Shrimp on the Barbie Baby

You know, when I first heard that saying “Shrimp on the Barbie,” it actually conjured up images of a Barbie Doll with a piece of shrimp on it.  I’m sure there are psychological implications to this, especially given my deviant nature at times, but suffice it to say, once I thought of that saying (don’t ask me how on earth I thought of “Shrimp on the Barbie” after lying in a bed of Kleenex, having sneezed and coughed for the past eighteen hours.  Perhaps it was a drug induced hallucination of Barbies and shrimp dancing around my brain, or maybe it’s just because I LOVE Barbie.  I think Mattel should create a Barbie GPS.  One that is pink and says things I can relate to, like “Time to stop and apply lip gloss!” or “No! Don’t go down there! You’ll get mud on your Jimmy Choos!” ), my mind went on a rabbit trail from there.  It took me to thoughts of my Memorial Day Weekend.  It was my first holiday weekend since moving into my new condo in Los Angeles. 

One of my best friends (the one who is an on-air personality on national television – the one I can’t mention here – ha ha) was in town from New York, and we planned a little soire at a mutual friend’s house.  Okay – not just any house – and not just any friend.  He’s pretty cute too (always a bonus) and a perfect host.  This friend’s house is up in the hills of Beverly Hills and has a panoramic view of Los Angeles from its pristinely landscaped back yard.  This view can be seen while sipping Pina Coladas in the hot tub, lounging near the pool, or from any point in the back yard.  Not only can you see a spectacular array of city lights on a clear night, but you can see some of the elaborate mansions on the rolling hills across the way.  As I scanned the breathtaking view on that night I couldn’t help but wonder what each of the members of these households were up to in that very moment.  Were celebrities afoot, hobnobbing and congratulating each other on their latest projects as they sampled the latest and greatest Wolfgang Puck fare?  Were they welcoming friends and family for a little shrimp on the barbie and some delicious daiquiris? 

Cool Pad in Beverly Hills

Here is our host’s pad.  Very nice place. 
The photo, taken by our mutual friend, doesn’t do justice to the view, but you get the picture.

Or could it be that the most likely scene in this belly of affluence was that of a desolate housewife sitting alone in her bathrobe, smoking cigarettes on her balcony looking at the fantastic view her world has created for her, only to also create a husband whose hunger for status, success and an unhealthy appetite for celebrity leads him astray time and again with every next top model or actress – or even actor? 

I allowed my mind to go to this dark and very real place for some in Tinsel Town for only a moment, before it was so pleasantly interrupted by a delicious Malibu Rum and diet Coke offered by my adorable host.  ‘Ahh, Malibu’ I sighed with relief. Not only was I relishing in the rum, but thoughts of the beach, the ocean’s waves in all their majesty, and the burnt orange and fuchsia sunsets so beautifully crafted by the unique attributes of Southern California’s carbon footprint.  It may not be paradise to some, but I do love the landscape here, even with all the faults so many are quick to point out.

So, anyway.  I got to the party a little in the dark as to what we’d be cooking up.  My girlfriend said she had it covered, so I showed up in time to help get things going.  This friend of ours is a total bachelor.  It’s almost criminal for such a magnificent kitchen, complete with indoor grille and all the accoutrements for fabulous culinary creations, to belong to a bachelor who doesn’t even cook.  I tried not to drool as I prepped the lettuce and tomatoes for the burgers.  He is so much the stereotypical male bachelor, too.  Poor guy.  He told the story of how he’d been in the house for almost ten years, when his parents came for the holidays recently.  His mom went to cook a holiday dinner only to find the oven did not work.  “Please tell me you have used this oven before,” he mimicked his mother’s disdain over his pathetic bachelor state. Of course he hadn’t.  As a matter of fact, he even expected my friend and I to actually do the grilling for our little group.  This is where I stepped in.  I protested that idea vehemently.  I am a little traditional, in the sense of male and female roles.  Go figure.  Me, the jet-set, marketing and PR professional, who actually likes to be valued and cherished, and treated special!  As traditional as I am, I don’t go so far back to the golden olden days, that I am willing to carry buckets of water from the well, or worse yet, light the grille and flip the burgers.  In my book, that’s where the men take over.  Either that, or I stay inside and use the fancy indoor grille, which works just fine as well.  🙂  Once the guys took charge of the burgers on the outdoor grille, we were all set. 

So, do you think it’s outrageous that I am actually so old fashioned? Listen, I am all for being liberated, and we all know I’ve exercised that liberation on more than one occasion (in many fun and interesting ways!)  Even though I am strong and able, I LIKE a man to take over when things intimidate me, or seem bigger than me.  Or if I cry.  Ha ha.  I LOVE to defer to my man.  I suppose it could be construed as a bit of a double standard.  I want to be treated special, like a precious commodity.  I also want to do what makes me happy when I want.  But doesn’t everyone?  I want to be able to take off the Paris if I’m so inclined.  Of course, if I am with someone, I most certainly want them to come along, but I am not opposed to seeking adventure on my own once in a while, too.  The latter tends to intimidate, or infuriate men.  They can’t seem to wrap their mind around the concept that a strong independent, intelligent woman is deserving of being cherished, loved and treated like they (the men) are so lucky to be with them.  Is that so much to ask?  Like Sheryl Crow says, “Lie to me.  I promise I’ll believe.”  Just make me believe I am precious.  Dammit.  ha ha!  You know, growing up, my family called me Super Brat.  Then a little later a brother-in-law elevated the title to Wonder Brat.  It was a compliment.  I truly believe my family sat back with jaws on the floor at the way my life unfolded.  HA!

I’m really not a brat.  I just know what I want.  Right now, I’d like to be able to stop the coughing and sneezing.  I want to go for an exhilerating hike or bike ride.  I could even love the hot tub right about now.  But alas, I must get back to work!

So, I went from Shrimp on the Barbie (and all that implies) to the lifestyles of the rich and famous (or not), and then ended with an analysis of – ME (albeit distorted and just-as-drug-induced as my Barbie hallucinations.) How utterly apropos. 

I am in Aspen this week, and will be in Vegas for next week’s post.  THAT will be fun!  I received the footage from my underwhelming appearance on Entertainment Tonight, and still haven’t decided whether I will post it or not.  More later on that.  Perhaps next week I’ll chat about my escapades at Book Expo.  Or not. Regardless, it’ll be GOOD.

Have a great weekend everyone!

xoxo – or as an old boyfriend use to say “mmmmmphhhuuuhhhh!”
Ms. Cheevious 


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