George Clooney

I’m doing it you guys. Every minute of every day so far. I can’t help myself. I am completely and unabashedly obsessed with the property NEXT DOOR to our resort.

When we arrived earlier this week all of the shutters were down.
It was closed up tight. Like the legs of a Catholic school girl, tight. Well, being that I was a Catholic school girl once maybe that’s a bad example—but you know what I mean. Shuttered up. Closed.
“Nothing going on here, move along”, kind of closed.

While the lovely young man was giving my husband the tour of our room I was craning my neck to the left, hanging precariously off the balcony to get a better look.

“So…what’s the story over there?” I asked our sweet guy trying to sound nonchalant, less like a creeper.

“Those are private condos”, he replied, kind of annoyed that I had interrupted his prepared spiel and he’d lost his place and was going to have to start all over.

Private condos. With their own infinity pools. And a sandy private beach. Me likey.

Now, our resort is nothing to sneeze at. It is gorgeous squared. But I can’t help it—I’m intrigued.

I hear you. Mind your own business. Isn’t that what you’re saying? Well, cut it out.

The next morning I asked the woman who was dropping off towels, “Why do you think no one is at those private condos over there, why are they all closed up at this time of year?” So I at least sounded like I knew what I was talking about and less like a curious paparazzi, I added, “After all, it’s the height of the season.”

She shrugged (in the nicest possible way), then as she closed the door she dropped this cryptic little grenade with a thud right at my feet: “They will come.”

My, how Field of Dreams of her.

Now, the second thing I do in the mornings is to check on the shutter status of those condos.

The first thing I do is pee. The third thing I do is wish I had a pair of binoculars. I’m just too embarrassed to answer the expected probing questions: “Why? What are you going to look at?”, or I’d ask for them.
The staff here is so solicitous they would print some on a 3d printer for me if I wanted them to.
But I can’t stand the preliminary scrutiny.

I want to stare at those condos over there! Are the shutters open? Are there signs of life? What are they up to over there? You know, stuff like that!

Mind your own business lady.
Fail.
Here come the Federales to take me away. At least I have a nice, new pair of binocu…

Well, while I was looking away, you know, living my life, sure enough sometime during the day yesterday, “they come”.

Not only were the shutters pulled aside, several of the large sliding glass doors were thrown open so I could see inside!!! I got so excited I almost dropped my mojito.

It was a vision right out of a magazine. All white interior with large modern art and white furnishings just as I had imagined.
You see, I had imagined an entire scenario over there. Hey, I’d had three whole days!
Three days inside this head is more than a lifetime to most people.

I had manufactured the craziest shit going on over in the private condos.

In my imagination George Clooney and his uber-skinny wife Amal inhabit the entire top floor, which totally makes sense since I haven’t seen a soul. Not one sign of life besides open shutters. They are stealth those two. They. Are. Pros.
Amal is probably standing right there, turned sideways so I can’t see her.
Smart girl.

On the second story are Cindy Crawford and Randy Gerber…oh yeah and their kids I suppose. But who cares? You guys! Cindy fucking Crawford! Yucking it up at MY private condos! On MY private beach!
I know those two couples vacation together in Mexico. I have it from the most reliable of sources. Instagram.

THAT is the truth. The rest of this is a pack of lies…or is it?

Yesterday I was in the men’s section of the spa (you don’t want to know), where they have the most incredible birds eye view of MY private condos from their window seats, so I ran like the wind back to my locker on the ladies side to get my phone in order to take this picture. I was desperately hoping I wouldn’t have to explain to any indignanat man with his penis at eye level (remember, I’m in the men’s section) why I’m sitting with my face pressed against the glass, taking pictures IN A SPA—and lucky for me, (and him), I did not.

Never mind.
From that vantage point, I had such a great view of their perfect little sandy beach.
It made me want to brave the jagged rocks and pounding surf that surround our resort and Diana Nyad my way over there. But if you remember from the 25 Things You Don’t Know About Me, I’m a weak swimmer and I didn’t want to wash up all waterlogged and choking up seaweed— Hell no! I wanted to walk out of the surf impossibly hot, like fucking Haley Barry in that James Bond film I can’t remember the name of.

So I axed that plan.

This evening there were many open shutters. “They HAD come.”
Still no sign of any human life. Maybe people THAT fantastic are invisible to us mere mortals. I’ll have to Google that when I get a chance.

I’m currently imagining one hell of a New Year’s Eve bash over there after I’m gone.
Fireworks, Casa Amigos Tequila flowing like…Tequila flows in Mexico. The whole shebang. George, Cindy, sideways Amal and Randy…and the kids I guess. In MY beautiful, hillside private condos.

So…are you at least a little like me?
Do you LOVE to look in other people’s windows?
Do you spend hours imaging the going’s on over at your resort-adjacent neighbors fabulous condos?
Do you make up entire lives just-over-there in order to amuse yourself?

You do? Me too! Let’s all fly our freak-flags together!

Or are you thinking this girl’s got too much time on her hands! Mind your own business, Janet! You’re being just plain nosey?
Perhaps.

Am I missing the moment? Probably. Or maybe I’m creating my own. I would be advising you all to be in the moment, wouldn’t I?

Fuck that. I’m having a ball.
Almost as good of a time as the Clooney’s.

Carry on,
xox

* This post is from about a year and a half ago. I loved his story and I still agree with the sentiment…curious to hear how you feel.

In an interview he did in 2007, Peter O’Toole, that beautiful, blue-eyed, scalawag actor, was asked the question, “What do you want written on your tombstone”?

He leaned back and told the story of his beloved tattered leather jacket.
He said it was soaked in sweat, covered in blood, Guinness and corn flakes?!
Which of course made it his favorite.
Eventually it went to the cleaners.
It came back with a note pinned to it, that all these years later still made him chuckle.
It read:

“It distresses us to return work which is not perfect”

That’s was his answer, and I couldn’t agree more!
Because otherwise, what’s the point!?

When I leave this mortal coil, I want to be “distressed.”
I want to show I’ve lived.
That perhaps it wasn’t a pure and “perfect” life, but dammit! It was a life well lived!

Just like his jacket, I want to be worn in, with the wrinkles and scars to prove it.
I want to be covered in sweat, and dog hair, with smeared lipstick and wine stains.
…Maybe even corn flakes!

I want unpaid parking tickets in the pockets.
Along with a motorcycle key, a condom and a wad of foreign currency.

I want my leather to smell like a combination of caramel, tobacco, Shalimar, and coffee,
I want it to be found on the back of a chair in George Clooney’s suite in a Paris Hotel.

I want to remain impossibly irresistible yet perfectly imperfect.

Then I want to be “returned to sender, postage due.”

How about you?
Xox

Thankfully for me personally, this year didn’t suck.
There have been some years in the recent past that could not end fast enough for my taste, (you know who you are 2009 – 2010).

I’m not sure I can say the same for the world at large, but I’ll let the journalists who are fond of charting those kinds of negative things, write about that, and you can choose which to read – humor or horror.

This is my blog, so naturally it’s funny and it’s all about me ;-).

This year was pivotal in a couple of ways.

First, it was the year that I finally came out of the closet – as a writer.
I owned it. Full time.
I went on a Mack Daddy writing retreat with other Mack Daddy writers and they didn’t vote me off the island. I’m writing a book based on this blog, co-writing a musical and helping a friend edit her book. Seems I bought the T- shirt and drank the kool-aid – and I couldn’t be happier. Who knew?!

Second, I gave up any and all hope I still held, that George Clooney would settle down and get married…to me. That was a hard one – we had something.

I used to sell him jewelry back in the day, and bake chocolate bundt cakes for him when he was just ER George Clooney, not GEORGE CLOONEY the movie star.

We used to tease each other.
I’d bring up “Facts of Life” storylines, tell him his credit card was declined – while threatening it with scissors, and make supermodel jokes because he was too thin (which he was, despite the cake) – and he’d put his arm around me or call me “his girl” and watch my face turn poinsettia red while I geeked out.

I helped him refine his taste in jewelry.

You’re welcome Amal.

I’m telling you, we had it.

Oh timing…you are a cruel opponent.

This was also the year we got our boxer-shark puppy which has been a blessing and curse.
I’ve written about maybe two percent of the shenanigans she’s pulled.

She’s a bitch, a trouble maker and a giver of NO fucks.
If she were human, she’d smoke cigarettes, have earphones permanently implanted, a bright blue mohawk and a pierced tongue. She would be the Girl with The Dragon Tattoo.

Currently she has mange. Or man-gee as my French husband calls it.
Yep, MY dog, who is bathed twice a month, and lives the life a Kardashian would envy – has mange. A friend I told recently, sympathized, “Oh yeah” she said, sipping a cocktail, “It’s like when your kid gets sent home from the expensive private school with head lice”

I can only imagine, but I felt a special bond, a kinship with her – she’s shared my mortification.

All kidding aside, it’s been a pretty great year.
I found my calling, expanded my furry family, and witnessed a Clooney miracle.

Gratitude. I’m filled with gratitude for the blessings that came my way, and hopeful that the ones that seemed to skip over my house will re-visit me in the coming year.

So y’all, how was your 2014? Are you happy to see it end?
What are some of the highs and lows you can share with the group? I’d love to hear about it!

Whoo Hoo! Come on 2015!
Xox