Magic

“Nature is efficient, it doesn’t waste time.”

As I huffed and puffed my way up the hill, hoodie up protecting my ears from the freezing (58 degrees) winds, shoes caked with mud from the recent rains, all I could do was question my sanity—demonstrated by the fact that I’d decided to “switch things up” and go the opposite way that I usually do—which is markedly harder—and freakishly longer—and that I don’t have time for this shit, I’ve got things to do!

Don’t argue with me. I understand when you tell me that it shouldn’t be harder OR longer, that it is physically impossible for that to be true, blah, blah, blah…

HEY, GO TO HELL! I have one of those step counting thingies which said I climbed 31 flights of steps today as opposed to 17 flights on a regular day, and we all know those things don’t lie.

Feeling every. single. extra. step. I was called to sit on a bench at the apex of one of the hills. I have to mention that the view of the San Fernando Valley from that bench is spectacular.

Yet, in the fifteen plus years that I’ve hiked that hill, I have NEVER been called to cop a squat on that bench.
Not when the ninety plus degree weather was making me nauseous.
Not when I’ve been caught in the rain.
Not when my plantar fasciitis had me limping like Quasimodo in yoga pants up the entire hill.
Not even when it was the best seat in the house for some of our recent brush fires.

Nope. I blast past that bench as I silently judge anyone who sits there.

Must be nice to just be able to sit and waste time, I think in that judgy tone of voice that inhabits your head when you see someone doing something which never occurred to you to do, or you feel unworthy of attempting.

So when the bench called me I was surprised. Taken aback.

Wha…what? I stammered back. Are you talking to me?
My face laughed a little. My head turned right as I looked in its direction but the rest of my body continued full steam ahead straight up the hill.

Why don’t you come sit for a while? It said again.

Listen, I have a heart-rate to maintain…

That’s when I observed my body in full speed-walking mode, make a very impressive u-turn in one sweeping motion and end up planting my ass on that bench.

Huh.

I sat there self-consciously for a minute or two staring straight ahead, catching my breath.

That’s when I saw him enter. Like a highly choreographed actor, he came gliding into view from stage left, out above the trees, but right at eye level. A stunning red-tailed hawk hovering in one place, artfully surfing the wind currents.

I sat mesmerized. So enthralled I neglected to take his picture. It was that wonderful and I would have missed his graceful dance had I not heeded The Calling of the Bench.
Or was it the hawk calling me from the wings to sit and witness his perfectly timed entrance and beautiful dance?

Huh.

He seemed to be having a ball; maintaining his altitude, wings majestically out stretched, big smile on his face (I’m just assuming that last one). He didn’t seem worried about the rest of his day, about how the hunting would be and catching his dinner. He seemed unaware of the occasional smaller birds that tried to join him and couldn’t.

He was having fun wasting time. Actually, he seemed unaware of time at all.

Huh.

I was reminded of that quote I once heard, “We have twenty-four hours in a day. Eight hours to work, eight hours to sleep, and eight hours to do whatever else makes us happy.”

I sat there and watched him for about ten minutes which is a really long time to sit on a random bench—on the top of a hill—in the middle of a hike. It felt suspiciously like time-wasting but it made me happy so I put it in that eight-hour category.

Hey, leave it to nature to school me. If that gorgeous hawk who must hunt and catch his prey if he wants to eat, has the wherewithal to just enjoy life and waste a little time, then me with my refrigerator full of food (and some trail mix in my car), can follow his example.

So…who do you think called me to sit? The bench or the hawk?

Carry on,
xox

Where, oh where, have I been you ask?

Well…

When last I left you, my uterus had conveniently and in a very sinister way, seen to it that the surgery to remove it was postponed. Therefore, (it is so clear to me now) after all the shenanigans with the flu and insurance and such—it got to go along on my BFF Steph Jagger’s book tour last week.

This makes sense to me now. Like a huge V-8 slap to the forehead.

My uterus likes a good time and we had a ball. A hoot a second, snort-laugh, drop your phone in a roadside toilet, #pokejuice, ball.

But it was eye-opening as well.

Now, I’m a writer and if any of you are writers this next part will be so interesting and I think that could hold true for the rest of you as well and here’s why:

When you undertake something as exciting but daunting and potentially exhausting as a book tour (or any large scale endeavor for which you have no basis for comparison), you MUST, and I mean without exception, take someone along with you who has your best interests at heart. (I am available for a fee.)

Someone who will drive the car, pick the music, take regular pee brakes and remind you to eat.

Someone who will tell you when you killed it—and when it fell flat—and be there to give you a giant hug and shove some chocolate in your mouth either way.

Someone who will go up front and read the room first and then alert you to the fact that the guy at three o’clock will probably try to use your platform to talk about himself—so be prepared.

Someone who knows when to talk and when to shut-up so you can collect yourself because collecting yourself will become a full-time job.

I kind of invited myself along on the first leg of her west coast tour from San Diego to San Fransisco. It sounded like fun so I offered to drive and be her handler. Her one-woman advance team. Her sister/mom. Not long after, I realized Steph had arranged for different friends and family members to accompany her along the forty or so cities where she will speak in the next couple of months and I have to tell you, that was SO SMART, because after just one week—I don’t know how she could do it otherwise.

I mean, of course she could. She’s an elite athlete for crying’ out loud. When you read her book the fact that she’s a beast is undeniable. But I’m talking quality of life here.

And that’s what most of us let suffer when we’re thrown into a very challenging life situation.

I suppose because she’s traveled abroad so extensively (and because it’s just her nature), Steph is so great at asking for help and delegating — The Large Scale Endeavor Dynamic Duo. I encourage all of you, and I include myself here as well—to cultivate these two qualities. Pronto.

Also, the woman can fall asleep in like 2.5 seconds. No lie. It’s her superpower and it really came in handy.

Here’s what else I learned. There are so many small, quaint and charming, family owned bookstores that are thriving. THRIVING!
“Business has never been better!” they chirped. I can’t tell you how much I loved hearing that!

Every single person at each bookstore was kind, supportive and engaged. They were genuinely excited about Steph’s book and I have to say, I think that’s why she was received that way she was from those who attended her book signings.

It was contagious.

Books know how to sell themselves—if you let them. With everything going on in the world right now the timing of her book release and tour could not have been more perfect.

And never underestimate word-of-mouth. Fuck platform. Fuck the sign at the point of sale. When you get to meet the author, hear the story first-hand, ask questions, and get your book signed — you fall in love a little… and you’re gonna tell your friends. ‘Cause we all like to kiss and tell.

And last but certainly not least. Women supporting women, like the salon event we did in San Fran made me a little weak in the knees. Spending an entire evening with smart, curious, awake and alive women drinking wine and using Steph’s book as a springboard for hours of heartfelt conversation—I’m telling you — I was kinda happy my wonky uterus had come along AND you guys, women are ready to rule. the. world!

So…What are you talking about to your friends today? What’s got you lit up? Inspired?

Let me know.

Carry on,
xox

Listen, please go buy this book.
https://www.amazon.com/Unbound-Story-Self-Discovery-Steph-Jagger/dp/0062418106/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1485822479&sr=1-3&keywords=unbound

Hi all,
Whether you believe in astrology or not, Clarity, love, miracles? This all sounds pretty awesome to me!
Carry on,
xox

Rare Astrological Event—all of the Planets Align & Turn Direct: It’s Time to Leap.
The Elephant Journal~via Kate Rose

“Be fearless in the pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.” ~ Unknown
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On Saturday, January 7th, we will experience a rare astrological event—all planets will turn direct.

During most years, at any given time there is at least one planet in retrograde motion, however, it’s not unusual to see a few in that motion as well—but rarely do all the planets turn direct at the same time.

This phase of action will last until February 6th when Jupiter turns retrograde.

The reason that this is such a big deal is that it’s happening in a very auspicious manner. Venus has moved into Pisces, and Mercury is turning direct at the start of the New Year.

It’s clear that this is a time for movement, for action and for exploring whatever it is that has been calling to us for some time.

Astrology is not about a one-time chance that will never happen again—we just have the option as to whether we are going to walk in fully into what is waiting for us, or if we will need a gentle push in the right direction.
What is meant for us will always hit its mark in our lives right on time.It’s not possible to mess up our life’s plan so severely that we feel desperate and without hope. Yet, even with that being the case, sometimes the divine orchestrates such an event that it’s impossible to ignore.

We missed something—something big—something that, quite possibly, we didn’t think was meant for us.
We left it behind in 2016, thinking that it was over—that we were making the right choice and that we had better things waiting for us.

We thought we were being adult about it.
But really, we missed an important part of a conclusion we drew too soon.

The thing is that we can say we are moving on, and that we are going in a new direction, but sometimes—no matter how far we move—the divine force in this world moves us right back to where we were.

With Mercury just ending, a fog is lifting, and there is clarity about a situation we had thought was all figured out—and because Venus, the planet of love, just turned direct in the loving and ethereal sign of Pisces, it seems that there is a matter of the heart that hasn’t yet been decided.

No matter how much we think we know the ending, sometimes the universe shows us that this was only the first act.

This next month—whether we want it to or not—possesses the ability to change everything in an instant.

Where you once felt stuck, things will suddenly fall apart to reveal new information and alternate endings you could never have imagined. Where you once struggled could give way to ease.
And indecision could suddenly become nothing but a faded memory of a time when your head and heart fought battles over your future.

The truth is that no great moment comes without first creating chaos, so the potential is there for January to be like that child’s snow globe that they can’t resist shaking up just to see what might happen next.
But that’s also what we have to remember—none of us knows how this will play out, and none of us knows what the ending of any of this will be.

We are being guided. We are being given clear heads and courage—moments of realizing exactly what is occurring and what those feelings are that flutter throughout your heart.

In February, we will have the last eclipse in a cycle that began last September, so anyone who thinks that they can just leave 2016 in the dust hasn’t really understood that the reality is there are never any true endings.
Situations morph, evolve and transition—sometimes more beautifully than we could ever anticipate.

The one thing that we have to remember during this month is that we aren’t being fooled. Perhaps this month, more than any other in a very long time, we will see clearly the matters of our hearts. We will find the words where we previously struggled, and suddenly sense will be made from everything that has transpired for perhaps the past few years.

Once in a while, there is a stitch in a time—a moment where things just suddenly fall into place. A moment occurs when the planets truly align at the finger of God, and all along we realize that this was his plan.

Perhaps we will finally understand that we were never off course—we’re just blind to the destination.

All of this means something. There are no coincidences—only synchronicities.
It’s been said that we can ask the universe for all the signs we want, but that ultimately, we see what we want to see when we’re ready to see it.

January is asking us just one question: “Are you ready?”
Are you ready to see everything that you were too scared to open your eyes to before? Are you ready see the life that is meant for you?

Perhaps there are no final choices or endings, but once in a while, the universe and God conspire to give us a chance at having the life we’ve always prayed for—our only job is to listen.

Our mission this month is to be open to change, so we can let ourselves be led to where we need to be, instead of planting our feet in resistance.
Because once in a while, miracles really can happen—but only if we let them.

“What good are wings without the courage to fly.” ~ Atticus

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/01/rare-astrological-event-all-of-the-planets-align-turn-direct-its-time-to-leap/?__prclt=ituSQnbi
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This is making the rounds on social media and I adore it! So, of course, I had to share it just in case you haven’t seen it yet.
Big candy cane kisses,
xox

Just your average, giggly, pink champagne lunch. With fries, duh.

Once there was a very wise and funny woman who absolutely LOVED pink champagne. I already adored her but upon hearing that fact, well, it made me love her even more.

Why, you ask?

Because in my opinion pink champagne is the friendlier, less pretentious, girlier (don’t get all feminist on me, I mean this in the best way) sister of regular champagne. It’s fun. It’s the poodle skirt of champagnes.
It giggles. It twirls. It charms and delights.

Anyhow, The other day, after listening to one of her books on audible, read by her, I became nostalgic. “Show me a sign that you’re still around” I asked her politely. Less than an hour later I was offered, out of the blue, a glass of pink champagne.

I relayed this bit of magic to a darling and dear friend of mine who is currently going through a rough patch. “Isn’t that magical?” I said. We both agreed that my wise pink champagne loving mentor should help her through this…rough patch.
We did that by nodding dreamily in unison over FaceTime.

This same friend told me she was looking for a house. Not just any house. A start over house.

She has intended with a heart full of love to reinvent her life. And it’s a good time to do so since the life she’s leaving behind is kinda in a…well…rough patch. If you were to take a snapshot of her life—in this moment—it would not look good on paper. But, seriously, we’ve all been there at one time or another, right?

One. Tiny. Detail remained. You know what new houses require? That you look amazing on paper.

Meh. No problem.

She decided, since she was doing that reinventing thingy, to really commit. So she scanned the internet for a house to rent using NO FILTERS.

Have you ever done ANY search with no filters? Terrifying. Exactly.

It’s amazing how many filters we run our lives through. Financial. Emotional. Rational. But that’s an essay for another day.

After a while, lo and behold, the perfect house popped up. Perfect in every way. Size, decor, location. all except for the price. Did that deter our intrepid heroine?

Hell to the NO!

She made an appointment to meet with the realtor who was surprisingly underwhelmed by my friend’s less than stellar financials. “Just as long as you don’t have a dog” she laughed.

“Oh, I have a dog. But just a small one”, my friend replied.
“Huh. I’ll have to talk to the owners” was the real estate woman’s response.

Gee, that doesn’t sound like a no, my brave friend thought on her way home.

When the wife of the couple who own the house met her dog later that week the dog behaved like the docile, well-behaved pup she is NOT—and the wife fell in love. “Of course you can have your dog”, she gushed in that baby talk that dogs find disgusting.

This is the part of the story where I tell her about the pink champagne magic. Cue the tandem sigh…

Not ten minutes later she texted me this picture of a random fridge in her random writing hub.

We both screamed a little. Well, honestly, we screamed a LOT!  WTF! Pink champagne!

“You are SO getting this house!” I declared. We were giddy for another ten, fifteen minutes, half hour and when we hung up I went and bought a bottle of pink champagne because when magic knocks on the door—you answer!

On my way home my wise dead friend from the beginning of the story took this whole champagne tale a step further.
“There is more to this. It goes deeper” she said. “What does champagne signify, Janet?”

After turning down the christmas carols in the car and thinking for a minute I got it. “Celebration!” I yelled like a gameshow contestant.

“Exactly”, she affirmed. “Why do you think I chose pink champagne as my sign to you guys that I’m around?”

“Because you love…” I barely got the thought out.

“Besides that. I could have chosen a myriad of things that would have let you know. So why pink champagne for your friend?”

It suddenly became so obvious to me, and you guys are so much smarter than I am you’ve probably already figured it out.

“Because she’s going to celebrate getting the house!”

“Exactly”, she said with a smile in her voice. “And you’re going to have something to celebrate soon too. Let’s not forget who got the pink champagne first.”

Holy F*ck.

“This is what happens when your future informs your present”, she dropped like a bomb at my feet.

—but that’s an essay for another day…

I invite you to look everywhere for pink champagne.

Cheers,
xox

“It’s not happiness that brings us gratitude, it’s gratitude that brings us happiness.” 

As you all know by now, I’m currently in the midst of a gratitude storm because I truly believe in its mystical, darn right spooky, transformational power.

And I’ve gotta tell ya, this storm’s a real doozy. A virtual Thank You Tornado that feeds on itself.  My hubby and I got swept up and  are well on our way to filling our gratitude jar with slips of paper listing our blessings, big and small.

Besides the usual: family, friends, health, our dog, here are a few of mine—maybe (pretty please), you’ll share yours?

Thank you, chocolate chips. You make everything better. You jooj up cake batter, make banana bread exceptional, and I’m pretty sure no one would have ever heard of Toll House if it weren’t for you.

Thank you, sunrise. I know it’s cliche to be grateful for a sunrise or sunset, but this morning it was so spectacular with its periwinkle blue sky flecked with peach and rose-colored clouds I can’t help myself. Besides, when the Universe shows off in such a magnificent way—It feels rude to act indifferent.

Thank you, my body. Without you I’d be dead—so there’s that. You wake up every morning raring to go with a beating heart, eyes that see (albeit, with a lot of help from contacts), ears that hear, and feet that complain loudly with every step I take but still walk my three-mile morning hikes for me. Listen, besides taking a beating, you’re just a damn good sport.

Thank you, politics. I can’t even. Every day you make me happy I paid attention in Civics class, and you remind me of the glaringly obvious differences between RIGHT & WRONG.

Thank you, airline travel. Admittedly, you’re a pain in the ass, but the ability to have breakfast in LA and dinner in NY trumps all of that (pun intended).

Thank you, reservations and valets. You make dining out and going to the theater a pleasure. When I try to “wing it” with either of those, I always regret it.

Thank you, indoor plumbing. I have to admit, I take you SO for granted. I can’t imagine doing my business in a dark, cold, smelly outhouse, fighting off spiders and wiping myself with a leaf.

Thank you, metal drinking straws. You make the most ordinary glass of water seem civilized.

Thank you, pumpkin everything that starts showing up this time of year. Yep, I’m one of those people.

Thank you, kisses. Damn, I love ya. But I’m curious, how did you start? Who was the first person to pucker up and plant one? You’ve gotta admit, love and lips is a curious combination and I’ve always wondered.

Thank you, Instagram. I’m a voyeur at heart so getting a peek (although highly curated and orchestrated) into other people’s lives gives me a vicarious thrill.

Thank you, words. Because I get to choose just the right ones to express my never-ending gratitude to my readers all over the world who feel more like friends to me than anything.

Carry on,
xox

“I don’t know.”

Probably the scariest words this side of “It doesn’t look good” and “We have to talk.”

And why is that?

Maybe because from the earliest age we are asked, no, make that we are expected to know EVERYTHING.

What do I want to be when I grow up?

Who invented Velcro?

What do I want for lunch every day?

Where should I go to college?

What’s my major?

Do I want coleslaw or fries with that?

What is love?

Is there a God?

Where do I want to work?

Who do I want to marry?

Do I want children? How many? Boys or girls?

What state do I want to live in and which neighborhood?

Am I going to work or be a stay-at-home parent?

Do these jeans make my butt look big?

Should I stay or should I go?

How will I know when to leave?

Should I buy or rent?

How much do I need for retirement?

When are you too old to wear a bikini?

Donut or green juice?

Burial or cremation?

Holy crap! The sheer volume of questions we’re supposed to know the answer to is mind-boggling! And the fact that we come to a decision on most is commendable. We were taught well.

Consider my life. I’m no different from you. Not knowing what I wanted had NEVER occurred to me. I learned that saying I don’t know was unacceptable. It wasn’t one of the choices. There was no plan C. No other box to check. When I didn’t know the answer, I winged it. I made shit up. I turned at the fork in the road. I didn’t stand there with a map or spend time consulting my GPS. I had a five-year plan. I made a decision and dealt with the consequences because acting like I didn’t know which way to go, which most of the time I didn’t, seemed like the bigger risk.

But as I’ve gotten older and presumably wiser, I’ve discovered:
1. Not having children was the right decision for me (whew!)
2. The only woman who can get away with wearing a bikini after sixty is Helen Mirren.
3. It’s okay to say “I don’t know”.

Thinking I had to have all the answers started to feel like prison to me. It left no room for chance, spontaneity or dare I say—magic.
I slowly discovered that saying I don’t know opened the door a crack allowing a myriad of possibilities to flood in.
I don’t know went from feeling shameful to liberating. It became my Get Out Of Jail Free Card.

I throw “I don’t know” around like confetti. I aim to live a more inspired life. I no longer feel the need to know the end-game. I’ve pretty much taken my hands off the wheel and let a force that is much more daring, interesting and magical take control of my life and I’ve got to warn you IF you decide to go this route—buckle up—you’re in for one hell of a ride!

Carry on,
xox

https://youtu.be/IIxaVNs6c6U

I love this so much I can’t breathe! So, of course, I had to share it with you.

It’s not that long! I can hear you. Quit complaining! Besides, it’s the weekend.

Enjoy!
xox

The magic is back by popular demand!
And by popular demand, I mean all of the neighborhood daddies pushing babies in strollers who have both demanded, and by both I mean daddy and baby (and the occasional nana), who in no uncertain terms, some covered in goldfish orange-colored drool, have yelled loudly, and in unison, “Where are the magic wands?!”

Calm down everybody! (By the way, babies stained orange yelling about magic—is just adorable.)

I LOVE doing this for the kids, and the Agapanthus (the wands), which have bloomed late this year I’m sure due to the drought, LOVE being wands!

So… yesterday, in the early morning hours, I was forced to sneak up and down the streets around my house, darting in and out of the bushes to hide from cars, clippers in hand, cutting wands.

What I won’t do for a pail full of magic!

Magic is everywhere you guys. It’s the hummingbirds crowded around fragrant flowers in your garden, your babies first tooth, peach pie and an unexpected phone call from a dear friend.

Wands are just a small reminder every summer that we can abracadabra some magic right from our fingertips!

Have a joyful, magical holiday weekend!
xox

I can say in all honesty, with a straight face, that I don’t need a beach house to be happy.

I’ve made it this far in life without one and things have been pretty terrific so far.

That being said, when one is offered to me for a night I don’t hesitate to say yes. I’m not daft.

The house in question belongs to one of my husband’s clients. It is an architectural marvel that sits on the sand in a private cove of only six other homes. It cost in excess of fifteen million bucks and a famous rapper/music producer is living next door for the summer.

All of that makes your butt pucker, right? Me too!
Like how can I relax and enjoy the experience? I can’t handle the grandiosity, the smell of money in the air. I won’t be able to touch anything for fear of destroying something it would take me ten years to pay-off. Like red wine on a white chair. Or sand…anywhere.

This house and this couple are not like that AT ALL. They are gregarious and tons of fun. They have kids and dogs and everything in that house says, ‘Come on in! Relax! Have fun! Make a mess! Enjoy! Feel rich!’

What? Feel rich?

As you know, I’ve been trying that “rich” thing on lately.
I’ve told you of the hours I’ve spent on Zillow looking at homes for sale in Santa Barbara. Montecito to be exact. The hometown of Oprah. And to clarify even further—five to ten million dollar homes. With land. And nifty views.

So, the house this weekend could have felt intimidating, but it didn’t.

Not at all.

It felt like the next logical step in my search for a dream house.

And that’s when the magic started to happen.
Duh.

Hubby, Ruby dog, and I, spent Friday night enjoying stinky cheese and a bottle of my favorite red wine as we listened to Adele sing her sad songs of love gone wrong while the waves crashed and the negative ions had their way with us.

I could not have been happier. I felt rich in so many ways.

The next morning I went out to my car for something important (poop bag) and found a neatly folded twenty-dollar bill on the ground just behind the tailgate.

“You must have dropped this”, I said as I handed it back to Raphael knowing full well that Ruby only travels with hundreds and I had all of eight dollars left in my wallet after buying the cheese. (The stinkier the cheese the more it costs. Why is that?)

“It’s not mine”, he argued. “The only time I walked over there was at 5 am when I took Ruby to pee and contrary to stories you’ve heard, I don’t carry a wallet when I’m not wearing pants. It looks like it’s yours”, then he smirked in response to the look on my face as I pictured him balls to the wind, and went to make himself another espresso on the F-you espresso machine that lives in the kitchen.

“I’m rich!” I yelled, like Leonardo DeCaprio on the bow of the Titanic. (I know, he said I’m King of the World—just go with me here.)

Now I had twenty-eight smackers! Time to go buy some more cheese. Instead, we sat around all morning covered in dog hair, as a low, gray ceiling of clouds hung overhead making the view outstanding and the house impossibly cozy.

“I’m not leaving!”, I announced after he had laid out his plan for the rest of our day. Shower, lunch, drive home—and then what? He had plans that afternoon and all day Sunday.

I did not. I had no obligations. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

“I’m not leaving”, I said again out loud, just to hear the words a second time. Sometimes I just say stuff for dramatic effect. Like ‘I’m not leaving’ means ‘I’m having a good time’. Like that.

Was I serious?

“Fine. I love that”, he said looking at me kinda funny. “You’re keeping the dog—and what about your computer? Remember? You didn’t bring it. You can drive back in your car and get it. It’ll only be a three-hour round trip because it’s Saturday.”

I thought about it for a minute. I needed to post Sunday’s blog…but the internet sucked.

“Fuck that!” I exclaimed. Why would I kill my beach buzz?”

Sorry, but I shirked. I shirked all responsibility and sense of obligation and, and, and.
I was so relaxed at that point I was literally drooling.
I blame the ions. The ions made me do it.

“Exactly!”, he agreed, and he meant it.

In a spontaneous act of whatthefuckery, I called my friend Sally to come after work and partake in some of my stinky cheese, wine and mind altering ions. In an uncharacteristic act of selfishness—she said YES!

Sunday morning as I sat bathed in the wealth of my weekend, looking around at the house on the beach, the one with dog slobber on almost every wall and knee high handprints on the bank of windows that looks out over the endless expanse of Pacific Ocean, I received a text from a dear friend. That alone was a mini-miracle due to the shitty WiFi.

You see, a mystical, magical project I’m working on has to be delivered to just the right people.
Or I’m fucked.
Until I could guarantee that, I’ve been sitting on it. Praying. Trusting the powers that be to pull a rabbit out of someone’s ass. That text, that Miracle in Malibu text, held the answer to my prayers and it was so implausible that if I told you—you wouldn’t believe me—and you’d have me arrested for public drunkenness.

I’m tellin’ ya. Being irresponsible, selfish, and acting rich has gotten a bad rap. It really worked magic for me this weekend.
You should try it.

Carry on,
xox

*Sally and Ruby-do in the ‘Bu

In case you want to try this yourself:

http://www.zillow.com/santa-barbara-ca/