain that she has made a new penpal friend or something and has a great time talking to him for the four hour drive home. It is somewhere between sunrise and the following Wednesday that he makes a suggestion to visit her in So Cal in two weeks. Hahaha...Nervous laughter or more correctly on behalf of miss brunette, Haha, we'll see how far this one gets.

It just so happens that he keeps calling. She likes talking to him and trying to retain all of the details of his natural boy good looks. She can't imagine what he likes about her except, perhaps, that she is brunette. In fact, if it had not been for Mr. Cop's persistence and determination to keep the connection alive, then things might have just been swept under the carpet. And the world would have been a lesser place...At least for me.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

NAME: Mr. Cop

HEIGHT: 6'1

WEIGHT: Lots of good stuff to handle. Love his arms, legs, belly, list goes on...

EYES: Blue like a Pissaro sky...

HAIR: Blond-OMG! Blond!

HIS KISS: What every girl dreams of getting...

He booked a flight to visit Miss Brunette. She's so nervous on the day that he flies into LAX that she gets fidgety and keeps doing dumb things like: Refolding the towels in the hall closet because no man or agent wants a girl with unfolded towels, scrubbing the door handle, reapplying nail polish, cleaning the car, and a drive-thru stop at Starbucks. Wait, its 10:00 why do I have a incoming call from 416, Canada, YIKES, he's landed & I've got an hour drive to get there. Forget the sugar, give me my ice tea, Mr. Cop's flight landed 30 minutes early & miss brunette had a 90 mph drive on the 405 to get him.

In covert style, I glided the car in behind where he was waiting on the curb. He didn't know what my car looked like and I'm thinking what if he isn't as good looking or as nice as I remember him. The whole Mr. British nightmare kept flickering in her brain. But, there he was. Sitting on a planter sharing a cigarette with a dark hair Israeli girl. I took my car keys and hit his back. He threw the cigarette out ( I caught him being a bad boy) and he gave me a high five. He didn't kiss me. That's good. I would have felt really uncomfortable. He was here as a friend or so I thought...

Promptly, four minutes later I was pulled over by an El Segundo police officer on Pacific Coast Highway for not wearing a seat belt. Talk about impressions! I was shaking! I had hot new boy to my right who happens to be a police officer and an El Segundo police officer to my left wanting my license, insurance, and registration. Not exactly a pretty girl start to his almost two week vacation. He hadn't even made it to my doorstep nor had he met my family! Damn! Maybe I should have waited for the sugar!

EL SEGUNDO POLICE OFFICER
Click it or ticket and there is no way you are getting out of this ticket. License.

MISS BRUNETTE
(voice dry like a desert)
Haha. Sorry. I forgot...Here's my license.

MR. COP
Hey, I'm a Toronto Cop, you've got any badges on you to trade?

Meanwhile Miss Brunette is going through the glove box for all the stuff and thinking what are these guys talking about? Later she would find out that cops of any country like to trade badges in order to build collections. It's like boy scouts meets baseball card collector, no offense to any cop out there.

EL SEGUNDO POLICE OFFICER
What? What you say?

MR. COP
I'm a Toronto Police Officer. Here's my badge.

El Segundo police officer looks at his badge and flips his ticket book closed.

EL SEGUNDO POLICE OFFICER
Alright, miss. No ticket today.
(he walks back to his squad car and miss brunette is left shaking in her boots)

MISS BRUNETTE
Well, welcome to California! Since we're at a gas station. I think I'll get some.
(miss brunette backs the car to the gas pump)
I'm going to pay cash. Be right back!
(BIG SMILE)

Miss Brunette walks into the gas station and once out of his sight, she has a mild heart attack while starting at candy and gum.

Things get better. I can't believe how amazing our first day went together despite getting pulled over. We went to the beach and kept a flirtatious distance on the beach towels. We drove the back roads of Palos Verde, across the dock of Long Beach, down Pacific Coast Highway toward Huntington Beach, and onward. The time that he spent in California with me went by so quick! Somehow between getting me out of the that ticket and giving me my second kiss, he became my Boyfriend Agent. Okay, maybe he's Boyfriend Agent just because he is such a damn fine kisser but...I'm keeping all of that out of this report!

Suffice it to say that I was reading my digital edition of Just for Me magazine and I found a quiz in this month's magazine. Magazine quiz's are dumb but it doesn't hurt to sneak a peak. This quiz was titled, Have you Met your Match? Hmmm...Have I? What? Only 5 easy questions. I love magazines.

Question No. 1: A Sense of Ease. (Check)
Question No. 2: The Fun Factor (Check. He took me to Disneyland & Cali adventure! Great time! But we had a bunch of fun just hanging out at the pool, in the kitchen and more.)
Question No. 3: Safety & Security (He got me out of a ticket. He's hired! Check.)
Question No. 4: Mutal Respect (He encourages me to be a writer. Hello? Not for most men. And, oh yeah, I respect him too. I love hearing his wacky work stories. He is a real cop after all and it gets really interesting. Although, I really can't imagine him hitting anyone. I can tell he can pack a punch but...I know its all part of the job. Check.)
Question No. 5: Sparks (Attraction vibe is on high red alert. I can't keep my eyes, thoughts, or hands to myself. I'm all over this hottie! And its mutual. I won't go into the two hour love sessions because I don't want to make you jealous. Suffice it to say, Check.)


Wow! Boyfriend Agent just passed the magazine quiz with flying colors. I can only imagine what's next. Did I mention I'm flying to Toronto on Wednesday to meet his family, friends, and co-workers. Yeah, if things go well, my first day in town I'll be wearing a bullet proof vest and riding with some of Canada's finest, the Toronto Police. I'm ready to travel.

June Community Hero: Princess Project

Want to be a Fairy Godmother?

Okay, I like heard Tamara and Kevin are going! No, Tamara is going with Darrin! I don't know but Kevin just asked me! For all those too old to remember or for those that just want to forget, June is the month for one of those life milemarkers, high school graduation. What girl can think about high school grad and not think about the big "P" word. Yeah, hint, I'm talking about PROM and for most the cost is absurd, something to make most girls a stay-at-home-Cinderella. As if all the drama built up around prom isn't enough...Who's going together? It's that next question, What are you wearing?, that sends most high school girls into hysteria. As economic reality sets in and new questions like college tuition crop into these young adults horizon, many girls are banding together to reject prom because of the mulla.

Two weeks ago, Miss Brunette was driving home and she was listening to a radio station contest that involved paying for high school prom. I almost started crying when one girl's bestfriend called the station, got to the DJ, told her sob story about not going herself because her bestfriend couldn't afford to go, obviously she won the contest, and let the DJ call her bestfriend to tell her happy news-prom is paid! The timid bestfriend that answered told the DJ, between deep heavy sobs, that they had made an oath that since to not go to prom because her family couldn't afford it. Isn't that what best-friends are for? I wasn't expecting to feel so moved listening to a seventeen year old sob and thank God about going to dance! What can anyone one expect! We're women!

Spread the Fairy Dust

The Princess Project in San Fran can make you into an instant fairy godmother. This non-profit organization takes prom dress donations as well as accessories during the month of April. And Bippy-boppy-boo! Over 2,000 girls got dressed in style this month for prom. How can a girl not feel a little bit of that Cinderella effect? The Princess Project isn't just in No Cal, nope, no way! It's across the country. Projects like Inside the Dream are even in a foreign cities like Mississauga of Toronto. Despite the donation drive being closed, there are other ways to get involve. Buy a t-shirt, donate money, or get ready to volunteer. It's all up to you!

JUNE STYLE FILE: Get low with the heat (aka bathing suits for hot nights)!

Purr! Meow! Not been to the beach yet? What's the hold up! Wrangle down some of the hot styles of the season with white, black, fun polka dots, metallics textures, and more. Most important Brunette Confidential Task: Be the beach sex kitten that you've always wanted to be! Cabana boy, darling, where ever are my shades...



Ruffled Triangle Bikini



Amazonaz Bikini!



Hot & Sexy



Push-up Triangle Top




Try it White



Vintage Polka Dots


Wrap it Up!



Bangle It


Flip It

The Plurality of Boredom

Read a Manuscript or Get Sued: If I choose to not read a working manuscript by a former client, he might have said that to me. This is the deal. I did tell him that I would read a new draft of his work once it was completed. I made that promise to him over a year ago. He called me up two weeks ago with a new draft of his book. I'm good on my word like that.

Problem: Super bored. So far, I've read & critiqued 80 pages of his nonfiction book. I have exactly 69 pages ahead of me. All the same problems that were there from a year ago are still in the manuscript. Previous readers of my old blog know that when I returned to Cali from Chi-town, I found myself starting a writing consultation business. I spent my first 7-8 months giving advice on writing, book construction, and the likes. As you might have read from an earlier post, getting published is hard. Wait?! I didn't have to tell you that!

What I'd Rather be Doing: Walking on the beach, drinking a limoncello in Capri, walking down Kings Road, sitting in a Toronto Park doing something like this at sunset with Mr. Cop.


Part of my boredom is that the work is a 55,000 word document about child abuse. It's not exactly a Dan Brown or Daniel Steel read. It can get hard to read the work due to content and quality.

Today: The day is undeniably beautiful and I'm stuck inside. I could hit the pool but I know I'll fall asleep. I could go to the coffeehouse-wait! An idea! I knew I blogged for a reason. I need a break.

On second thought, maybe, I'll skip the coffee to just think about kissing my boy in T-town...

(Yes, that is evidence that Miss Brunette is stepping away from her single life toward, gasp, a relationship with a hottie that lives in a different country. What? Crazy! I know this much for sure:

Long Distance Relationships Do Not Work.

Mr. Cop & I have been talking about me leaving one of my greatest loves of all, So Cal, but I need to see this city called Toronto. I am flying out around the 28th of June to see him & the city. Ahh...Now, That's a future post. Not today. Too much on my plate.)

I'm Telling the True Story of What Happened in Vegas, Baby...

I've been holding off on recording the true story of one weekend in Las Vegas because it would come to change the course of my life and those that know it. This tale involves the Vegas strip, world reknown psychics, good looking men, and fast talking broads. The darkness of Vegas after midnight attempted to descend on all its visitors that first weekend of May but instead it brought an unusual cast of characters serendipitously together. In the end, the grime and the gritty faded to sunlit beaches on the Pacific. But this is the beginning of the story and so I must start.



In Orange County, my sister walked in on me Friday May 5, 2006 at ten in the evening. She had an idea. She walked out of my bedroom, where I had been working my way into an evening of sleep, and she made a few phone calls.

SISTER
We're booked. Get up.

MISS BRUNETTE
You got a room?

SISTER
We're booked.

MISS BRUNETTE
We got a room in Vegas for tonight?

SISTER
Yeah. Get up. I'm driving. We're leaving in less than 5 minutes.

We made the drive from Orange County in under four hours. We had to cross a desert, one state border, and travel with lonely trucks.

So........We get to the Vegas Motel 6 that has our reservation. We are told how lucky we are to have a reservation because they are sold out due to not just one big event but three big weekend events: Kentucky Derby, De La Hoya Boxing Fight, and a big Motorcross weekend that includes a motorcross rider jumpin the Caesar Palace Fountain! We were totally lucky to have a reservation and we need sleep because we are exhausted from the drive.

MOTEL 6 AGENT
Girls..Are you certain you've got a room here?

SISTER
Yeah. I booked it tonight.

MISS BRUNETTE
(starting to panic)
You know, I heard her talking to the agent . I know we have a room.

MOTEL 6 AGENT
(typing away on computer at 2:30am)
Nothing. I'm so sorry but we've got nothing.

Miss Brunette looks at her sister and just starts to laugh. Sister isn't smiling and whips her cell phone out. The Motel 6 Agent, Miss Brunette listen to Sister make a phone call.

SISTER
(while on cell phone)
Right. Oh. I see.
(she hangs her cell phone up and looks down)

MISS BRUNETTE
What happen? Did you find our reservation?

SISTER
Yeah.

MOTEL 6 AGENT
Well...What did they say?

SISTER
Our reservation is in Reno.

MISS BRUNETTE
What??!

MOTEL 6 AGENT
I'm so sorry girls but we are completely sold out.

My sister booked our hotel room in Reno instead of Las Vegas. I'm not lying. The motel 6 crew was so nice and sorry for us because they said we weren't going to find a room. All rooms on the strip were sold out. We got in the car and drove around from 2:30am to 5:00am-over two hours of joy riding Vegas, on the strip and off the strip, just driving around looking for just about any sort of room to rent. Well, almost any sort of hotel room...

We ended up at the Happi Inn across from the Luxor hotel. It was the only place to rent a room. Behind us in line was a happy white male that held the hand of a prostitute, and boy, they were excited about getting a room too! That is until the woman gave us the key to our room and we went to check it out. OMG! It was a crime scene. Bates Motel style. Stains on the comforter. Cinder Block walls. Dead roach in the bathroom. We only had one option left. I looked at my watch. We couldn't check into our hotel until 3pm. It was 4am. I didn't hit my sister across the chops. Nope. We only laughed. We were screwed.

Saturday

Mandalay Bay was directly across from the Happi Inn. We took our car to self-park and got awesome parking at 5:15 in the morning. We bounced in the tram to New York New York where we had breakfast. For the first time in my entire life, I ordered a bloody mary and loved it. I can't guess for sure how a girl that hates ketchup could love a bloody mary but that the sort of mood I was in Saturday morning. We had the longest day of our life ahead of us until the hotel allowed us to check in. I hadn't slept all night. Yet, I got to thinking at breakfast. Hmm...we could crash a spa at one of the hotels on the strip and be set. My sister was freaked about looking at perfect bodies poolside-but what would we care if we were there just to sleep? It was our plan of attack. We take the tram back to Mandalay. But, on the way we meet this guy.



Nope. He didn't look like that when we met him. He was completely trashed and had walked the length of the strip back to his room at the Mandalay bay. He even bragged about having walked further home the night before. My sister and him immediately had a great time talking like caged birds. Since, my sister and I had absolutely nothing better to do for twelve hours...Well, why don't we have a drink with him at the bar? For the record, even though he smelled like a bottle of JD, he was charming. Yet, I thought that maybe he was dealing with some issues until he mentioned that he was in Vegas for a bachelor party. Ah...



so that's why he was carrying an inflatable sheep. Okay, I'm lying but wouldn't that have been funny? He mentions that he has to run to his hotel room for cash and he'd be back. Off he went. Meantime, I had three guys at a different bachelor party buy my sister and I drinks for just being at the bar. I smiled at my sister and tipped an invisible hat to her. These were funny guys and they helped to liven up the bar. The bar scene was complete with yelling young men, somber old guys, and scanty-clad cocktail waitresses. I must have had four bloody mary's at this bar alone.

Surprising as it was, Mr. Drunk Boots, jaunts back into the bar. Everybody in the bar knows about my sister f--king up our reservation. It even gets us another round from one of the celebrating bachelor's. It must have been about four hours later when Mr. Drunk Boots insists that we return back to his hotel room in order to make sure his buddy is okay. He told us that his buddy works as a Toronto police officer and somehow we still needed to make sure he was alright. The booze was mixing with our blood well.

The Hotel Room

Mind this, I had my hand around my keys and I was prepared to use all my kickbox moves in the case of an emergency. In all of my brunette instincts, I knew that Mr. Drunk Boots was cool. Every undercover brunette has tools and tricks for determining character. Yet, I think the drinks and complete exhaustion were the real reason I even allowed myself to stumble with my sister to Mr. Drunk Boots's hotel room. I kept my hands double fisted just in case. It is Vegas after all.

Under the pink flower bedspread, I could see the outline of a sleeping guy. Boy, was I really in the wrong place, so I thought. My face was pink from embarrassment because of how my Saturday morning was unfolding. I like to think of myself as a lady but following my sister's lead, as you might already have noticed, often just caused trouble.

No sooner had we walked into the hotel room when Mr. Drunk Boots grabs my sister and the ice bucket and they take off on an adventure. So get this, I'm sitting inside a hotel room with a sleeping stranger whose face I can't even see. All I know about him is the Toronto police badge that Mr. Drunk Boots flashes at me from off a table. I thought I could hear all the generations of women in my family telling me what an idiot I was.

Then a blonde hair and blue-eyed hung over cop lifted his head from his pillow. He was staring at me with one eye open.

MISS BRUNETTE
(uncomfortable cough)
Hello. I'm Miss Brunette. I hope that I didn't wake you.

MR. COP
(he clears his throat)
I'm completely naked.

MISS BRUNETTE
Ah. Okay. Hehe..I'm sorry about this
(she thinks to herself..I'm going to kick the living sh-- out of my sister)

MR. COP
I've only been asleep for an hour and a half.

I got real chatty and nervous so I started to talk about writing and good books which isn't exactly what most people want to hear in the morning. I spent my time looking out the window down to the Mandalay Bay pool wishing to all the stars in the heaven that I'd was there. I was kinda of pissed at Mr. Drunk Boots and my sister for thinking that I was just going to hook up with some guy sleeping in a room. Is that what they thought? Is that what Mr. Cop thought? I've got principle and taste. I excused myself to the restroom. After I came out and Mr. Cop had taken the moment to get dressed. By now it was a little before noon.

Mr. Cop was a big guy. He was a bit over 6'0 and athletic. His face was handsome and he even had retained some childish qualities about his smile. He was the alpha to the omega male. He was the sort of man that pick-up artists trembled and feared spotting in bars. The PUA has zero to little game against the alpha male. I even decided that I wouldn't like him because I had that gut instinct most girls would have just seized the opportunity. Not me, I couldn't get over being dumped in a hotel room by my own sister. I had enough time to check out Mr. Cop when the door opened and Mr. Drunk Boots and my sister returned. It was my turn to ditch my sister. Mr. Cop invited me to lunch and I bailed without turning a glance over my shoulder. I do have to mention that I knew that my sister was safe so don't think that I was trying to really dump her. My sister is family, enough said.

My Day with Mr. Cop

I don't want to get to laborious in all the detail. Hell, I've already done that! Suffice it to say, I spent an entire day, which when drunk at 5 in the morning combined with sleep exhaustion, means that the day felt like a week in Rio. Mr. Cop not only was a hottie, he had style, humor, and sensitivity to boot. He was more than generous. My sister f--ked up again by booking our hotel at a place so ghetto that there were tweaker-like people standing in front of roaring BBQ's grilling hot dogs. Mr. Cop had come along with us and I watched his alert police skills jump up like a dog on alert. I knew this place was bad. Never let my sister plan a trip for you-ever! Mr. Cop invited my sister and I to stay at Mandalay. He helped take our luggage inside the hotel. Mr. Drunk Boots didn't seem to have a real problem with our stay but I'd like to remind you that my sister and I had crashed a bachelor party. How does the rescue of two girls play into a Bachelor party? It didn't. Not really. My sister and I didn't have to lap dance or shake our money makers. We just had an awesome time hanging with the boys. No sexy stuff involved at all!



Mr. Cop even took me to the pool at Mandalay Bay. I was still playing disinterested because he didn't fit my typical guy profile type of dark hair, dark eyes, lives in the same country as me, enjoys trips to the museum, walks on the beach and et cetra.

Holla! Despite all the guys this brunette has dated, Mr. Cop was the first guy that wanted to know about her dating background. Most of the time, when I meet someone, it might take weeks or months to get into that conversation about past relationships. He was all over wanting to really know me. It was a different approach than most playas. It caught my attention. Well, that and his swim trunks, which were looking so good on him. I kept to my guns and didn't drop any typical girl signs. I wasn't going to like him. I knew it was just one day in Vegas and I'd probably never see him again in my life.

Back at to the hotel room and we all got ready to go out for the night. Mr. Cop set all of us up with drinks that were the hardest pours on the West Side. He made drinks so tight that you could feel the air rushing through your nose after taking a sip. Nobody made a single remark. It was evening and time to renew the buzz.

I guess I should mention what happen to my sister during the day. Mr. Drunk Boots went to the pool while my sister wanted to watch the Mandalay Bay Shark Cam on channel 32. Okay, she was watching TV but the shark cam is worth a watch. She slept and recovered unlike her sister, Miss Brunette, that was having an amazing time with a guy she had met naked in bed. Oh, Vegas stories!

Jumping back to drinks at the hotel room, Mr. Cop called up the bachelor party and made arrangements for us to meet up with the crew. From the time we left the hotel and made it to the MGM, I was trashed to even say the least. I was so trashed that in front of a MGM security officer I was trying to get Mr. Cop to hop the tram turn-style (oh, how her Chi-town roots were showing). I never got it to happen but I was having such a good time that I didn't care.

Next up, Mr. Cop and I were the at the hottest club in Vegas at the moment Pure. Pamela Anderson was slated to make an appearance. Hundreds of people were waiting in line. Mr. Cop and I run up to the VIP entrance and I thought that my drunk smile got us in through the red velvet ropes. As it turns out Mr. Cop flipped a bill to the security bouncers that hollered at all the waiting people that nobody else would be let in.



What does a drunk brunette do? She kisses the boy and told him to not be shy that any girl would have him. Now that you've read this far, I'm keeping quiet on what Mr. Cop replied when I gave him the pep talk on meeting girls. If I hadn't been drunk all day, I'd have known that the being shy thing was only a line and part of technique on the pick-up.

Some things will stay in Vegas. I will however tell you what a sweet night we had and once we got back to the room...Mr. Cop fell so soundly asleep on the bed that he never noticed me leaning over him watching him sleep. I probably won't ever forget the way he looked sleeping. Oh...He looked so damn angelic.

Sunday

On Sunday, I wasn't so smooth. I thought I had traveled to Las Vegas to attend a psychic convention with my sister. Now, I think I came to Vegas to meet Mr. Cop.

Mr. Cop had sent several txt messages to my phone. He had taken a cab from Mandalay Bay to the Venetian in order to see me before his return flight home. I was sitting inside a convention room listening to a medium tell strangers about their recently deceased and I was so involved that I ignored his txt messages until the lecture/performance was over. At 1:30pm, I returned a call to Mr. Cop.

MISS BRUNETTE
(happy to talk to Mr. Cop)
Okay, where are you? I want to meet up with you.

MR. COP
(cool and collective)
I'm at the airport.

MISS BRUNETTE
What? Why?

That was a stupid question on my end. I knew that he was returning home on Sunday, I just had the wrong times. I started to panic. I couldn't play miss cool a moment longer. I understood that the most generous, loyal, sexy hot cop in the world had taken a cab to see me and I didn't walk out of my convention because I wanted to listen to a medium talk to dead people. Who is f--ked in the head? I was! I almost lost it on the phone when he told me that he was at Las Vegas International Airport.

MISS BRUNETTE
I'm coming to you.

MR. COP
(lightens up a bit)
Oh, that would be nice, eh...

MISS BRUNETTE
I'll be there and I'll give you a high five before you leave.

Miss Brunette flips her cell phone close.

SISTER
Don't be desperate. Forget it. You'll never see him again.

MISS BRUNETTE
Desperate? Look around and tell me who isn't desperate? Aren't all of these people desperate? Desperate to win money. Desperate to forget their lives at home. Desperate to meet the love of their life at some cheezy bar? I'm going to meet him and you can just stay here or shut up.

I started to walk away and then I started to cry right in the middle of the Venetian Hotel Convention Center. I was so mad at myself! As tears bounced on the floor, I kept hitting myself for not walking out to tell one of the most awesome guys I've met (a guy that made Vegas wonderful, beautiful, and safe) that I had the time of my life with him. I wasn't that kind of person to be so extremely nonchalant. I didn't want him thinking that I had taken advantage of him and I was going to prove it to him by driving straight to the airport within the next twenty minutes before his flight departed.

Two problems with my scenario:

1. I didn't know where the airport was located. I followed descending planes in the sky toward the airport.

2. Traffic, baby, Traffic. Sunday afternoon and everybody's trying to leave dodge. The redlights were too long and the traffic was too thick.

3. I forgot to mention the third problem. My sister didn't want me to leave the convention to chase Mr. Cop down at the airport. She thought the whole idea was absolutely absurd and desperate. She yelled at me, harassed me, humiliated me into attempting to stay at the convention. I didn't give a damn about anything she had said. I was going to the airport to see him and I sobbed the whole way there because I felt so crummy about the whole thing. My sister was sat in the car yelling at me the whole time. I'd like to her to remember that all of this was in part due to her very own actions. I'd never have met Mr. Cop otherwise.

This is how it played out: I drove beyond the speed limit while my sister was screaming at me like a sailor. I made guesses on where the airport was located from the Venetian and I had only one turn to make in order to make it my knight in shining armor....

Mr. Cop called my cell phone.

MR. COP
Where are you? I'm waiting outside.

Miss Brunette lets her sister whip her cell phone out of her hand.

SISTER
Hey, Cop?

MR. COP
Are you almost here? I can't wait any longer...

SISTER
She can't tell you this but she made a wrong turn which has put us on a highway to nowhere.

(LONG SILENT PAUSE)

Sister hands phone back to sister.

MISS BRUNETTE
(mustering up all the hung over strength she has)
I'm sorry. I should have walked out on that convention. I'm so sorry.

MR. COP
I have to go. My flight is leaving. I understand. You tried. I'll call you.

That was it. He got on a plane and I went and heard Sylvia Browne tell people about things that only a psychic could know. I was at a lost for emotion and words. I hadn't been prepared for any of it. Meeting Mr. Cop. Having such a beautiful time. Ditching him the next day when all I wanted to do was to do it all over again. Life had hit me in the face. I alternated between sleeping and feeling hung over while Sylvia Browne spoke. I had paid two hundred bucks to listen to her talk and all I wanted to do was redo my Sunday. After the convention was done, my sister and I went to a great Mexican restaurant inside Treasure Island. We didn't want any of our good times to end but Vegas wasn't the same without Mr. Cop. It wasn't fun or exciting like it had been with him. I ordered a bloody mary.

9:00PM SUNDAY NIGHT

My cell phone rings. The caller idea is 416. That's an international area code. Mr. Cop called but I don't think even he was expecting the sort of future that was waiting for us. We talked on phone for almost the hour hour drive back to Orange County.

In the few miles of desert road where the cell phone dropped connection, my sister and I drove in silence. So much had happened to us both in Vegas that it was more than a four hour ride could process. I looked off into vast shapes of midnight land and star lit skies. He had called back and all that I could think was...Now what?

Rejection

I just need to drop a few sentences on rejection. In April, I submitted a nonfiction book to three agents. In all honesty, my query letter looked pretty but read like a typical query. What is technically supposed to be the smashing opening sentence of a query sucked in my query letter. But, the content of my book is perfect for its current market. Yes, actually, despite rejection, I'm confident that my book is rad! In fact, I know that the market is searching for a book of this nature.

I know my mistakes and how I got my rejection. Its like a man wearing a white suit and approaching a lady with his shirt unbutton and the hair on his chest sticking out. I understood my project's flaws. For example, it could only truly publish at one publishing house (a bad thing in probably the eye of every agents-Didn't hold me back, I saw the cup half full and my project as an agents delight in terms of a quick sell). I knew that might make it dead in the water but I sent it out. And yes, today after I did a three mile run with Adidas in Orange County, I came home and found my final rejection letter. Not that I'll be mourning the death of the projection, like I said, I knew of its flaws but I was hopeful that I'd find an agent that would look past it all. The agent and I could have a Maxwell Perkins and Thomas Wolfe affair.

Hello sister! I know its all 21st century and sh--! But the agent at this nice respected agency did take the time to pull out company letterhead to draft a specific message about my project and it being very interesting. Dah, I know it is!

Just to add a bit more to the backstory, I had a dream one month ago where I understood that I needed to make my nonfiction book a bit more traditional in nature and bam! Later that afternoon, I got the second rejection letter. Go figure?! I've got my own intuition telling me that I need to do more work to make this thing fly. Yet, at the same time, I'm thinking my big dream is to be known as a fiction writer. Do I take fold the project? Do I push ahead? Do I spend time on the second draft of my novel? Hmm...Questions everywhere!

Rejection isn't forever. I'm not in the ground. I've got at least that much on my side...Time is in my favor. I need to write a proposal that leaves no easy path to rejection, nonfiction or otherwise.

Miss Brunette will waive her nonfiction book rejection funeral services. No book of hers will be laid to rest!