All packaged up in a custom WordPress design by Nick Sharpe

Clear for Take-off!

My mind wasn’t really on Dustin Hoffman either, I did see him through my television at the Golden Globes though, and it reminded me of something he said at a dinner party years ago…

It was at the Venit’s house. The Venit’s were like family to me then, but though they say blood is thicker than water, in Hollywood, it’s usually business first, unless someone says something anti-Semitic in public, then principles may take first priority! (For those of you who do not know who Adam Venit is, he is the partner of Ari Emanuel, whom the hit series “Entourage” is based on. He is my ex husband’s agent and used to be like family, but then the divorce and a line was drawn between me and his people like the one in the middle of the ‘S’ on the dollar sign.) Adam and Trina always had the most fantastic dinner parties. Anyway… at one of these fantastic dinner parties I sat across from Dustin Hoffman, who by the way, is the most humble, self-effacing Hollywood man I’ve ever met, as, who brought it up I don’t remember, probably me, (The romantic!!!! Quelle BEAST!) but the subject was “True Love.” We were discussing TRUE LOVE with Borat at the other end of the table! But, he was busy having what could be construed as a conversation with an incredibly hot blond. Anyhow, Dustin said he felt that true love was very rare and that people were together mostly due to the timing of when they met. (Like comedy, it is all about timing). He said men decide they want a relationship and then look around and pick from the available selection. He may have had other better, more exciting beautiful women he loved more in the past, but he was not ready at that time. (So ladies, now, if you see your once true love settled with someone who does not even compare to you– you can now see it’s all just timing! Nothing personal!) So, men, he explained, get ready, look around and BAM! It’s not like the ultimate true love walked into their lives and turned their world upside down, made their heart, mind and penis explode simultaneously and they ran off and got married, it was more like a well-timed business affair. I felt rather sorry for his wife, sitting next to him as he said this, as he was not exactly professing that he had found his true love, but perhaps she is far more practical than me and did not mind at all.

Suddenly many things were being explained to me about my dating career. My early twenties, dating in Los Angeles had been incredible in many ways, but ultimately a big disappointment. It felt a bit like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. It seemed to me the guys I liked didn’t like me and the guys who liked me I didn’t like. (I also have to confess I was a pretty mixed up kid, who was arrogant and stupid (is that redundant?) and turned down incredible men I could kick myself over now! Always 20/20 on the hindsight!) I had often wondered why after the godlike models, the hot actors and the water polo player (I’m not crazy about watching spots, but I do make exceptions!) I dated, I had ended up with a funny, short, insane, strange, ill-tempered, not so fuzzy, little Hungarian who did animation. Not exactly what I expected. It wasn’t even on my radar AT ALL when we met. But now Dustin had it all explained for me, it was timing. We were just both ready for a relationship at the same time and WHAM O! It wasn’t that we were each others true love, it was timing that had sucked us into this trap called marriage with children.

At the time of this dinner, I was seriously contemplating leaving my husband. In fact, I would have liked to do anyone else in the room, maybe even DH! As I was thinking along those lines, Trina ironically turned to me my husband and said, “You guys are such a sexy couple.”

I turned to her and said, “Well I guess I shouldn’t dump him them?”

She laughed, everyone laughed. People always laugh when I am dead serious.

Perhaps Dustin’s comment was on my mind so much because I had just had the most ill-fated love affair over the weekend. I began to see how timing was everything. I liked this man, a banker, not my usual, but we had chemistry and relationship potential, but he had flown out from New York at exactly the wrong time… of the month! Yes!!! The timing was incredibly bad, almost bloody hilarious.

The timing was not just bad for this reason. It was bad for another reason. Something had happened in New York that had had an absolute perfect timing to it. One in a million kind of perfect timing, top secret love affair beyond the beyond, everything in a split second. And it was throwing me off. No, it hadn’t thrown me off– The experience had thrown me ON! Yes, it had thrown me on my game and shown me where I belong… Suddenly I had a new perspective that had made my inner desires very clear.

You see, I set my standards high– basically, I’ll settle for ultimate. But, then, well, the dating pool doesn’t…. reflect my wishes and at times… I get lonely and lower my standards, sometimes, in rare cases, significantly!!! But after spending over a decade with the wrong man, though we did make beautiful children, I just won’t get involved past a few dinners unless it’s dream come true material. I’m pretty independent. Now my friends tell me I should maybe be more realistic (not my strong suit), but it’s rather hard, when you are spoiled with Peirce Brosnans, Kelly Slaters, Laird Hamiltons… I could really go on and on and on some more… and other godlike men running around Malibu, a girl can get awful spoiled. It can just… ruin a girl, well, the prefect timing New York love affair ruined me beyond ruination. A quick taste of the ultimate.

It is similar to the time that I was supposed to see an ex of mine for a rendezvous– always good to have a rendezvous with an ex so the numbers don’t increase, but I had run into another ex of mine earlier that day on the beach who I STILL was not over, and it just ruined the evening. I just couldn’t get into it. My mind was on the other ex. Anyway, that was the last time I was with anyone. Since then no one has broken my devotion to my standards… It seems forever ago, almost a year… Until the perfect timing love affair jumped right over the bar. A powerful glimmer, a taste of ultimate that has me hoping lightening strikes at least twice– Can I say infinitely? (Yes, damn it, I WILL!) Or at least a half a dozen or so times? Now, the bar, that I had been told I was setting too high, hadn’t just been met, it had been jumped over and now… maybe it’s even higher… Who can out do it? I’ll just put that out into the universe and see what happens… Just for fun. (Giggle) Though I am fine with it just being jumped over again. (Giggle… Okay, more of a cackle!)

Perfect timing… True love… Mr, Martin Luther, I have a dream, too!

Dustin’s theory would explain a strange call I received one night just two weeks after I had been married– an ex-boyfriend had hunted me down via private detective and was calling to ask me to marry him– talk about bad timing. I actually was head over heels with him at one point, but at the time he was a top notch playboy in full two-at-a-time glory, outdone only by the man who had introduced us (I’ll give you one hint.. “Winning!” Yes, THAT bad– Though he couldn’t really compete with the Warlock– Thankfully– but he did give it the old college try.)

I have always, unfortunately, had a weakness for playboys– as my friend Paige tells me, I have a “bad man picker.” It’s my father’s fault and his father before him– Womanizers!!! I swear it is completely unconscious. I do not want one, not consciously. It’s like they sneak in past my thinking brain and make there way in the backdoor with a secret handshake where the subconscious lets them right on in! The fool! Then my thinking brain catches on at some point and says, “Not again!!!” And then its time to work up the energy to do the dumping. Funny, how even when breaking up is the absolute right thing to do, it’s hard. Worst pain ever invented– breaking up. But, the good news is, I am growing, becoming far more discerning, not falling for the same old bag of tricks.

Well, one day, months into “dating” the playboy, after several red flags had so rudely erected in right front of my face, I decided it was time to change my phone number. I had to change my number because I didn’t trust myself if he were to call. So I had given this ex the slip–

“Just slip out the back, Jack
No need to be coy, Roy,
Just listen to me,
Hop on the bus, Gus
Don’t need to discuss much,
Just drop off the key, Lee, and get yourself free–”

(Naturally one of my father’s favorite songs…)

I had given him the slip and it worked for years until one day, two weeks after I was safely bound to matrimony, he called asking me to marry him. Not that I was really “bound–” as my lovely husband at the time had decided upon and “open marriage” (“Bret don’t be so rigid!’ A word I have neither before or since been described as! At the time I found his idea quite shocking, then emotionally impractical… Now I’m not too sure if he wasn’t on to something… honest.) But, this ex, he called to tell me… HE WAS READY, as if THAT made the world turn!!! He was actually dating someone else, but I was the one he really wanted. He hadn’t been “ready” before and now he was. Well, though I was not thrilled with my particular marriage so far, I didn’t want to marry him either– Can you say, “Over it”? So, he proposed to the poor, silly sap who had been hanging onto him for years… He told me after he proposed to her, in Hawaii on his knees in the very exact Four Seasons I had been married, (Coincidence or what?!) that he would call it off if only I would marry him. I was absolutely bewildered. Clearly, I did not understand men at all! How could he marry another woman when he really wanted me. I couldn’t grasp it. He just kept saying that he was ready to get married and he was going to get married with or without the woman he wanted to marry. I had marveled at the concept until Mr. Hoffman so simply stated that relationships (notice the lack of ‘true love” in this sentence) are all about timing.

I am grateful for all of the love I have experienced and for all of the true love to experience. I am also grateful for all of he perfect timing I have experienced. Now I wish for them to collide. I wish it for all of the warmhearted lovers, the romantics, the truly alive out there, I wish you all perfect timing in true love. Because I think Mr. Hoffman is right, relationships are all about timing…

It was the summer after my father died. It was a heavy, dark time for me. I was close to my father. I wondered how I would go on without him and wondered at times whether or not I wanted to…

My short, but sweet BAYWATCH career all started strangely enough at my father’s funeral…

Three days before my father’s funeral, I had received a call, a call I will never forget, a call I knew was coming… A call that was a long time coming…

It was my mother on the phone and she was crying. My mother had only cried twice in her life (that I saw). Once when she divorced my dad and once ten years later I caught her crying alone in her room with a box of old photos. When I asked her why she was crying, she said she had finally “gotten over” my father… So when I heard her crying on the phone, after my father had disappeared again, she did not have to tell me why she was calling. I said, “It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

She said, “Yes,” and broke down crying.

I said. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

It wasn’t really a question, I knew the answer. I had felt it earlier that day somehow…

But she sobbed, “Yes.”

I broke down crying in a way only someone who has lost who they loved most in the world can know. It was like a howling, an animal sound that wrenched my guts until I collapsed unable to do anything but sob. I sobbed until my guts felt like they were giant, twisted, bleeding bruises and my head felt like a rock of stiff pain, every nerve ached, every cell collapsing in devastation. It hurt. It hurt so bad, I felt old and broken. It was unnatural to know such pain so young.

I can remember crossing the crosswalk, seeing the dark, long car pull up in front of the church. I almost fainted when I saw my father’s coffin being pulled out. My knees gave out and my Aunt Marsha said firmly, catching my arm, “Get a hold of yourself!”

I had only been to one funeral, that of my “Uncle” Alfredo De La Vega (my father’s godfather), so it was fitting, in a way, that as I walked towards the steps of the church, my “Aunt” Bobby Kester (who was my father’s godmother) and I fell into each others arms and cried and cried. It felt good to cry with someone who loved my dad as I did, who was not afraid to cry over a great loss, who was glad to cry with me, who had longed for it even. To everyone else I felt a bit like a leper. None of my friends could relate and my dad died in the middle of finals week…

I have to say, as morbid as it sounds, that as I clutched Bobby’s hand and looked at the closed casket of my father, I was glad I had seen his dead body the night before…

Otherwise I never ever could have believed my dad was dead. I would have lived my life wondering if he would pop up around a corner down on Seashore as he had done before many times after one of his disappearances, expecting him to climb the stairs with hundred dollar bills falling out of his pockets and blood dripping from his hands… I would have expected him to return from the abyss he disappeared to as he had done before, sometimes gone for hours, sometimes days… My father would, like my grandmother had done down in Laguna Beach decades before, check into hotel rooms under assumed names and drink himself into oblivion, some times near death– As if to carry on the family tradition, or to leave some clue as to where his pain came from, he had used my grandfather’s stage name “Brooks,” once when I found him after the fifth or sixth hotel we had searched. After I found him that last time, I did not want to find him again. I could not bring myself to look again for him after that night.

He was in such a shocking state, I could feel my soul splintering… I was who he loved most and yet he looked though me as though I were not there… I was with his AA sponser, who was asking all of the standard questions. The room was filled with an unfathomable amount of large bottles of vodka, a drink I never even knew my dad drank– He was a beer drinker– Coors Light–and sometimes had a Jack Daniels. He was naked and kept sitting up and down in bed like some robot who had a glitch. He kept taking the sheet on and off, getting up then sitting back down. He answered questions in a robotic fashion, too.

Who was this ghost? Who was this trapped animal in the same room as me yet completely gone? He was taken to a hospital. He escaped the hospital that night and was found by the police drunk, playing in the mud on the side of Pacific Coast Highway in his hospital gown.

Months after that night, I received a call in the middle of the night from Hoag’s Hospital. I had been told my dad had had a heart attack and would possibly die. I rushed to his side. He looked at me and reached for my hand and held it tenderly. I was told at the hospital he had actually had an aneurism. That he had been riding his bike on the boardwalk and collapsed.

There were many days and nights of extreme torture with my father. Watching him slowly kill himself, there seemed to be no low for this once great man, there seemed to be no cure for him, but one. To see such a beautiful soul dying and to be helpless to do anything about it… If you ever saw “Leaving Las Vegas” with Nick Cage and Elizabeth Shue– that was my dad. In fact, I remember reading a criticism of Nick Cage’s performance, that he looked too good to be dying. I’m telling you Nick Cage WAS my father! He was him, my dad was a looker until his last breath. My mother and I, though I was in New York and she was in Orange County saw the film at the EXACT same time. Both of us were so completely devastated by the film that we have not been able to watch it ever again. We both cried through the entire film and called each other afterwards, amazed that we had seen it at the exact same time and had had the exact same reactions. It was my dad.

My dad’s last breath was not in Las Vegas though, it was in Costa Mesa. He had been discovered by the housekeeper, hours before his death. She said the room was covered in vomit, feces and urine and asked him if he wanted a doctor. He refused, but called the front desk and hour later asking for an ambulance. He was dead on arrival.

At least we had had one weekend together at “The Ranch” just before he died. My grandfather had (actually his estate still owns it and had been trying to sell it for years– 16000 Calle Real if anyone is interested in buying it) a ranch in Santa Barbara on the coast next to Bruce Brown’s ranch. I’m grateful we had those days together. It was closure in a way, though I did not know it at the time. I remember hiking up and down the stream while my dad talked of things being like the “old days” (before his addiction had ruined him.)

My father’s funeral was surreal, my grandfather oddly answered the priest very cheerfully when he called, saying everyone was “just great,” my Uncle Chris was doped up and kept saying he felt like he was living in “The Stranger” by Camus. My Uncle Chris would die a few years later. He was always fond of saying “Only the good die young.” He looked like River Pheonix and everyone was in love with him, including me. Chris was like his character in “My Own Private Idaho” only instead of narcolepsy he had a heroine problem. I was so naive, I had no idea what-so-ever he did drugs until my one of my good friends from UCLA pointed it out to me. How did I miss that after my father? It just doesn’t occur to me… (Doesn’t anyone watch those anti-drug films in school?! That was enough for me. I mean a little fun here and there, okay, but I guess some people can’t keep it there.) Chris died of an overdose of heroine in his early thirties. Such a shame, when he was so close to the artistic success he wanted and feared, starting Jane’s Addiction. He was a true talent, a genius. (I never knew until recently that he was good friends with Beck. Beck had heard of my singing and inquired where “all of that talent came from,” my friend Paige mentioned my grandmother, Jeanne Crain, and he about fell on the floor. It was from Beck that I learned that the Jane’s Addiction rumor was true. I had been told years ago by someone that my uncle had made it up… So I never mentioned it again. There was so much mystery in our family… more gossip than a rag sheet and most of it true, too! Apparently Jane’s Addiction even dedicated one of their albums to my Uncle Chris, I was happy to know.)

Before, during and after the funeral, my family was worried about me. I heard my cousin whisper, “She’s not going to make it.”

Maybe that’s why my Uncle Tim thought to drag me to the set he was working on. A movie with Madonna. I agreed to do it. It wasn’t a great movie, I was in the courtroom scenes, but it felt good to be on a set, it took my mind off of death… some of the time.

One thing led to another and I found myself working all summer on BAYWATCH. It was such a contrast to what was going on in my life at the time that, in a way, I think it saved me– all that “sun, fun and silicone,” as I remember David Hasselhoff joking, got my spirits up. It was like that moment when Goldie Hawn says in “Private Benjamin” that she joined the army because her entire life had fallen apart– her husband had died making love to her…

Well, instead of joining the army, I did BAYWATCH.

I was a glorified, featured extra on BAYWATCH, all summer long. It was like one of those yellow lifesavers had been thrown to me.

Being a shy, depressed bookworm, at the time, I felt strange prancing around in next to nothing (though people who know me now would have a hard time believing that I was ever shy!)

My confidence was lifted when Greg Bonan, the producer, said that I had the best body on the beach. I looked at Pam Anderson and thought, “I don’t know about that! But… maybe I have the best… real body on the beach. I don’t know,” but I figured if he wasn’t the expert, who was?!!! Anyway, walking around in a bikini on the best beaches in Southern California sure beat sitting around crying and lighting candles or working at the UCLA Bookstore. I made $100 a day. It was good money for me then. So there I was, whenever they needed a girl with a “great ass,” there I was! Was I treated like meat at times? It was BAYWATCH! Having a grip turn me so that my ass was facing the camera… Every day procedure on BAYWATCH.

They even had me try out to be a life guard. I’d like to think I didn’t get hired because I read too well. (I’m sure you’ve seen the show!) Or maybe because I could read at all! I’m not sure, but I do know I would have taken the opportunity if I would have had it offered to me. Why not? The cuts on those red suits were HOT!!!

I literally got my SAG card handing a trophy to Kelly Slater (who I’d met growing up in Newport Beach) in a surf contest in Huntington Beach wearing a bikini. Who could beat that! It was especially meaningful to me that my dad had died with enough money in his wallet (split between me and my brother) to pay for my SAG card. Perfect. Poetic even.

Things were different back then, the Hoff was THE HOFF, Pam had not met Tommy Lee, Slater had hair and hadn’t won 11 world championships yet. So much has happened since then…

I was at the party where the little boy drowned in Tommy Lee’s pool, for instance… Sad day… Where were the lifeguards from Baywatch that day?

I’ve been married, had three kids and divorced. It’s been a while since my days in the sun with my friends on BAYWATCH. They were fun, fun days. Everyone was happy on set, who can beat making millions playing in the sun?

It doesn’t seem so long ago, but, in fact, when someone recently inquired what work I’ve done, I mentioned Baywatch and I was told that I was really dating myself. Even if it was a rude awakening, I had to laugh. Time flies when you are having fun… and even when you’re not!

It is small world though… I saw Hasselhoff at the Montage in Laguna Beach a few years ago, since moving back to Malibu, I see Pam often, we even dated the same guy, only thankfully I didn’t marry him and my son, Romeo, played soccer against David Charvet’s son’s team last season… and won. I see Slater on the beach occasionally or out riding the waves at Little Dume. Some days, living the life out in Malibu, it feels like I never left the set of BAYWATCH…

When I came across this clip of the Season 3 promo for Baywatch, all of these memories came flooding back.

Thanks for the memories.

I cheated on BAYWATCH with a little “Indecent Proposal.” I was spotted at put in front of Woody Harrelson’s class. It was the first time I felt the weight and intensity of having a huge movie camera intensely focused on my face. It was as if the camera was alive! Or at least a magnetic force of nature. I was held after the days shoot was over and hung out with Woody an Adrienne Lyne for a bit. It was fun except when Woody wanted me to help him play pranks on Adrienne Lyne. Woody was irritated that I wouldn’t play along and stood on my foot and would not get off for several minutes and then Adrienne got “mad” at me for playing along with Woody. Oh well, there went my Hollywood career, right!

But the season changed and it was time for me to hang up the swim suit, go back to school, read some books again and do some horribly bad student films at UCLA.

Dealing with my dad’s death did not end with the summer…

The fact that if I live another year, I will have outlived him is rather… sobering. I’ve cried even now, writing some of this little bit, but…

I am grateful for fate throwing me that lifesaver! I am super grateful for the best summer job ever! It was so much better than selling cars in Huntington Beach! (One of the worst jobs ever btw, especially since I never sold ONE car! Never did like Fords– who ever can sell one has my… not respect exactly.)

Yet, as much as I love living in Malibu, every once in a while it’s just good to change it up, broaden your horizons and go some place completely different, some place like New York. I hadn’t been in four or five years and I had never gone solo.

The Mandarin Oriental had sent a black Mercedes to bring me to the hotel, it is the same one I have at home, but in grey, so I felt comfortable and relaxed but…

The moment you enter New York you feel the pulsating energy and, in the winter, the bone chilling cold wakes you up in a way that only the icy New York wind can. It seems like anything can happen there. It feels as though your whole life could change in a “New York minute”. You could run into someone around the next block who changes everything. Looking up at all of the surrounding skyscrapers, imagining the incomprehensible amount of individual lives being lived inside of them, each person like a god or goddess living out their daily lives up in the sky supported by steal beams, the truly amazing engineering feats and constructions of mankind, makes me feel like possibilities are limitless– as if the sky is literally just the beginning of the limit. I wouldn’t be surprised to see penthouses popping up on clouds soon… As I strolled the city, I could see myself living there. Fascinated by the dark, reaching branches of the leave-less trees, I did vaguely wonder if the cold and the fast pace of New York would get to this California girl after a while. I wondered if I would become stripped dark and seemingly lifeless as the winter branches after a while…

But I’ve always dreamed of living in New York… for a year or two… Who knows maybe it would become a second home to me, as Hawaii has.

I went to all of my favorite places– Bergdorf Goodman, Barney’s New York, Madison Avenue, Central Park… I suppose I could have gone to some museums, but it was such a short trip and I’ve seen all of the best museums of the world already. So it was wonderful for me to just ride around in cabs, walk and feel the streets, thrill with the energy pumping through me and imagine living in New York…

And yet it was better to NOT live there, because when you are out of town, there is a loosening of restraint, a carefree feeling, a loss of oneself in the anonymity of the city that you wouldn’t have if you lived there and had the possibility of running into someone you know that would demand of you that you act like yourself…. Have you noticed experiencing a different side of “you” when you are in a different place– maybe bolder, maybe more relaxed, maybe more alive– but different you? A you who smiles more, a you who notices her surroundings, a you who has a brisker walk than normal… Maybe you become who you really are away from familiar eyes that are used to seeing you as a certain personality with certain behaviors, with certain thoughts and patterns that can really make one feel locked down, as if you are have been sentenced to Siberia inside your own skin… Even when you live in Paradise, even when you have a wonderful family or a good life and marriage, everything anyone would ever want, still, still there is a lightening of the spirit and a deepening of the breath when you are out of what can be the suffocating monotony of the commitments you have made in your life. A freedom from your usual roles and personality can be a tremendous relief– especially when, ironically, you are a good person, for being good is not the easy way many times. There were many years of my life, in fact, that I was so good that I became completely miserable. One day while having lunch at Mozza in Los Angeles, my beautiful, wise friend said, in her french accent, “You know, Bret, sometimes there is such thing as being too good. Maybe you should stop being so good and you should be happy instead.” A divorce ensued soon afterward. Her comment had awakened something inside of me that had been long ignored, my need to Live.

It is some kind of perfect fate or timing that his trip to New York, afforded me the opportunity to do something way out of character for me. It is an opportunity that has presented itself many, many times in my life, but I, for what ever reasons– pride, moral restrictions, thoughts of consequences or future needs– had denied myself. A wild, unbridled moment. A delicious secret to carry with me always… An absolute perfection. Something that has had me smiling, tripping over cracks in sidewalks and acting like I may not have a brain in my head and not really caring at all whether I do or not… Yes, I did something I never would have done at home…

Well, “never” is quite a strong word, but it would have been very unlikely… especially in my small, gossipy hometown.

Though it is a moment of passion which may be regarded by another as insignificant, it has been described to me by my ex-husband as “meaningless,” but I have to say, I think it is more real than anything in a certain way. Not if you measure it in length of time or by commitment, or by anything else we normally measure the importance of things by, but if you measure it by a complete respect for the fact that life is too short and the need to feel truly alive, then, it gets an A+ in importance and significance.

I am so grateful for it, I’m still smiling days later, though I did feel my conscience wanting to stroll me down the walk of shame… Irritating… But, for a few brief days I lived in utter shamelessness and bliss. It made me see the restraint that I keep myself under in order to please others around me and make them feel safe and protected from the power of my beauty and sex appeal. I wondered at this and began to re-think my thoughts on life… It got me pondering change…

You see, it’s not only good to get away from your familiar surroundings, no matter how wonderful they may be, it’s good to get out of who others think you are and even who you think you are and throw caution to the cold, New Yorker wind for a while. Explore what life has to offer without thinking about consequences. It makes you feel alive and awkward and vulnerable and real…

I found myself not wanting to leave New York and all of the endless possibilities that whisper to you in the wind as you are absorbed by the streets and surrender to the vibrancy of the world’s best city.

Landing in Los Angeles is usually not a heart warming experience for me, as I am usually coming back from some place far more beautiful, like Hawaii — There was one exception years ago, when I had taken a long, excruciatingly horrible trip to the eastern block of Europe, where I felt that I literally wanted kiss the dirty, cold ground at LAX when I had returned because I was so relieved to be back in the USA. But, usually, feel sorry to be back and wonder why I live here at all, because the ride home from the airport is ugly and congested, traffic is hardly a welcoming sight. My spirits do lift as soon as the car hits Pacific Coast Highway because as long as I can see the Pacific, I’m good.

…But this time, after my affair with the Atlantic, I didn’t feel joy until I kissed and hugged my children and gave them their presents from the Big Apple…

I dare you to take a bite!!!

the endless, endlessness of things to be grateful for

When I was six, I can remember scoring a refrigerator box from a house being built down the street as a kid. My brother and I dragged it all the way to our house like we were on a covert, secret mission… We dragged out treasure into my father’s garage and set at work on creating our own world. We cut out a front door, windows, a sunroof and even found another box to attach to our “main house” to make a little room for our tabby cat, Frisko. We brought in lamps, blankets and even found some carpet from the same house being built down the street. Then my brother and I found another giant refrigerator box from a house around the corner being built– I felt like I had just won the lottery because it was from Vince Ferragamo’s house, who was my crush, being a handsome quarter back on the Rams, my favorite team– and my brother built his own custom house that connected to my house through a “secret passage.” We decorated our “secret clubhouses” with magic markers and drew paintings on the wall and plants and even made shelves to put things on, as long as they weren’t very heavy… Only best friends were allowed to enter!

As an parent, it’s fun to see your children experience for the first time things you remember experiencing with the fresh eyes of a child. I enjoyed watching my daughter, Ruby, and her friend, Aruna, sit for hours decorating their Giant “ship” (a large refrigerator box) going on a great adventures, with their imaginations, in the middle of the living room. For days they would not allow me to remove their cardboard world, until finally it was played with so much that it was falling apart…

I had my assistant, Tim, at the time, go and search for a giant wooden crate, so that the fun could last for longer and wouldn’t fall apart. He found one and we all set to work together sawing, painting and hammering to make a cool playhouse.

My son, Romeo, brought me back to all of those memories this morning when he set himself and his two puppies, Sugar and Cha Cha, inside the box that my son, Bowie’s, Star Wars Death Star Legos came in. He had so much fun creating his own world. A cardboard box is like a blank slate that can be turned into anything– a pirate ship, a time machine, a submarine, an airplane. They are free to be decorated any which way and adult s see them as “valuable” so the child can experience the total freedom of creation without any adult irritation. Although my father did get upset I brought his nice china form Italy and his antique lamp into my clubhouse– otherwise I had free reign over my domain!

I think one of the best entertainments a kid can have is to create their own world inside a cardboard box. With the current economy, I’ve sometimes I’ve had a fear that my family and I would end up on the street living in a box… If it ever happens, I’ll be sure and bring my magic markers!

I’ve drenched and soaked my turkey in duck fat, beef broth, squeezed the juice of several oranges all over the inside and outside of it, hoping it won’t turn out dry. I’ve washed it, rubbed it with herbs, seasonings, salt, pepper and paprika and I’m basting the spoiled rotten little thing every twenty minutes! I’ve put white wine, carrots, celery, onions and a secret jalapeno in the bottom of the pan…

Then I started thinking of a man I’ve cooked many turkeys for. This one man in particular made me see how some men are like turkeys. Only instead of being dry, they are loveless.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much love, attention, effort and support I gave him, he remained dry, like a turkey. It’s a hard thing to accept, little problem solver that I am, that nothing could warm this man’s heart. This particular man, ended up being a malignant narcissist with anti-social traits, which is basically 3/4 the way to psychopath. I realize not all men are like this, but there are those “odd birds” out there who don’t seem to enjoy family, holidays, intimacy, love and who do not, no matter how awesome a woman may be, appreciate a woman’s worth…

Which got me wondering why I bothered with that particular man so long, trying to get blood from a turnip, as they say…

Perhaps, I like a challenge or I am hopelessly addicted to hope or maybe I didn’t know what I was dealing with at the time. Perhaps, it never occurred to me that he was not like me, that the he was missing certain elements of humanity that I had previously taken for granted… Perhaps it never occurred to me that he was just dry like a turkey.

You could drench him in gravy, smother him in cranberry sauce, smash him in with the mashed potatoes and creamed corn, but he would still be a turkey after all of that.

But as I was wondering why I bothered with this man for over a decade, I got to wondering (You see how long it takes to prepare a turkey, lots of wondering can be done!) why our forefathers and foremothers chose turkey to eat on winter holidays, when there are so many other kinds of meats, such as chicken, fish and beef that are juicy and much less work to make tasty and delicious. As I stuffed the turkey full of stuffing, I really began to see a similarity between men (some of them) and turkeys.

Some men are like turkeys, dry. I suppose certain women out there are too. Maybe our forefathers and foremothers didn’t have a choice about what they ate when they first came to America. Maybe turkey was all there was to eat –Dating in Los Angeles makes me empathize with their plight. Maybe after that, it just became a tradition to eat turkey… What ever the reason, I’m thinking to cook roast beef next year!

I am so happy with Nick’s Webworks!  he did an amazing job! If you still have a Flash website that can’t be seen on iPads and iPhones– Update you website to HTML5!  Tell him I sent you and he will give you the same great deal he gave me!

Check out the new Lady Bret website for my brand new music video WHITE GIRL also being released 11/11/11 at 11:11am!