Forever In Blue Jean.

The weekend was massive. Off the chain. It started with traditional English Tea at this joint in Pasadena. Angela Landsbury was there last week shit you not. Served on Royal Doulton. I thought about it and it was probably the everyday best china and not the best china, but still. Amazing sandwiches, scones with lashes of clotted cream and jelly. Lovely sweets and endless tea. Appropriately expensive. Connected to a lovely shop which caries the best selection of Barbour I've seen. I hope people get off that dog pile real quick. Oh, and picked up a Royal Collection Royal Wedding china tea cup which was outrageously expensive. It almost took my breath away, but I didn't hesitate. Not for a single instant.

The Colony was wonderful. I want to live there. Not sure I get the RRL store. Not sure I get RRL. They had some fresh bracelets but I'm not feeling jewelry at the moment. Everyone was laid back and relaxed. Saw a badass Givenchy bag on a lady who otherwise looked strung out and homeless. Scored a Deth Killers shirt at Barney's but after they hassled me at the door for setting off their alarm I was ready to give it back. But I have waited 7 years for one and I've been trying to choose my battles. I always swear I'll never go back to that store and I always do. Why?

The visit to The Queen Mary may have been the highlight. Of the year actually until this Friday. I'm not a poet or wordsmith so I don't think I could do the whole thing justice. Just go. You can actually stay there. They have rooms, and lounges and sun decks, and shops. One of which was selling some more Wills and Kate tat which I had to seriously restrain myself from. It's actually a vision in Art Deco which isn't even my thing, but I can certainly appreciate it. Lots of French people.

Muffin is back in the house. After spending 7 months in the country. We've been having snuggle times all morning. Work interferes... Work may have to go.

Expressions of Joy & Bliss.

Happy Birthday indeed!

Tropics Covering The Globe.

No shipping outside the Eurozone. Euro-centric bad news. I say bollocks. Although the reply email was polite enough.

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Stuff like this. Is just stupid.

Bruichladdich. Say it with me. Now just discovered readily available in the HW. Dear Lord yes.

Limits Of Your Imagination.

I really had to take a moment I don't mind telling you. It all seemed surreal when it was happening. I stood back, did the calculations in my head and then it suddenly occurred to me. Like it had always been there only the elements necessary for the now obvious conclusion never fully materialized but here it was now staring me in the face. A Metro "weekly pass" is actually only good for six days.

Week? Six days? Week? Six days? And it goes on cause once the realization hits there remains so many more questions. The most obvious of which is are you serious? Six days. Under other circumstances this could really just derail things entirely, but things have to get done and gin is not going to lie around and drink itself which is such a shockingly convenient coincidence at times it makes one shudder.

I just resigned myself to getting ripped off by Metro and bought another weekly pass like a dumbfounded lemming. Not a care in the world really. Make it to the local Starbucks yesterday morning and someone from work is there. Too early for polite conversation I think so I grab my drink and leave. This 5 foot nothing elf totally paces me going up Figueroa and I think I must be hallucinating. She says hi, irrelevant and disjointed conversation ranging from where I commute from to how many hours does it take me to get to work ensues. How can this happen? Everything planned so carefully.

Coming home from work some imperious man in a uniform asks to see my ticket. I haul out my overpriced weekly pass and hand it to him. He scans it with some contraption and I shake my head and look away in disgust. In the end the officer almost has to force the Metro pass back into my unwilling hand, but I eventually take it knowing full well how much of my pride it has cost me. Bugger Metro! If gas weren't ruinously expensive. I'd still want someone to take me to and from work but the option seems nice on some mornings. Wielding ridiculous and unnecessary power to convey oneself can be so alluring.

Distant Ancestor Simulation

How delicious is this. Russell Martin waiting for his game donning Gucci hat, True Religion tee & hot Orange customized mani. I think I'm going to Thai Town and getting a set myself. This is what Twitter has done for me lately.

All Empty And Intriguing.

Couldn't sleep. Had a powerfully wretched nightmare that Derek was running around shouting unseemly things at umpires. Totally sucked. I was also fighting a giant spider all Shelob style with hand grenades and catapults. Nothing really to do then. Couldn't just lie there waiting to be gripped with blind terror. I blame the ginger ale. Sweet ginger ale.

So I checked my twitterings and came across this fun article about how many major league baseball catchers have taken to having their fingernails manicured and painted in bright colors so their signs are easier to read in less than ideal lighting (I love how much of baseball depends on good lighting). Yeah, my new favorite French Canadian Yankee even customizes his mani with a white stripe down the middle. Just too easy.

Brought to mind some nontroversey surrounding a J. Spew ad with a mom painting her kids nails pink or something. Fox News was seething. Feel happy I don't know what channel Fox News is on. Even happier it's on a channel I know I don't get. Maybe it is a channel. Days are always nice when they begin with you appreciating the small things. Dreadful ginger ale induced nightmares and all. Solid.

Got The News From My Computer And You?

Getting the Polo ponies on my socks to point the right direction this morning couldn't have been more of a challenge. I couldn't get it right and was convinced that the inside of my jeans would be deeply offended if I got it wrong. For a moment I wondered how I could let myself get in such a state so early in the day and then I realized.

My stash of Arm & Hammer Deodorant has been entirely depleted and I have no idea where to get more. Well I have an idea, but this supply was acquired with some effort at the price of 99 cents per and was carefully packaged and moved from Seattle to LA. Coupons were cut, rain checks rqeuested, it was an actual production. I don't even know if they have a Wallgreens down here and if they do I certainly don't get the coupon book in the mail and how much am I really expected to pay for deodorant? I refuse to use another kind.

Medicine cabinet is filled to the brim with sedatives of this nature and that. Upon reflection they must be there for moments just like this. I contemplate taking one of each before heading to the office, but in the off chance I slip into a coma I think how it would be dreadfully embarrassing to have my Last Will & Testament read making such a conspicuous bequest of my now non-existent supply of Arm & Hammer deodorants. Hump day. Can't risk it really.

Straight Up From The Twit Deck.

Former Dodger and current Yankee catcher Russell Martin (this is Linda) did some good things in Saturday's game against the Red Sox. Aside from making my jaw drop. Like a three run homo followed by another single homo later in the game. It was a merciless onslaught of dead hot proficiency. And he's even better on Twitter. He grew up in Quebec and has lived in Paris. He twittered something in French yesterday. I can't script this shit and swear to God I almost creamed myself right there in the conference room.

There were some other eye opening moments. During the game not during the meeting I twittered throughout. Derek got caught stealing second naughty naughty boy. Don't call me Whitney Bobby Cano's stubble is in my humble opinion (not IMHO) wildly inappropriate. And RoRo apparently studies and collects art who knew? But Russell Martin. Yes. Total kind of Frech Canadian twittering pinstriped hot I can get on board with. Bon Dieu!

Your Memory Divides.

I don't know why I get so frustrated with slow people. I really don't. A bit like getting frustrated at ice or the color yellow. What's the point? They are not doing it on purpose. They were not placed here deliberately to annoy you. These are words I often repeat to myself as I'm stuck behind someone in the subway who is making a visual spectacle of themselves coming to terms with the implications of walking upright. I make a bigger spectacle by shouting "Bloody Hell walk vegetable walk walk!" I really wish knocking someone down weren't considered assault if it were genuinely amusing.

I always eventually get out of the way and honestly I am almost as irritated with people who seem to be in a bit too much of a hurry. Like I know what you're doing isn't as important or interesting as what I'm doing so why do you have to be is such a rush really? Why? I'm like the Goldilocks of locomotion. Tread lightly around me and if you can do it at an ordinary non spastic pace all the better.

Anything Other Than Distance

Yikes! I've been absolutely ravenous when it comes to tee shirts lately. All colors and shapes. Don't seem to know what else one wears when it gets all 95 degrees and sick humid. So like the dear Mormons with their rapture and potted meats I've been stocking up. Already snagged Riviera Club, Wings + Horns, that British Remains tee I will so have, and now this Our Legacy number is for sale over at the shop down the street. I may just have to put the clicker down and take a stroll. Although the walk will take me dangerously near some altogether cute thrift stores which is another brand of danger entirely. Such a slave to my baser desires I am.

Industry Devoured The World.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw these Royal Wedding tee shirts from British Remains. I thought they were kidding, and they may in fact have been being glib, but I've been clicking refresh over at the hideout, but so far they haven't released. And I'm just waiting because this shit is mine.

Baffling that they come in two styles. There's the ordinary and the treasonous. Well. I suppose they must have been being glib. Anyway, a lot of self satisfied asides await, but in the end like I said this shit is mine. One to wear, and all the rest of the other so no one will have to endure the unpleasantness. Consumption is not political.

There Would Be Some Indication Of Flight.

Didn't spend a single minute watching baseball this weekend. I was too busy wrasslin' up my barber, visiting the iron monger, rummaging around the flea market, paid way to much for some junk but had a nice time until a big buzz kill when I noticed homie packing a gun. Images of flea market shoot-out flood my head and I try to put some distance between myself and the guy packing heat. At the flea market. American. Where do they come from? Totally rocked the Giorgio Beverly Hills in immodest amounts sprayed every which way but loose. Watched the third installment of the Twilight series. Team Jacob much. Excursions in the kitchen could have gone worse, but I doubt it could have been any more messy. I seem to have made it all weekend without checking my email cause I guess I like surprises.

They Drink That Stuff Here.

So I was ready to bust out some of the Christmas gift cards and get down with some Spring/Summer buyings. This nifty cardigan from Brooks Brothers is their top piece of knitwear. I was in stitches when I thought there was a BB by my office, but I was mistaken. It has closed. So now I have to go to Century City or worse Beverly Hills to try to snag one. I can't even entertain the option of ordering online. The postman mutilated my last package. I also had to walk over a mile to pick it up because I thought he was too lazy to ascend two flights of stairs and leave the package at my door. No. He didn't even carry the the package to his truck. Not from the door to the truck. Unbelievable. I could really go on and on about the post if you let me. Cardigan. Fetch.