Ms.Cheevious

I was just perusing my posts, reading the comments posted by you funny, fantastic readers, and somehow, as a result, I ended up on my blogger-friend Matt’s page about Christmas.  That thing CRACKED ME UP. 

Matt was a little pissed off at Santa, whom he said “hadn’t come through for him in a long f-ing time.” I paraphrased that just a tad.  His complaint? That “Santa’s fat ass had been getting lazy and given him nothing but gift certificates” over the last couple of years.  This made it perfectly acceptable for Matt to buy himself a gift on a recent visit to Sports Authority – even though he was there to buy gifts for his family.

SO Funny!  Welcome to Christmas in single adult world.  HA!  Oh sure, there are the gifts we exchange with friends, family and such, but it’s not at all like it was when we were kids, and mom and dad asked what we wanted.  Usually they asked with the actual intent of getting us at least one item on our list.  It started out when we were really young and could barely write, and mom would remind us to write our letter to Santa so he’d be sure to know what we wanted.  The disillusionment started then.  Santa just never seemed to get it right.  Then when I learned the truth about Santa – that he is just the guy to take pictures with at the mall, I realized my mom and dad were the culprits at never getting it right. There were multiple let-downs, because mom or dad thought they were satisfying me with a Barbie “look-alike” or some kind of nonsense like that.  I got pretty good at crafting my “Christmas list” as I grew up.  I got to where I was providing the manufacturer’s name, and store location where they could pick one up.  Little did I know that my determination to get what I wanted would be the driving force in developing some keen management skills in me as well.  HA!

By the way, who said Christmas is not about the gifts?  Well, whoever did clearly did NOT know what it was like at our house.  Listen, we were taught the true story of Christmas – how it was because of the birth of Christ and that it was suppose to be about giving rather than getting.  My mom and dad made sure of that.  And believe me – all that giving they did to me and my siblings rubbed off.  Just ask anyone that I care about around any sort of gift-giving time. 

But just imagine a home with a minimum of eight or nine kids (I am one of eleven kids, from the same set of parents).  My younger brother Johnny and I are the “babies,” and we were pretty spoiled around Christmas time.  Although, I am absolutely certain every single one of my siblings felt the same.  It’s because my mom had this fantastic way of making everything look so ultra festive and our living room – where the tree was always housed (apart from one trial year, where some artsy-fartsy sibling convinced mom to move it to the den for a “change” which really sucked, because of the hard marble floors), was like a department store – the Christmas tree was INCREDIBLE.  Our living room became un-walkable because of the PILES of gifts under and surrounding the tree. I remember Johnny and I sneaking out after midnight one year.  We even sat in the hall and waited for our mom and dad to finish their Christmas business, before we snuck out and counted our presents.  It was a good year.  We must have been around 5 and 7 or so, and we each had over 100 gifts!  This of course included every single thing, including the 24 Crayola Crayons wrapped alone, and the six little coloring books that were also wrapped individually.  My mom knew.  Perception was KING.  She wanted us to wake up in the morning, and see our eyes pop out of our heads at the fantastic sight.  And we did.  We knew not to let her down.

Anyhow, since then, growing up, going through marraige, divorce and raising my own kids, I’ve learned that the only way I am going to get exactly what I want is to buy it myself (okay – that’s not always the case – sometimes if I focus REAL hard, someone else gets me just what I want! HA!).  So, I’m sorry Santa, but I’m taking your job – at least in my own personal world.  Sorry.  I’ve just proven to be indispensable to myself, and well, let’s face it. You’ve been slacking on the job lately!

On another note, this year I took my older son to New York city for Thanksgiving.  It was his Christmas gift.  Next year, I’ll be smart.  He has a birthday in early January.  Next year, I’ll let him know it’s a COMBINATION Christmas and Birthday gift, if we are lucky enough to do something so extravagant again.  I just had NO idea how much money I would spend showing my son a good time in the Big Apple.  It was a small fortune.  Let’s just say his car cost me about the same.  It’s not an expensive car, as cars go, but hey – it’s an Infinity, and it ain’t half bad. 

On one of my days while in the city for some important PR appointments, I found myself on 5th Avenue.  Need I say more?  Probably not.  I could probably end this post right here and now, and you’d know what happened.  That’s because you are so very smart.  But, hey, I will give you the details nonetheless.

You see, there is this clothing designer called Free People.  I discovered them for myself this past summer, while “just browsing” at Bloomingdales.  That little browse cost a pretty penny too, but I LOVE those clothes.  One thing I learned, after my 5th Avenue experience is that buying these things at department stores is the way to go.  They are the only ones who mark things down as much as like 60%. 

So, I’m walking down 5th Avenue, minding my own business.  I had just finished my last appointment at Forbes Magazine, when I realized what a PRETTY street 5th Avenue is!  At least where I was between 14th and 15th streets.  It called to me.  The beautiful shops with their wood framed windows and majestic entrances.  I was doomed.  I simply HAD to explore – if only for the sheer architectural beauty!  As I meandered down the block, I was JUST about to hail a cab, thinking my browsing was over, when I saw the FREE PEOPLE store.  These people know how to make clothes, and they know how to LURE people like me into their store. 

I went in. 

I tried on.

Everything looked AMAZING.  I am NOT kidding.

Will someone please tell me?  Just WHEN does a female EVER try clothes on and say that everything looks AMAZING? Most women NEVER utter the word “amazing” in reference to ANYTHING about their body!

Never.

I even tried on these spandex leggings with gold zippers at the ankles.  They rocked – just before falling into my basket.

Many many dollars later, I was walking down 5th Avenue with my new Christmas gift to myself!

Done. 

The only people left to shop for were my younger son Graden, and a few good loves.  Now that I was out of the way, I could get some stuff done.

So Matt, I TOTALLY get it.  I bet after you bought yourself that workout bench, you were able to focus on everyone else!  Am I right?

Have an INCREDIBLE, LOVELY weekend everyone.  Don’t let the Grinches out there rob you of your sheer and utter JOY.  Just smile at everyone and tell them to have a beautiful, wonderful day.  And have some eggnog if that doesn’t work! Some good – strong – eggnog.

Love you people!  Mmmmmphhhhuuuuhhhhh!!!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

It’s the Holidays kiddies, and I’ve got Holiday Fever! 

It’s sad, really.  Not because I have the fever, but because I only get like this around the holidays.  Nothing else gets me going like this.

Any other time of year, if I am busy at work, that’s what I do, and then I collapse in front of the television or curl up to read a good article or book in order to recuperate.  Not so during the holidays. 

I can be on my way to the airport, scrambling to catch a flight, and somehow manage to work a run to the drug store in (to shop for that perfect item that will finish off the perfect gift).  And it doesn’t frazzle me one bit.

It’s like I have this extra dose of adrenaline or something.  Perhaps I should call it Holiday Adrenaline. 

Here’s a little peek into my world over the next two days: 

Today:  Crazy busy with work. Somehow have to manage a run to the hardware store, and wrap some presents. Oh, and I want to go and do the “stairs” in Santa Monica, since I didn’t do pilates this morning.

Tonight – Hellooooo – it’s Thursday.  And it’s Thursday Night Football.  And the Saints are playing.  And they happen to be Fred the Wonder Chicken’s favorite team.  So, you know where I’ll be –  here at home, watching football – uh huh!  Eating Turkey Tacos!  YUMMM

Tomorrow – costco run, more work, Pilates at noon, hair appointment at 3PM, then a meeting with the guy who’s providing all the alcohol for my holiday party on Saturday!

Saturday – errands, decorating and set up for my holiday cocktail party.

Saturday night – PAR-TAY!!!

So, there you have it.  I won’t be surprised if I manage to add a few dozen other items to that list!  It’s pure mayhem I tell ya.  Or as FWC might argue, it’s a melee.

Well anyway – I just wanted to check in with you all, because one thing I am NOT able to do when I’m spinning a thousand plates, is muster up the creativity to write a proper blog!  At least not this week! 

But tune in NEXT week when I promise to serve up a fantastic Holiday DISH.

Have a wonderful, eventful weekend everyone!

Love you people!  Mmmmmphhhhuuuuhhhhh!!!!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious 

So, I wanted to give you all a recap of my trip to New York city, but the truth is, it was half work, and half Thanksgiving vacation, and I am still trying to piece together what happened in that whirlwind of a trip! I’ll dish more on the shenanigans later, I promise!  But here I will tell you about a little flashback I had while having drinks on this trip at the W Hotel, at Union Square. 

I love W Hotels, don’t you?  So, warm, sleek and inviting.  Only the pretty people go the W.  I guess I am lucky they let ME in! ha!  You know, on a side note, the W Hotel goes down in my own personal history book as THE major influence on current day home fashion.  For me, it was the W that blazed the trail in the simple and refined look of today.  The dark woods, ambient lighting, lounge style, simple sofas and tables.  And the guest rooms as well – with their over-stuffed, high-lifted feather beds.  Those things looked like giant pillows of comfy clouds just waiting to be climbed into and snuggled.  But I digress.

Anyhow, on this most recent trip (when I had my flashback), my friend G-love and I were sitting in the lounge after watching my nephews band “Ruffian Arms” play at a place on the lower east side called Arlene’s Grocery.  I mentioned it to an old friend of mine (an ex), who is/was a band and music artist manager and use to be an exec at several top record labels, and upon hearing that my nephew’s band was playing there (I suppose he thought my nephew might be playing the bar mitzvah of the singer’s cousin’s son, or something), he said in a somewhat surprised tone, “Oh! That’s a GREAT venue!”  So, needless to say I was a proud aunt.  And let me just say, it was AWESOME!  The band takes risks – all the guys dress in stripper red platform, high-heeled lace-up boots, and my nephew wore a black Tina Turner style wig, and some other funky stuff (a carpenter apron with red paint splashed on it, and not much else, I suppose), and the lead singer wore a black sequined sort of one piece swim suit, a big bouffant red wig and a tiara.  But they were SUCH a FUN and talented band.  It reminded me of a cross between the B-52′s and the Talking Heads – then throw some punk in there.

Anyhow, we watched the show, had a couple beers with my nephew, then headed up town to the W.  When we walked in I was transported to another time and day in NYC, when I was at the Blue Fin bar in the W Hotel Times Square.  At that time, I was sitting there having drinks with a friend, minding my own business.  I didn’t think I was looking all that “hot” that evening.  I wore my hair curly, because I was running late, and in order to keep warm, I was fairly bundled up with my jeans tucked into my boots.  All of the sudden a couple of guys stopped by our little corner, the cute one, sitting himself right next to me.  I’ll call him Slick (think ‘Greasy’ – you’ll see why in a moment).

He was quite charming, ole Slick.  And REALLY cute.  We actually had quite a lot in common.  So, we exchanged phone numbers, because one of his “crew” wanted to head out to the next place on their list. 

So, the rest of my trip, Slick and I text-messaged each other, and tried to arrange another time to have drinks together.  He really wanted to see me.  I thought it seemed odd that someone would put so much effort into seeing someone from out of state.  After all, it was New York City.  It’s not like there was a shortage of beautiful women to hit on.  Perhaps it was the challenge of getting a date with someone on a limited schedule.  I dunno.  But it was interesting.

Finally the day came when Slick and I could meet.  He wanted me to come to his place in the West Village for a drink, then go out for app’s and wine nearby.  I texted him that I was uncomfortable doing that – that he might be a serial killer or something, and it just wasn’t something I would do.  He texted me back “nope.  i went to “fill in the blank” Italian market and bought the ingredients to make my famous crustinis.  It won’t keep.  Just give my address and phone number to all your friends.  If they don’t hear from you by 9pm, they can call the police.”  So, guess what?  I went.  Hey I like it when a guy takes control and bosses me around.  HA! 

Slick had a pad that was only fitting for someone like him.  It was REAL slick.  It was three levels, wood floors, was impeccably decorated, with artwork and artifacts, and it had a FULL back yard, with brick planters that wove through the yard, and an ivy covered wood fence with permanent imbedded twinkle lights.  VERY cool.

We had a bottle of wine, and his crustinis – which come to think of it, were just “okay” – they were actually soggy.  All through the night, as we chatted, and he gave me a tour of his place, explaining the artwork, etc. I felt like Slick was just too close.  He was very touchy and feely, which is normally a GREAT thing for me, but this just felt rushed.  We’d walk into a room, and he would try to grab my hand (which I would ignore, and swing my arm away, nonchalantly).  We’d be standing there, while he explained a painting, and he’d touch his hand to the underside of my ass – you know what I mean – right above the top of the thigh (and I would move ever so slightly).  First of all, that’s where all my cellulite is.  Why would I want ANYONE to focus on that area – let alone touch it affectionately – and WHY on earth would I allow some complete stranger to grope there. Ewww.

So, I said to him a couple of times, trying to be nice, and flirty “You are a very familiar person, aren’t you?” To which he would say things like “I think affection is a good thing, don’t you?” Don’t get me wrong.  He was never threatening to say the least.  And he was not that big.  I was a bit taller than him, so I felt very confident I could kick his ass if I needed to.  Ha ha!  It just never even came close to coming up, so it was not a big deal.  I always felt in control, which turned out to be a GOOD thing.

Anyhow – I’ll wrap this up.  At one point Slick started to move into his living room with another bottle of wine, when I strongly suggested, in a sweet, flirty voice, that we go for appetizers and cocktails like we’d planned. So we did.  We walked to one of his favorite places. I couldn’t tell you where or what it was.

We sat at the bar, ordered some more wine and an appetizer, and started to chat.  I don’t really remember much about what we spoke about, but I did learn he was about seven years younger than me.  Ick.  Younger men are just so that – young. I like a man’s man.  I like someone who’s been around the block, knows what he likes, what he’s doing, or at least knows how to put up a good front.  There is nothing sexier to me than someone older than me. It makes me feel protected or taken care of.  Imagine that.  Ms. Cheevious – the wild, adventurous voyeur and fluttering social butterfly wanting to feel protected.  Go figure.  People are complex creatures.  But I digress again. 

Finally Slick said something that was the beginning of the end.  I didn’t know it at the time, but it was.  I think I was asking him about how curious his attraction was to me, and how much effort he was putting into getting together with me, when I was about to leave town.  He said “I just think we could do a lot of fun things together.”  So, I’m thinking, travel, events, movie premieres, what-have-you, but I ask, “Like what kind of fun things.”  Then he said it, and I have to actually CENSOR this, “Well.  (pause) How do you like your BLEEP licked?”

So.

There it was.

The bubble burst.

The guillotine dropped.

My JAW dropped.

I looked at him and said in my very angry and exceptionally LIVID voice (my son’s know this voice – and a few unfortunate employees, and even some friends, sadly), “I CANNOT. BELIEVE. YOU JUST SAID THAT.”  (pause)  “This date is now OVER.”

With that I got up, and walked out.  He said, “Okay.  I can respect that,” as he followed me to hail a cab.  Then of course, knowing that the universe will always return to you what you put out there, I said, “Listen.  I’m a familiar person.  But that is WAY too familiar, and extremely, disgustingly rude.”  and I added, “It’s who you are.  I get it.  But it is NOT me.  Good night.”  And I got in my cab and rode away. 

Later that week he had the gall to text me and say “It was nice meeting you. Keep in touch.”  To which I had no reply.

As G-love and I sat sipping our martinis last week at the W Hotel in Union Square, I chuckled a little inside.  ‘Only in New York,’ I thought.  Then I corrected myself.  ‘No.  Only in my life!’ 

So what was the point of that story?  Well, aside from SHOCK and AWE (ha ha) I guess I am glad for being a strong person, and for the fact the my own self respect and dignity trumped anything that guy had to offer.  I was not wowed by some wealthy guy in New York.  I am quite happy to stay on my own if faced with someone like that as an option.  But believe it or not, I actually know women who will date someone like that even though all the signs are there that he has no ability to treat her as she deserves. Sad.  But you are not like that!  No, you read my posts every week and get empowered to live life on your terms!  Right?  Tell me I’m right, would you?  Ha ha!

With that I will leave you my friends!  As the holidays approach, I hope you have all your priorities in order.  Respect yourself, because if YOU don’t, no one else will.  Be good to your loved ones, the elderly and small children (but not tweens or teens – just ignore them – trust me – they deserve it now and then – ha ha – JUST KIDDING).  It’s the holidays!

Love you people!  Mmmmmmmphhhhuuhhhhh!

xoxo,

Ms. Cheevious

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Blog content copyright 2008, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious