It’s Friday! That means it’s time to check in with our friend Jim Willamson. I’m just back from LA—the land of sun, fun, ever present fashion shoots, leggy models, and hustlers. I saw all that and more just on my walk to Starbucks at 6 am to get a non-fat latte. But you know, I love me some California. It’s kind of weird—but in a good way. Kind of like me. Well, the word “sunny” is never used when mentioning my name, but you get it.Anyway, it was cloudy and rainy when we landed, so I thought I would just check in at the hotel and chill. (Really. The room felt like it was below 32 degrees.) I wanted to answer some emails and get ready for dinner. After unpacking—which took all of three minutes—I was already bored and couldn’t imagine waiting another hour and a half before dinner. Fortunately, a friend who lives in Newport Beach answered my text and just happened to be blocks from the Mondrian. He was on his way to happy hour. I checked my face in the mirror, which was hard. And no, not for that reason. It was because of the super dim and weirdly placed lighting in the bathroom. I had to bob my head like a chicken to try and find some slightly lite version of myself in the mirror— which in my case was really just my big ole schnozzola. I was thankful that I was not a woman who had to apply makeup (sadly, I had forgotten my manly dark circle eraser) in this chic dungeon/bathroom because I would have left looking like Baby Jane.
Anyway, I dashed out the door (“Dashed”? Am I suddenly from the UK?) to meet my friend at Nobu before heading to dinner. He was great, and his friends were very engaging—meaning hot and nice. Of course I had to discreetly look around for a possible star sighting. And who should walk in almost at that exact moment but David Spade! (By the way, we also saw Stevie Wonder at Asia de Cuba and Helen Hunt sat next to us on the plane back to Dallas. She’s in my friend Johnathan’s film, Decoding Annie Parker, which you will hopefully be seeing at a theater new you in the very near future.)
Later, the clock is ticking and I have to leave to make my reservation at Fig and Olive. Not realizing at the time it was like three blocks away, I hailed a cab. The cab driver pulls up, and in his thick accent, asked, “You got cash?” When I told him where I was going he rolled his eyes, grunted, and two seconds later, dropped me at the restaurant. It was busy and fun, the food was great, and the wine the waiter recommend was even better. But the tables were so close that I could almost count the number of nose hairs on the couple next to us. (We later found out they were from Dallas. Go figure.)
So it’s now about 8:45 pm and we decide to head back to the hotel since we had a 9 am meeting scheduled, followed by another to see literally hundreds and hundreds of new fabrics and wallcoverings. As I am walking in my room, it just so happens another friend of mine sends a text. You may remember, this friend from a previous post where I mentioned the BPOG, Brad Pitt of Greece. Well, she lives blocks away, and since it was still early …
The BPOG drops her off at the hotel, and we head to the Sky Bar where we talked and laughed and laughed some more. That’s always the best way to end any evening. We covered lots of intriguing topics—from toxic coworkers to how they select actors for certain exposing scenes in high budget cable shows to her first-time waxing incidents involving Reima, the waxing Nazi. How we got on this subject, I don’t know, but hang in there. She was in for a brow and other various waxing. Thinking she would start elsewhere first —she dropped trou only to have Reima start with her brows. Later, as she was finishing up, Reima looks up with giant magnifying glasses and says,” She don’t look good down there but I make her right. Don’t you worry.”
By this time, I am laughing so hard I’m crying and that awful snort/laugh comes out. We finished up the evening with talk of her being a true “love child,” as she was born exactly nine months after Valentine’s Day. (“Every kid begins with Kay,” I said.) Speaking of Valentine’s Day, which I know can be cringe inducing to many—especially me because for some odd reason, I said I would cook. I think this must have been after a gin martini. It will definitely be an experimental dinner, which is basically a term used to give you an out if it’s not good. Wish me luck.
Anyway now to our image. New from Chivasso, makers of lovely and gorgeous things, the new Carlucci Collection is called—wait for it—Fever in The Funk House. Yes, I think maybe something got lost in translation. We don’t care. Bring on the funk. The collection’s fun lies in the contrasts of the combination of fabrics from the expressive designs and subtle colors to the noble velvets and drama-laden fake fur. (I may have lifted some of that from the website.) But it does have a cool factor, and I think we could probably all use some more of that in our lives. So there you have it. Another week full of the unexpected while doing the expected. Have a great weekend!
