Aloha Maui Flora

Maui smells like heaven and I wish you could scratch and sniff your computer screen so I could prove it to you. Instead, squirt some floral perfume in the room and look at my pics from the island.

Aloha Maui

How was my trip to Maui? Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. I am a California girl. I like California. I pay the taxes and barely whine about it. But Maui? Te amo, Maui.

A good vacation is always enhanced by top rate traveling companions. For Maui, here is the cast of characters:

Trish, looking sultry at the condo welcome meeting

Karen, primping in paradise

Me, making random tourists take my photo

Maui, like most things in life, is best described in lists of small, connected, observations:

1) In Wailea, if you want the local valets to respect you, you need to roll up in your rental car, cranking the new 50 cent cd from the crappy stereo.

2) When on an all day scuba diving trip, it is best to wear five times the amount of sun screen you think you need and then reapply every 2 seconds. Am I right Trish, or am I right?

3) If you drop off your friends for their all day scuba, skin burning trip at 7:00 AM, you can get to Hana and back by 2:00 PM. Regardless of what the concierge and tour books tell you. It is important to get the other cars on the road out of the way so you can drive as fast as you like.

4) The seven hour round trip to Hana also includes stopping twice to take pictures, once for a leisurely breakfast and a short hike in the sacred pool area above Hana.

5) Mai tais are best when you float the dark rum on top and decorate the glass with a fresh flower. Of course, it is hard for the mai tai to be bad.

6) Pineapple tastes better when you make Karen cut it the fancy catering way.

7) The appetizers at Wolfgang Puck, Maui, are better than the entrees.

8) You are never going to figure out how to work the surround sound in the condo, so please don't waste precious vacation time attempting it.

9) They do make hula outfits for chihuahuas; don't give up until you find one.

10) Before you go to the beach, paint your toe nails bright purple. It will help you feel more tropical.


Aloha Oakland

Well, these are a bit late. But, in case you think I missed the chance to dress up the chihuahua for halloween, I wanted to set the record straight.

Here is Ms. Fondue is her hula girl costume:

Already losing the leis that were lovingly tied to each paw, but still looking sharp. Even from the side view:

I looked all over Maui for a dog hula costume and couldn't have been happier with it. I got a regular sized one for myself, but didn't want to get upstaged by Fondue, so I went western.


Rachel is the Reason for the Season

By unpopular demand, here is my demanding holiday gift list. Don't be freaked out by the high prices; you are buying for Christmas and my birthday.

Falling Apart

Not all of you know how I have suffered the last couple of weeks. Let me break this down. I woke up one day, not only suffering from the common cold, but from lady cramps as well. Being the brave little trooper that I am, I still managed to drag myself into work at the HR farm. I took calls, I answered emails, I drank coffee. I am a fighter.

The next day I woke up feeling twice as bad. Still, I had meetings with clients and emails and coffee to conquer. I squeezed into a suit and embarked on the one mile journey to the office.

Every once in awhile, I am made aware, that there is a force greater than me in the universe. I feel it is a positive force, that tries to guide us in a productive direction. I am also aware that I am not always so great at picking up on hints thrown my way to guide my journey. But eventually, I catch on. Case in point. I sit down at my desk, sick with the cold, achy from lady cramps, I try to make myself feel better with a piece of toffee. Crack. My dental crown falls off. Yup, I am literally falling apart at my desk.

I took the hint. I made an emergency dental appointment, cancelled my meetings, went home and sat on the couch with a couple of pets, a box of kleenex, and a heating pad.



It is hard to be a man in a house full of bitches. Poor Lolita. He spent almost ten years as my only pet, and now not only has another cat, but a crazy dog to deal with. This weekend he found his out. I left the door open accidently, and he went for freedom.

I don't know how long he was out there. It took me awhile to realize the door was open, then I had to go around the house and do roll call. When roll call came up short, I headed out. It was dark. I couldn't see him, so I turned and was going to get a flashlight. Then I noticed Lolita, standing on the fence. Then he saw me, and did that cat thing, where you turn around and pretend no one can see you. Even if you are a 13 pound cat perched on top of a fence with a white belly glowing in the moonlight. And you just made eye contact 2 seconds before.

I grab Lolita. He meows, mourning his lost freedom. A dramatic wail; a wail that could wake up the hounds of hell themselves and set the world on a... Wait, where was I? Yes, Lolita was grabbed and escorted inside. And he was dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty. The white fur a dingy grey in the light of the house. I don't know how long he was out there, but I know he spent every second of his freedom just rolling in the dirt.

He still smells a bit earthy


Things My Dog Won't Eat

  • Lettuce
  • Grilled Tofu
  • Beets


This is Where Your Bitch is at

Shhh. Shhh. It's okay. I know, I know. I've missed you too. I am sure you have made good use of our time apart. I imagine you have used your free time to memorize my previous postings and recite them, drunkedly, at parties. I bet you have found the time to finally sort through the underwear drawer, to wash your pets, braid your hair, and learn conversational Russian. I have also been very, very busy. With what? Catching up on back issues of The Economist? Building dioramas of past bad dates? Don't be silly; I've been watching non stop trash t.v. Pop culture is still culture people. Recognize.

I am even sadder than you are about the writer's strike. Luckily, I have awful taste in television shows; the shit I watch writes itself. So with Project Runway ramping up, and America's Next Top Model barely holding my attention when sober, I've been almost overwhelmed. Still, I have managed to take in the occasional episode of I Love New York 2: Return of the Man-Ho. Thanks to that Steven Covey workshop, I know how to make time for what really matters. I managed to almost avoid Tila Tequila, but the cat fights keep drawing me in. And this week Tila takes her slurred speech, barely dressed, trampy self to meet the parents of these people? That is what I call focusing on the family. I hope by starting to watch the show, I can answer that age old question: Does a slutty bisexual really have twice as many choices for a date on Friday night? Or just twice as many chances for vd?