Archive for August, 2012

Hand Me Downs

Thursday, August 30th, 2012

Some people get hand me down clothes, I liked getting hand me down apartments.  Specifically, from my friend Jane.

Jane would move into a groovy little pad, trick it out with her certain style and I would beg her to give it to me if ever she moved.  She did.  And, I got it.  Twice.

First place was in West Hollywood, walking distance to some fun activities, like restaurants.   Probably better proximity for a gay man.  Oh, speaking of gay men….I’m not a fag hag  (remind me to look for my memo to find out if it’s PC to say that) and never have been.  There is a distinct possibility that gay men hate me.  How do I know this?  Because of our (first Jane, then my) landlord right there on Keith Ave.  The duplex, stunning, almost New Orleans-style building, was owned by a couple.  The older man was lovely and soft-spoken and then there was his younger, good looking German boyfriend.  I’m telling you he’s German on purpose because I want you to envision our fighting. Me, little Jewish broad, landlord, hot-headed Aryan, sporting six pack abs and a heavy German accent.  Screaming matches.  Over what?  I don’t remember.  Then, because one other gay man wasn’t keen on me, I came up with this lame conclusion that is just not true.  What is true is that I’m either loved or hated.  By everyone.   Not usually an in between for me.  There’s not a neutral reaction when someone is asked if they like me.  It’s strong.  Get it?   Not sure what it is they hate, pretty sure it could be my really big balls.   I now know a few gay men that really like me, so I’m throwing the theory out. (more…)

Adventures of White and Brown Bear

Tuesday, August 21st, 2012

I had one hell of a shower for my first born.  Numerous gifts were given.  I had been to my fair share of showers, both for weddings and babies, and now I wanted a big, fancy one of my own.  Kimme had the best house, so she threw it for me with my other BFF, Kimberly.  Robin made the unforgettable-to-this-day desserts.

Two of the gifts were what seemed at the time like simple, not-too-much-thought-put-into-it gestures.  A white stuffed bear.  And a brown stuffed bear.

By the time Oliver was only a few months old, he clung to those two bears — they had become his best friends, his security bears.   Before the age of one, he would never leave the house without white and brown bear.

I was hired for a small part in a small movie, on location in Texas.  I would be gone a week.  Oliver, white bear, brown bear and I boarded a plane.  I hired some random local girl to watch my baby while I worked on set.  Things went well and I hired her for the following day too.  But when I came back to the hotel, brown bear was missing.  We went into panic mode, though the teenaged girl seemed way relaxed.  I grilled her.  “Where were you when you last saw brown bear?”  She did seem to recall something about the pool area.  It was now evening, dark already and we all went down to comb the pool area.  No brown bear.  As we were about to give up, I looked into the trash and there he was looking very forlorn, ready to take a trip to the local dump.  He would never have been seen again had I not peeked into the trash can.  What a relief.  Separation anxiety averted. (more…)

Queen of Tarts

Monday, August 20th, 2012

I saw a beautiful fruit tart today, but I didn’t buy it. Though one brief glimpse of its light crust, glistening white cream & assorted seasonal berries and our whole intense love affair came rushing back.

It’s the mid 1970’s. The place: Patrick Terrail’s West Hollywood restaurant Ma Maison. An old house on Melrose converted into the most innovative, modern French restaurant of its day. It was so very French and so very Hollywood, and when those two worlds collided on that patio of Astroturf and umbrellas, it was magic.

Big Hollywood deals were made, infamous fights broke out, and occasionally I was lucky enough – if someone with more money was paying—to be there, enjoying the food. That’s where it began – an infatuation that would turn into a stalker’s obsession. They had me at crème anglaise.

I was there a lot with Jackie Mason, which sounds so random, sort of like my celebrity dreams, but he was a friend of my dad’s and we went as his guest, or vice versa. Often, when we were at a meal with Jackie, he would do his bit:

Gentiles never finish drinking, Jews never finish eating. What do you think Jews talk about for breakfast? Where to eat lunch. At lunch: “Where should we have dinner?” (more…)

Tripping with Susie

Friday, August 10th, 2012

me looking out at the lights of Las Vegas, age 16

Today I had lunch with my childhood BFF Susie.  Her birthday was last week, a day ingrained in my mind for life.  We often check in with each other at birthday times.  October will be the next time we might see each other, my birthday.

Her parents have both now died and just last week on the actual day of her birthday, like a gift, escrow closed on her parents’ house.  Susie told me she had a box of memories saved for me.  She brought them to lunch.  There were pictures and letters and other souvenirs.  She claims she has no use for any of this memorabilia.  No kids to hand it down to.  I’m family, it now belongs to me.  With these photos I can create all new blogs.   With other photos, I can fill in for blogs I didn’t have just the right photo for.  But, it is this one small eighth grade class photo of me,  I had given to her– that was just stunning.  I wrote these words on the back (look below)

And here we are all these years later, doing just that, talking about our memories.  Not to mention, that is the whole purpose of my blog — now celebrating it’s third anniversary — memories.

the 8th grade pic with my note written to Susie you read above


Here is a story about Susie and me at age 16, at least I was 16, and she had turned 17.  It was the same time of year as our recent lunch.  We were tripping.  Kidding.  We took a trip.  First to Vegas.  My brother was working that summer for a man named Morrie Stevens at his TV station in Henderson, Nevada — KHBV. (more…)