back in the saddle.

Heavens, me. It's been about three years since my weary fingers have blasted the keyboard with "wise" words from the chuntress. Too much has happened in between and I'll spare whatever four readers I have left the grim details. One thing you must know, my San Fran days are behind me and I'm glad about it. Also, my ridiculous dating chronicles have come to a happy ending. No I'm not married, just done bouncing from one popped collar to the next and thanks to the wonders of technology and the death of Michael Jackson, I was reunited with my first love. It's the bomb!

I re-read my headline today. That thing about being dramatic like xanax and lines and bourbon and such. Funny, stuff. I also started reading some of my posts. I wanted to pour myself a glass of wine, but remembered I'm on this whole body cleanse and can't even think about touching adult beverages. Back to the text. What in god's name was I thinking? Why did I ever stop blogging? The evolution of le chuntress is sheer hilarity. The adventures, the calamity, the diction, it's all there.

Like I said above, a lot has changed. I'm older, more honest, more seasoned and no longer buying into HBO's bull (thanks for the delusions SATC, but you can crawl back into your 90's cave now). And with that, prepare yourself for a fresh setting (long beach), a few new characters, wacky adventures and some quality blogging...

choice language of champions

I'm convinced that a short month robs bloggers of the will to post---makes them lose motivation. That drive, that deep burning desire to blog is somehow lost...or bloggers are too busy boozing and bitching verbally to scribe all of those fascinating things going on in their lives, non?

So anyhoo (mmm), I'm back, in full force pulsating with positive (ha) energy. As you, my dear readers, know I am absolutely taken by the opposite sex. I love the manipulate my situations with men, laugh about them, cry about them, analyze them, and go on about how things "could've happened." And as most of you know I like to give most of the men in my life pseudonyms---It makes things more interesting. Real names are boring and I hate boring.

That said, real chitter chatter with men is on the edge of boring. Thanks to carefully studying the language of guys I have decided to adopt that language and begin talking to them they way they talk to me (or us if you've ever experienced this). A few choice phrases include (but are not limited to):

a) You're so yummy (smile)
b) Get your sexy lil' ass over here (with a somewhat disgusted look on your face--as though you're annoyed)
c) You don't even know what you're doing to me right now, it's fuckin' crazy
d) I'm just so into it (said while biting lip)
e) Ugh. I just love your face
f) Yeah I bet (to follow a statement that he's made...make him seem really special and be sure to cut your eyes at him when saying this)
g) Let me look at you
h) --silence-- (it's so very male and so very golden)

*feel free at any time to add "right now." this makes everything so in the moment and they will love it.

I imagine that most men will be put off by this language and will, in turn feel challenged (which I guess is ok). But just think of how much fun it will be to watch a man react to this shit? I mean they want us to swoon (Clueless speak) over this sort of thing, so are we ladies wrong for wanting the same thing? I'll report back and tell you how my "sexylil' ass" is doing with this new "venture."


*do you think this kind of behavior explains why i'm still single? i vote yes...hahaha

mmm mmm mah baby's got a secret

I'm obsessed with secrets. I can't keep them, that's for sure. I guess this makes sense seeing as how I wake up in the morning ready for my gossip fix. I type fiercely waiting to read about someone's private moments and watch them spill all over the 'net in a matter of minutes.

Since we're talking secrets today, I have a few to share. My first, I love swag...but is that really a secret? Who doesn't lust for free stuff? It's become my new found hobby to find a product or location I like and manage to get it or tests its services free of charge. I do it with a smile and that charm that you all have come to adore (wink)--there it is again. Of course all of this is in the name of business so it really isn't as "low class" as it could be.

My other secret, I am so interested in celebrity sex tapes that I don't know what to do with myself. I don't consider this porn. Porn isn't nosey, celebrity sex tapes are. Celebrity sex tapes are unforgiving, strategically marketed, and so invasive--porn is not. I never had the chance to see "One Night in Paris" and I don't think I want to. I might catch something. But I did watch the Collin Farell tape...HA. And most recently, I watched the trailer for Kim Kardashain's tantilizing tape. HA. I love it. Some of the things these people say is crazy. I end up repeating it for days and laughing hysterically with each utterance. "Oh yes, you are my breakfast, lunch, and dinner darling" as said by Mr. Farell. I'm not a weirdo, just into other people's secrets.

I don't have many secrets. I have a big mouth so most people know everything about me. I like it that way. My sex tapes won't end up on the internet (*that was just for fun, I have no sex tapes)

let me eat cake...

i had a chance to take in a sunday matinee of marie antoinette. i read
the new yorker review prior to attendance, so i knew i was in for.
despite the anthony lane's scathing (and hilarious) review, i still
trumped over to the amc van ness with nicholas for an afternoon treat.

i have to begin by saying that it was very difficult to get into this
film. it had a very slow beginning with a number of scenes that seemed
either too long or not crucial to the story development. don't you
hate that? i do. immediately i start looking at my cell to see what
time it is, thus trying to calculate how long this pitty of a film
will be. this happened when i went to see "the lake house" (yes, i saw
it). so roughly 20 minutes into the film i began to get somewhat
comfortable. i never really got into the dialogue (because there
wasn't much). i didn't enjoy the jason schwartzman as the dauphin--i
didn't believe him and i kept seeing "weird ethan" in his eyes,
kristen dunst reminded me of sour, retarded milk--can milk be
retarded--and all in all the movie missed its mark.

coppala's intent was clear. she was hoping do skillfully intertwine
eighteenth century france with modern day. fair enough, right? but it
was off on so many accounts. the converse, the language, the behavior
of the characters, the music, the overall indulgence somehow didn't
gel in the way one would have expected. somehow there manages to be a
great disconnect in the film. perhaps it isn't cohesive due to her
choice of actors? or maybe she's trying too hard? i can tell she's
trying to tap into some greater meaning. nicholas suggested that
perhaps the 80s tunes (i.e.bow wow wow, siouxsie and the banshees)
where a failed attempt at coppala creating a comparison between
over-the-top way of the 80's to that of revolutionary france.

anthony lane suggests that paris hilton directed the film. i found
this hilarious, but i do feel that the redeeming quality of the flick
was it's decadence. being the sort of gal that i am i can't shy away
from luxurious fabrics, unforgiving colors, ornate design, perfect
curls, cupcakes, candy, pastel poker chips, ribbons, porcelain tea
cups, champers (champagne), luscious bedding, dramatic dress, and a
delicate french backdrop, so for those things alone, i enjoyed the
film. it made me want to lie around and relish in dainty eats all day,
dress wale-bone corsets, pick out shoes, and bitch about who's who's
in the french social scene. oh and make "nice" with sexy soldiers.

i did however walk away with a sparked interest for marie antoinette
and i'm interested in picking up a copy of antonia fraser's book, upon
which this film is based. i guess any girl who supposedly tells a
bunch of starving people to "eat cake," is a no nonsense darling after
my own heart. the movie wasn't great, but i'm glad i saw it. and to be
honest, because it was so pretty, i'd see it again.

oh no dawling, keep the change

there are so many things i want. i'm sure it's a combination of living in consumer culture and the fact that my mother had no trouble (and still doesn't) with indulging me. on the "to have" list this week:

a) a mani
b) a new pair of red pumps
c) a knit red hat
d) new La Luz candles
e) sushi dinner

i'm sure all of it won't happen (in fact i'm positive it won't), but i like wanting things. however, the reason why it won't all come to pass is because of....yup, money! now why is it that we can't pay people in ice cream. there is plenty of it, it tastes better than pennies or dollar bills, and it leaves one with options. i mentioned to Amanda (jebus, i miss that girl) that when she returns i'm going to take her out for dessert at citizen cake. i'm going to dub that our date spot. i'm taking her there for a number of reasons (she likes it, i like it, it's quaint), but most of all i'm taking her there for payment. i'm repaying her in dessert for being one of my favorite people and i'm sure for some reason i owe her cash (i owe everyone, even the irs). she will be pleased with this form of payment, i'm sure. everyone is happy when you pay people in dessert be it ice cream, cupcakes, cookies, truffles, or rum balls.

*you may think this post is making no sense, but i like it...it's making my cavities hurt

bringing sexy back....

in the form of dessert.

So in the past month or so, I realized why my love life isn't flourishing--I don't care enough about it. I'm busy right now learning French, mastering my tennis game, liking my work, drinking Campari, wearing skinny jeans, and figuring out how life will materalize once Amanda is gone (sniff sniff). I'm only interested in giving hot guys my number, prentending they'll call, and then being completely over it 2 hours later. Also, I've realized that if a girl really wants to bring sexy back, she's needs to find her solace in the spoonful.

Now, I'm not condoning over eating or over indulging, that is so 2001 (when metabolisms were slower and lipo/personal trainers were cheaper). But what am in condoning is falling in love with your dessert. Here are a few reasons why creme brulee, chocolate mousse, & even jello pudding will bring your sexy back much better and quicker than a shirtless, hairy-chest guy ever could:

1. dessert doesn't judge
2. dessert is loyal, faithful, honest, and true
3. dessert listens
4. dessert will love you when no one else does

So with dessert in moderation, a drawer full of lacy panties, Johnny Depp movies, and a box of q-tips (Amanda and I have decided there is a sex organ in the ear) you'll get your sexy back so quick you won't be able to find your sexy front (translation fake sexy).

*eww that was so bad that I'm cringing
**inspiration from this blog hails from Amanda's genuis during an gmail chat conversation. The list of reasons why dessert is better than a man come from her.

tag, i'm it

I've been tagged by Amanda to, "name 10 of life's simple pleasures that you enjoy the most." So, here goes:

1. an evening at the ballet
2. clean sheets
3. learning French
4. morning coffee chats that spill into the afternoon
5. a good book
6. day light savings
7. citizen cake for cheering up
8. the smell of gardenias and honeysuckle
9. pebble beaches
10. sunday brunch

*I really wanted to mention how much I love adding to my card collection, but the number was 10 not 11.

Now as instructed, I must pick ten people (or less to do the same).

I tag: Nicholas, Paul, Hannah, Artemis, Christina & Ralph...(and anyone else reading this)

...this is bat country

I'm really not loaded with things to say today. Although it seems bleak weather is in my future. I'm sure my desert soiree will still go over well, but without as much sunshine (vitamin C) as I would have liked. I know that I will at least have the chance to play "paparazzi" for two days, go out for a Vogue-like black & white photo shoot and get all of my stress carefully kneaded out of my shoulders!

Now, I'm sure you are wondering about this "paparazzi" thing. Well it's quite fun...I once asked Arty if she had played. To my dismay she said no, but seemed intrigued by it's potential joys. Paparazzi is a game that I and "the peanut gallery" (R &S) like to play. It involves dressing like your favorite celeb, running from the camera's demon flash, holding up your hand to the lens, imitating celeb poses and giving the beloved pouty lip. Yes, I'm probably too old to be doing things like this, but somehow my girlishness (or just down right ridiculouness) take over my body when I'm with "the peanut gallery."

S has managed to pack her entire closet. She gave me the run down last night via AIM: a few pairs of shorts, a few pairs of pants, a skirt, 2 dresses, a couple of tops, 2 swimsuits, a tunic, a juicy suit, scarves, headbands, cosmetics, jewelry, capri cargos, p.j's, panties, 1 sweatshirt, 1 coat, some hats and 6 pairs of shoes. Yes...I thought the same thing. Is she moving to Palm Springs? Whatever the case, it only adds to my exciting tale of our desert adventure. I'm hoping to come back with some great photos of old people and a tacky sweatshirt that I can turn into a haute mess!

I have a plane to catch.

P.S. I LOVE YOU!