Vegas, Baby!

I think I mentioned that I just returned home from a 3 day buying trip in Las Vegas. They hold these huge trade shows for women’s clothing and underclothing. For anyone who has been fortunate enough to never have attended a trade show, it’s pretty exhausting and at some point it all starts looking the same. Not complaining.. We found fabulously fantastic stuff for LoveFifi, so it’s more than worth it. I can’t wait to show you what’s coming.

Anyway, let’s talk about Las Vegas. I go there often for business and because it’s only 4 hours away from me by car, I also go there to have fun. It’s truly a fascinating place and it’s changed so much. When I was a kid, my parents would go to get away from us kids. My mom would pack her fanciest clothes and my dad would take a variety of outfits including a coat and tie. They may have taken swimsuits, but all the photos they brought back were of them at different places all dolled up. It seems that they looked pretty snazzy day and night. Even in their shots at Hoover Dam, they looked casually chic. To us kids, their weekend trips to Las Vegas were very mysterious, indeed. We always surmised that there must have been some monkey business going on because they came back in a great mood and always brought us back really cool stuff. If they felt guilty, I didn’t care. My first cardigan with rhinestone trim came from one of their Vegas getaways. I had the only "bling" in my 5th grade class and I was the envy of every girl. I think even my teacher lusted after that sweater. Good times.

Now it’s a whole different story. People don’t dress up during the day at all. It's all shorts and t-shirts and flip flops for the most part. I was of gambling age when people still got decked out on trips to Vegas. Sequins during the day were perfectly acceptable. Considering how over-the-top everything is in that town, it’s kind of odd to see people dressed like they are about to wash their car. The place is so damn glamorous; the people should match the whole ambiance. Don’t you think?

I was of gambling age when people still got decked out on trips to Vegas. Sequins during the day were perfectly acceptable.

As everyone knows, it’s easy to get married in Nevada because there is no blood test or waiting period. There are 16 wedding chapels on or near the strip. Somewhere around 10,000 couples a month tie the knot in Las Vegas. I have never been to an actual wedding at one of these chapels, but one of my best friends had a renewal ceremony on her 20th anniversary at the chapel where an Elvis impersonator officiates. It was so much fun. I don’t think anyone stopped giggling throughout the whole thing. They played the theme to 2001 A Space Odyssey just like they did for The King when he entered the arena. “Elvis” walked my girlfriend down the aisle. She had gone to the beauty shop earlier in the day and had her hair bouffant-ed out within an inch of its life to resemble Priscilla on her wedding day. If that wasn’t enough of a shock, you should have seen the look on the groom's face. He had no idea what she’d been up to.

The Elvis guy was great and really looked like the older, fluffier Elvis. My favorite part was during the actual vows when he asked the groom "Do you, Benjamin Stern, you hunka hunka burning love, take this woman to be your wife for the rest of your life?" Ben couldn’t even speak he was laughing so hard. It was so adorable. These friends always celebrate life’s milestones with an extravaganza and this one was spectacular. Elvis then sang them out of the chapel with "Viva Las Vegas!". My friends just celebrated their 35th anniversary, so their Elvis wedding seems to b working great.

Okay, getting back to the way people dress in Las Vegas, there is one exception to the casual dress rule and it drives me crazy. Of course Las Vegas is a popular place with the young, over-21 crowd. They come in droves over the weekends to party down. I actually stopped staying at the Hard Rock after I saw a girl in a thong bikini bathing suit in the taxi line in front of the hotel. I had an epiphany at the moment that I was really too old to stay there. What if I had decided to go swimming? How could I ever blend in with the crowd in my one-piece bathing suit with the skirt at the bottom?

These young party animals are unavoidable, but they are pretty interesting species to watch in action. The girls have kind of a uniform for going out at night. The dresses are as tight and short as possible and the must-have accessory for all of them are the platform 6” stiletto-heeled shoes. These ladies are easy to spot. They travel in groups and few of them can actually walk in their shoes. I sometimes am stuck behind a gaggle of them heading out for the evening and fantasize about what if one of the ones on the end tipped over on the girl next to her. It would be a domino effect extraordinaire, and the best part would be watching them trying to get up in those dresses. I know... I am mean.

Sometimes these ladies meet up with their boyfriends and this is what really bugs me. The guys are never dressed up. Only the women seem to have a dress code for clubbing, etc. The women are dressed borderline slutty and their guys look like they are off to play basketball at the park. What has happened to fashion? I keep flashing on those snapshots of my parents in Las Vegas so beautifully dressed from years ago.

As it turns out, when I am in Vegas, my normal 9:30 bedtime gets extended into the wee hours. Those same girls are now plowed and it isn’t uncommon to see one bare-footed, holding her skyscraper shoes and throwing up into the casino’s trash bin. Very sexy. They all end up carrying those stupid shoes at the end of the evening. Not one of those females seems to be able to make it through the night, even the ones who aren’t drunk.

On this last trip, my sister ran into the cutest couple. She was complaining about her shoes and he started teasing her about it. All of a sudden he threw off his sneakers, gave them to her to wear and he put on her “pole dancer” shoes to prove a point. My sister asked if she could take a photo. I love Vegas, this would never happen anywhere else. I hope the couple doesn’t really believe that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. This article is going out to 50,000 of you, so that’s not exactly true. Take a look below. Pretty cute, huh?

After Midnight

I never thought this would happen to me, but I have become an insomniac. I go to bed after a long day, curl up with my doggies, and drift into a deep sleep. Then, somewhere around 3:07, I wake up. Not the kind of "wake up" where you look around, check out the time, and then go back to sleep. The kind of wake up when you get out of bed and unload the dishwasher. It's annoying.

I am so wide awake and bored. I turn on the TV and try to find something that will lull me back to sleep; I have to get up in the morning and go to work. The wee hours are filled with a lot of wacky stuff on television. I find the reruns of King of Queens and Everybody Loves Raymond hilarious even before dawn. The only trouble is... I find myself laughing out loud and that feels completely weird in the still of the night. And the worst part is that my dogs can't tell time yet and they think it's time to be awake and play. Before I know it, my day is in full swing and the sun is coming up. By the time I have to leave for work, I am exhausted.

This has been going on for months and it is messing with my quality of life. My doctor says that people over 50 don't need as much sleep. I need it, I'm just not getting it. I have tried taking a hot bath before bed and it works great. Until 3:07. Then I am wide awake. I had to stop watching QVC and HSN, because I think I need everything at that time of the morning. New make-up to brighten up my face? Yes, please. A 50-foot hose that shrivels up into a prune to make gardening easier? Count me in! Pots and pans that make cooking effortless and practically clean themselves? GOODNESS, YES! You can talk me into most anything at dawn when I can already feel fatigue setting in and the real day hasn't started.

The television keeps me company when I know that sleep is eluding me. I used to feel guilty and get up and start organizing a drawer or a closet. I would dig stuff out, discover treasures I hadn't seen in ages and then poop out in the middle only to wake up to a big pile of stuff that I would end up just putting back until another time. Sometimes I play casino games on my iPad and that helps make me sleepy. I just broke $200,000,000 on my slot game and if that were real money, I wouldn't have to worry about work ever again.

I have found that just staying in bed is the best thing to do, but it is important to be careful what I watch in the middle of the night. I used to favor shows like Forensic Files and SNAPPED, but those aren't the best going-to-sleep kind of shows for a woman alone. Being scared does not make for sweet dreams.

Speaking of scary, I found myself intrigued with an infomercial as I was scanning the stations a few weeks ago. It was nearly 4:30 a.m. and I was still awake. This blonde woman was thanking her millions of fans for being so loyal for so many years. She was obviously signing off, because she had stopped mentioning whatever the product was she had been pitching. She kept going on and on about all her years in front of the camera and how much she loved her devoted fans. I didn't have the vaguest idea WHO this woman was. I kept watching and listening to her and I wondering who in the hell this person was because I had sure never seen her before. She thanked her television audience one more time and then said the words that horrified me. The camera came in closer and she said "...for Yada-Yada Cosmetics, this is Suzanne Sommers. See you next time!"

Listen, I watched more episodes of Three's Company than I wish to admit, but what happened to my adorable Crissy Snow? The plastic surgery monster got her good, that's what happened. I couldn't stop thinking about it for weeks.

I am still not sleeping great, but I will now wear the bags under my eyes with pride. I'm not changing a thing. Think I'm making a big deal out of this? Scroll down.

Driving Me Nuts

I am going through an identity crisis and I am not happy about it. One would think that by the time you hit mid-life, you would be pretty much evolved and know exactly who you are. Not so.

The time has come for me to buy a new car. My Jaguar just had her 14th birthday, and although she is still very pretty and has only a little more than 100,000 miles on her, she does not suit my life anymore. I am tired of laying out garbage bags on the leather seats when I go buy new flowers for my garden.

I am constantly shopping for my next car. I haven’t been to a dealership yet, but I notice every car (and its driver) when I am out and about. I feel no shame when I peer inside a car I am considering in order to see the interior when at a parking lot. Because I never drive very far, I keep cars for a long time, so I need to do a really good job of choosing Ruby’s(she’s red) successor. I also have to buy a car that my sister likes. I am always happy to use my car when we go somewhere, but I like it best when she drives.She loves to drive and I hate it. It doesn’t even bother me that when I throw her the keys she rolls her eyes and calls me Miss Daisy. Sticks and stones, baby. I even considered buying a pre-owned Porsche. She’d want to drive that all the time and it would be great. But I have decided against a Porsche out of respect for the Porsche Corporation and their reputation for fast, precision sports cars. There would be a lot of times when I would be driving it myself. I imagine that they would not want to see one of their cars in the slow lane, my favorite, or plugging along behind a truck, never passing, because I don’t do that.

There is so much to consider when choosing a car. A conscientious consumer like myself must think about efficiency, eco-friendliness and the practicality of the vehicle. And when I get done with that, there’s how the car looks, what color it is and how will I feel when the valet drives up in it and nods to tell me my car is here. I am not going to lie to you, I want a car that is sexy.

It’s not that I don’t worry about my carbon footprint, I do. I just don’t think an electric car is for me. I can’t even remember to plug in my cell phone to stay connected to the world, so an electric vehicle is really out of the question. And do I dare say it without offending? They’re ugly. I am at a place in my life where I can drive any kind of car that I can afford. Driving around in a car that is shaped like the business end of a Dustbuster does not appeal to me.

When it comes to cars, I have paid my dues, for heaven’s sake. Please... I drove an apple green Gremlin in the '70s because that’s all I could afford. I will never forget the smile on that salesman’s face when I drove off in that thing. It served me well, but I had no privacy. I could be spotted from the moon and people were always telling me where they had seen me around town.

When I got married and had babies, I drove vans. I could carry a gaggle of kids, a pile of sports equipment and still have room for an ass-load of groceries in the back. It’s what I needed at the time and I never gave it a thought. Some of my favorite photos of my kids are of them doing the luggage handling on top of the van for family vacations. I was always such an overprotective mother; my kids were amazed that I actually let them get up on top of such a tall vehicle. I was there to catch them if they fell and I didn’t give a crap about what happened to the car... it was a van.

Then the kids grew up and went off to college. My ex-husband decided that I needed a snazzy car for a change. He found this very beautiful Jaguar with every detail and extra they came with at the time and he insisted that I have it. He made me sit in it at the dealership to see what I looked like in the driver’s seat. Both he and the salesman had pretend heart attacks as I sat at the wheel. It was really cute and I experienced what it feels like to sit in a glamorous car for the first time. If anyone out there knows my ex-husband’s girlfriend, please feel free to tell her that story.

Anyway, I am so befuddled as to what to get. I don’t want a car that is too young for me and I don’t want one that has geezer written all over it. I don’t have to buy a giant vehicle that will hold a softball team or a certain one because I am Mrs. Somebody. I want to drive something that reflects the person I am now, but I just don’t know what that is. I am getting to the place with my car research where I now see cars on the road and mumble to myself what Consumer Reports had to say about it. I am ready to face the car salespeople. I am unafraid.

I am hoping that test driving cars is like trying on wedding dresses. It would be great if I just KNEW it was the one. All I want is a car that I can afford to drive that shines like a piece of jewelry on the outside and is sumptuous on the inside. My Jaguar has more polished wood than my dining room, so I am spoiled. I am terrified of buying something that I will regret. I have no trouble with buying a car that is “pre-owned and certified”. It doesn’t have to be new, just not 14 years old. The new cars all look like belly buttons these days. They don’t come in real colors unless they are bugs, Fiats, Smart Cars or half a million dollar sports cars. If I didn’t know what 50 Shades of Gray was about, I would think it was about the colors cars come in.

Now all I need is your help. If you are driving your dream car, tell me what it is and why it called to you. I am open to sedans, SUVs, jeeps.. you name it. Talk to me! Help me. Just one thing... no vans.

Hello, my darling readers...

I am sitting here at the computer contemplating jumping out of the window onto the street below. Ultimately, I'll abandon the thought since my office is on the second floor; I would only be maimed.

I just wrote the funniest article about something that is going on in my life. I read it out loud to my sister/assistant and my graphic design goddess. It made them laugh out loud and they both know it is all true, so it's even better.

I was sending the document to the art department and even though I saved the damn thing, I evidently pushed something and poof! It disappeared. A little while ago, after much trying, it was deemed irretrievable by the IT department.

I am so sad because I love writing for you each week and this was an especially good one. From now on I will print out what I write before I attempt to send it electronically. I am not crazy about computers and they feel the same about me. I am so sorry. I made some notes and I will try to re-write it for next week.

I know we all make mistakes but this one really hurt. You are now stuck drinking a good cup of coffee and reading this pitiful letter instead of a funny article.

The great philosophers have written much about making mistakes.

Alexander Pope's line is probably the most famous.

"To err is human, to forgive divine."

You do forgive me, right?

Winston Churchill wrote,

"All of us make mistakes, but only the wise learn from their mistakes."

I learned... I promise you.

But I think it was one of my favorite comedians, Ron White, who said it best.

"You can't fix stupid."

The Pretty Committee

I am so in love with HGTV and the whole DIY thing. I watch endless hours of TV that focus on making over ugly '70s houses and other neglected properties. The experts turn these places into chic, sophisticated homes that match the owner’s persona perfectly. The transformations are amazing.

It occurred to me the other day, while we were in the midst of our marathon photo shoot, that the same treatment should be given to people, especially us ladies. We sometimes get so busy with day to day life that we forget to spruce up or modernize our look. Just like well-built homes, we girls have “good bones” and all we need is an update. Let me get back to what happened with the models. We went on an extensive model search for “fluffier” girls who hopefully had some modeling experience. The plus-sized models world is very narrow and the same girls are used all the time. We wanted our own “dream team” of beauty-FULL models to represent LoveFifi.

The gorgeous six ladies who won out over the competition are extraordinary and have such amazing self-esteem. Even though most of them were first timers in front the camera, their confidence and femininity ignited their shots in a way that is indescribable. Imagine watching the most exquisite butterfly you have ever seen and there are fireworks exploding behind it in the sky. That’s what it felt like watching these lovelies express their inner and outer beauty in front of the camera.

You know I am very random, so please stick with me on this one. I am getting to the point. Before a model goes on set, she spends about 2 hours in hair and makeup. This was very exciting for my new models. For my straight size models, this is part of their professional day-to-day experience and they are privy to every beauty trick in the book. It’s just part of their lives. For my curvy girls, who are all very pretty, sitting in the makeup chair was like Disneyland. My beauty team, who I call The Pretty Committee, are the best in the business. Each and every one of my plus-sized girls was overwhelmed with the results which only added to their swagger when they stepped in front of the camera. Even though these girls were brimming with faith in themselves as women and were very comfortable with their bodies, they had never been polished up to their potential brilliance.

Ok, the point is coming... We all get so stuck in our routines that we don’t make time to upgrade our look. We leaf through magazines with all the new trends in hair and makeup in front of our faces and then put on our sweats, throw our hair in a ponytail, pop on our sunglasses and that’s as good as it gets. I am guilty it, too.

Only movie stars and celebrities have hair and makeup experts on staff. We regular girls have to be a little more resourceful. I am going to initiate a new movement and I hope all my ladies out there will be a part of it. It’s called DIYB... Do It Yourself, Baby.

First, take out older photos of yourself from 2,5,10 years ago. Do you still have the same hairdo? I did. We all buy makeup and hair products, how much of it do we only use once and eventually throw away?

Here’s where the DIYB starts. You can have your own Pretty Committee for very little money, or at least, money you would have spent anyway. Start getting the most out of it. The next time you go for a trim, ask the hairdresser if he/she were given the green light to do anything they wanted with your hair, what would they suggest? Assuming that you go to a contemporary salon and not one of those places that does that does shampoo-and-sets for blue-haired old ladies, you will probably get an answer worth listening to. Stylists have to keep up with the times and their suggestions are usually good. They also see you your beauty potential in a much different light than you do. Let them impart their expertise to you. They are the expert. Consider making a small change. Layers or bangs or some highlights are easy and can make an astonishing difference. If you never go to the hairdresser, spend a little money to go to a decent one every once in a while. And ask questions.

Is there anything more enticing than the makeup aisles Wal-Mart or Target? I am a big fan of drug store beauty products, but there is no one in those places who has a clue as to what would look good on you. Every department store in America has extensive beauty counters with smock-wearing makeup girls who are often employed not by the store, but by the makeup brand. They are trained to make women look better so that you will buy the products. They are at the ready to plunk you down on a stool and make you over. Let them! Ask for a hand mirror so you can look between every step. It doesn’t really matter which brand you choose. Look for the girl who you think looks the best and whose makeup is tastefully applied. Be careful not to get lassoed in by anyone who looks like a geisha, a call girl or a member of Kiss. Listen to every word. Watch every step. You'll have to buy something and my advice is to get a foundation (they are trained to match skin tones and the quality is very good) and/or a makeup primer (trust me, primer is too high tech for drug stores). Everything else can come from Walgreen's once you know what you need. Have her stroke a little blush on a tissue so you can match it later. If you don’t like the total result, come back another day and go to another brand. It’s basically a free service and besides, it’s fun.

And the last members of your own personal Pretty Committee are the people in your life. Please LISTEN to what they say when you have put all your new knowledge to work. It will happen and it feels so good.

My sweet mother never went out of the house without her “face” on. Her hair was always coiffed. She used to say that if you look good, you feel good. It’s true. How about a little DIYB? Are you in?

Just to get you going, I have printed photos of some of my new models when I met them, and after the experts got their hands on them. My butterflies...

Mad About America

You have no idea how much I love the 4th of July. It is second only to Christmas in my heart. The way I spend this holiday has changed over the years, but the memories of the past only enrich the way I feel about it today. During the 300 years that I was married, we almost always gathered with the entire family at my in-laws. My precious father-in-law was a WWII war hero (he was awarded the purple heart) and he especially loved having his family around him on this holiday.

We would bar-b-que and everyone would bring something to add to the feast. The best part, however, was that the city where my in-laws lived still allowed the sale of fireworks. We would all pitch in money to buy the biggest, super-duper-colossal box they made. When it got dark, we brought the patio chairs from the back yard and created a makeshift amphitheater on the front lawn. My mother-in-law and father-in–law sat in the best viewing seats like the royalty they were. It was then the job of their 2 youngest grown sons (one of them was my husband) to put on a fireworks spectacular in the street.

You must understand that these are professional guys (a CPA and a Superior Court Judge) who are the furthest thing from being handy that you can be. They didn’t want to look like sissies or idiots so they both had to suck it up and appear oblivious to possible bodily harm if something should go wrong. They would set off one of the fireworks and then run like hell. The squeals and applause from their loved ones gave them a big dose of courage and by the end of the show they were fearless. It was so much fun and it made everyone so happy.

My beloved daddy-in-law spent his last Fourth of July doing this very same thing. He didn’t eat much that day, but he was all smiles when the 2 Stooges took to the street and began the fireworks show. It was a very special day for the kids and grown-ups alike. Six days later on July 10th, we lost him to cancer. Since then the 4th is still a favorite of mine and the whole family. The people in my world continue to celebrate this great country of ours to the max. My sister hosts the day at her house and we have spent weeks and months planning a day to delight. We are turning her front yard into a water park for the kids. We bought a good sized rubber pool, a Slip n’ Slide, a Water wiggle, squirt guns and balloons to fill with water. Everyone was instructed to bring extra clothes as not getting wet WON’T be an option. There will be amazing food and when it gets dark, we will pull the chairs onto the lawn and watch the magnificent fireworks above our heads. Sister knows how much I love fireworks, so she bought a house near Disneyland so I can see them as often as I want.

I am proud to be an American (and I love love love that song). I celebrate this day with all that is in me. Did you ever think about the things that are purely America?. There’s a pretty impressive list, so let me share some of it. How can you NOT be in total love with a country who is responsible for inventing Rock n’ Roll, blue jeans, multi-culturalism, bar-b-que, and the Internet? And if those don’t make you say WOW!... then try these. All are credited with being born in the USA.

Doughnuts

Harley-Davidson

PB&J Sandwiches

Religious Freedom

Antiperspirant

Jazz

Skyscrapers

Coca-Cola

Baseball

Cheeseburgers

Muscle Cars

Cowboys

NASCAR

Buffalo Wings

Country Music

And of course... Apple Pie

Wedding Bliss

If you read me every week, you know that I went to Las Vegas last weekend for my niece's wedding. It was the sweetest, most precious day. The whole experience was beyond wonderful.

My niece calls me her fairy godmother. I love that a lot and do everything I can to be magical. The couple paid for the whole wedding and reception themselves, so I did what I could to help out. My sister, my daughter and yours truly hauled make-up, hair rollers and a ton of other beauty items to Vegas and turned ourselves into the Glam Squad.

The morning of the wedding, we all plied ourselves with 20 oz. lattes and whipped the bridal party into gorgeous goddesses. It was the most chaotic scene you can imagine. There wasn’t an inch of mirror space in that hotel room that didn’t have at least two ladies curling, powdering or eye lining. We finished on time without a hiccup. Everyone looked amazingly beautiful. It was time for the bride and her posse to leave for the chapel when all hell broke loose. “OMG!”, my niece yelled out. "I don’t have anything BLUE!” She was panicked. It wasn't like the matrimonial police were going to check her for the traditional something old, something new, etc... but we all know that brides want everything perfect. I quickly got a big hand mirror out and showed her that I had added some tiny pale baby blue Swarovski stones to her floral headpiece just in case. She was relieved and I was triumphant. This was not my first rodeo, folks. And that is why I am her fairy godmother. The “something blue” always gets forgotten. I then started thinking about where the whole tradition started.

It derives from an old English rhyme, “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, a sixpence in your shoe." Something old represents continuity in your new life, something new offers optimism for the future, something borrowed symbolizes borrowed happiness that you are taking from brides before you who have had happy marriages and something blue stands for purity, love and fidelity. The sixpence in your shoe(we used a quarter from California) is a wish for good fortune and prosperity.

A very sweet tradition, indeed, but this got me thinking. As I was sitting out the chicken dance at the reception, I pulled out my smart phone and looked up wedding traditions around the world. So while I am still in the wedding zone, let me share some very fun “who knew?” tidbits with you.

1. Queen Victoria started the Western world tradition on the white wedding dress trend in 1840. Before that, brides just wore their best dress.

2. Engagement and wedding bands are worn on the 4th finger of the left hand because it was thought that a vein in that finger led directly to the heart.

3. A groom carries the bride across the threshold to bravely protect her from the evil spirits that might be lurking.

4. The tradition of the wedding cake comes from ancient Rome, where revelers broke a loaf of bread over the bride's head to insure fertility.

5. In many cultures around the world, including Celtic, Hindu and Egyptian weddings, the hands of the bride and groom are literally tied together to demonstrate the couple’s commitment to each other, giving us the expression, tying the knot.

6. In Ireland (I love this one), the presence of bells is very important. The ringing of a bell helps to keep the evil spirits at bay. Irish brides often mix tiny bells in their wedding bouquet and a bell is considered a great wedding gift. It is thought that if a couple carries a bell into married life and keeps it in a safe place at home, they can ring it to stop an argument by reminding them of their wedding day and their vows.

7. Greek brides tuck a sugar cube into their glove because it is said to create a sweeter union.

8. Moraccan women take a bath in milk before the ceremony to purify themselves. I wonder if there are cookies that go with that deal?

See what extremes I go to in order to keep you all informed? I didn’t mind sitting out on a bit of the wedding fun to enlighten you. Actually, I already rock at the chicken dance, so I didn’t need the practice.

Ta Ta for now!

Service Call

I had such an epiphany the other day. What made me "epiph", you ask? Well, let me tell you. I was out doing my errands over the weekend. I had to return a skirt that must have shrunk in the bag. I was at a discount store, so I didn’t expect to be pampered, but I don’t really return items that often so I forget how much fun it is not. I had to stand in a special line for returns only. The vibe is very different than when it’s your turn at the checkout line and you have a basket full of stuff and an American Express Card in a holster ready to swipe. You get asked “How are you?” and there are lots of smiles. Sometimes I even get compliments on my choices. Not so in the returns line. They remove your item from the bag and inspect it with a grimace. There are no smiles and no girlie small talk. The lady unfolded my skirt and asked why I returned it. I lied and said I changed my mind. That should be good enough. “Something wrong with it?”, she asked with a bit of an attitude. “No", I said politely, "I just changed my mind.” Good grief, I am returning a $19.99 skirt, not a flat screen TV. Do you think for a moment that I was going to tell her that is was too tight and the shade of brown made me look like a bran muffin?

Then I went to my manicure place. You would think I was Julia Roberts the way they greeted me. "Oh Miss Fifi!" "So nice to see you!" The owner began to fill up the foot tub for my spa pedicure and set the massage chair in the rotation I like. Roll... kneed... pound... and back to roll. I sat down and put my feet in the warm, perfumed water and relaxed. I was then offered a cup of tea and magazines. They made me feel special and it was good.

My next stop was that infamous giant department store that shall go nameless. The shopping experience there was less than warm and fuzzy. It should be a great place to shop because they have everything including groceries and a Starbucks. It’s an awful place to shop for many reasons, but allow me to target my comments exactly. There are only cashiers who actually work there. The red clad “associates” only cruise the aisles with their walkie-talkies to make you think that they are there to help you. If you can walk fast enough to ask one a question, they never have an answer. They think what you are looking for might be “over that-a-way” as they point randomly towards the other end of the store. Their feet never stop moving as you are chasing trying them to try to get some information. When you ask them too much, they get on the walkie-talkie with another associate and pretend they have a crisis in another department.

This is in sharp contrast to my grocery store that is part of a giant national chain. The focus group fairy must have hit food chains hard, because if you ask where something is, they drop what they are doing and escort you to the item. And when you check out at the check stand, the checker person always asks if you found everything you were looking for and then inquires if you will need any help to your car. No one at that other place would ever ask you that. There are no people to help so you manage the load by yourself and push the cart out the door. It’s not so bad, but then when the wheels lock when you are 50 feet from your car, it’s not so good, either.

Even the nice department stores make it hard to shop. There is no personalized service anymore and that seems strange to me. If my grocery store can personally take me to the sauerkraut, why isn’t there someone at Macy’s to help me with an outfit? What is wrong with this world? And now they ask you how you would like to receive your receipt? Printed, email or both? Really? Let me think... I already get enough email, and I want my carbon footprint reduced so paper is bad. How would I like to receive my receipt? How about they get a Caribbean steel drum band to deliver my purchase summary reggae style? THAT I would like.

On the way home I decided to treat myself to a Starbucks. I have a drive-thru one close to my home so I swooped on in for a latte. They are always so friendly and ready to make you happy. The kid on the other end of the intercom made me feel like he had been waiting for little ol' me to show up all day. I ordered my iced coffee and by the time I got to the window I couldn’t wait to meet the sweetie who had taken my order. We completed our transaction and he sent me off with a big smile. It makes paying 5 dollars for something I could have made at home for practically nothing worth every penny.

You just can’t make any sense out of customer service today. Some retailers think it is important and others don’t give a crap. I am old enough to remember a time when sales people and restaurant people knew the names of their customers. Now you wait on yourself most of the time and wait in line for the privilege of paying for it. It is no wonder that online shopping has caught on like wildfire. You don’t have to find a parking place or deal with people. If you need help there are FAQs to guide you and reviews from other shoppers to help along the way. You can shop 24 hours a day and you can do it naked if you feel like it.

Dog Days

Just in case you're wondering, I have pretty much recovered from the plague I had last week. I was sick the entire Memorial Day weekend, but it wasn't bad. I had lots of good quality time with my doggies, who never left my side.

Unless you haven't been listening, you know that I love dogs. Dogs are everywhere in my life and I could not live happily without them. As you also know, we all bring our dogs to work, here at LoveFifi.com, and it is fabulous. We have a big, two story building and the pups are allowed to be wherever they want, with whomever they want. There are dog beds and water bowls everywhere. This is a world I created and I couldn't love it more.

I live a happy life at home with my two babies. I am never lonely because they follow me wherever I go. What's funny is that when you are at the stage of life when your kids are gone, your dogs become your kids. I can't believe I said that, but it's true. Nothing is too good for my dogs. They sleep next to me at night. By the way, 42% of all dogs in the US sleep in bed with their owners. I have little dogs that weigh 5 pounds each, yet they still take up most of the bed.

I know I am perceived by some as a weird dog lady, but I actually wonder at times if I am a little peculiar. I dress my dogs and they look adorable. Listen, if it were odd to do so, then why are there so many places to buy cute dog clothes? Huh? I not only buy my dogs Christmas presents, but I buy gifts for the dogs of my friends. Before you throw stones at me, just know that 80% of all dog owners buy their pets gifts for holidays. And half of that number signs letters and cards from themselves and their pets. So if I am crazy, I am in good company. Speaking of crazy people, did you know that rock star Ozzie Osborne saved his wife Sharon's Pomeranian by tackling a coyote and wrestling it until it released the dog? Ozzie may be a little whack-a-doo to some people, but he is a hero to me.

The most popular names for male dogs are Jake and Max. For girl dogs it's Maggie and Molly. Although there is constant competition for the smallest and the largest dogs, 4" Boo Boo and Giant George are pretty amazing contenders. The oldest dog is said to be an Australian cattle dog who lived to be 29 1/2 years old which is equal to a human living to 160 years old.

My dogs are fantastic company and I couldn't be more content. Oh, I still date from time to time, but the best part of the evening is usually when I arrive home and my two doggies are doing the Happy Snoopy dance and are twirling around madly in circles at my feet. What man can compete with that?

And speaking of men and dogs, let me share something with you that was emailed to me. Made me smile. Oh, by the way, don't smile any big toothy grins around your dog. They interpret a show of teeth as a sign of aggression. Just thought I would share. Grrr...

Anyway, my girlfriend sent me this and I think it's really funny. Don't anyone get offended on me now or I will have to make these articles squeaking Disney clean. Even though I talk to my dogs in baby talk, we are grown ups here in Fifiland. Enjoy.

How Dogs and Men are the Same

Both take up too much space on the bed.

Both have irrational fears about vacuum cleaning.

Neither one will ever tell you what's bothering them.

Both have inordinate fascination with women's crotches.

Neither of them notice when you get your hair cut.

Both fart shamelessly.

Neither understands what you see in cats.

Hot Mama

It is only May and the weather here in Los Angeles is already steamy. It’s pushing into the 90s and I am not happy about it. I am a pretty poor excuse for a California girl because I just hate being hot. Don’t misunderstand; I am hot in the sexy way, at least for someone in my age bracket. My dry cleaner and my veterinarian still think I am a hottie, but they are not that young either, so I don’t know what that makes me. Since I am not a 40 year old, the cougar train left my station years ago. If anyone knows the answer to this, please let me know. Anyway, back to the weather.

I am not a sun worshiper. Anything over 80 degrees is too hot for me. I love fall to spring, but then comes summer, which seems to start earlier and earlier where the heat is concerned. It is also the season for weddings and graduations. If you have never sat in the torturous sun waiting through 300 graduates until your nephew, Zachary Zimmerman, collected his diploma, you haven’t lived. And those summer weddings are a delight. The community church (built in 1925) filled to the rafters with polyester-clad friends and relatives radiating enough heat to launch a rocket. Good times.

My dislike for being hot has intensified as I have gotten older. Hormone changes, global warming and the fact that I have gotten crankier has made it worse. I sweat in places that are unmentionable. My baby fine hair makes every day a bad hair day. Any attempt to use make-up in the heat usually melts down to a look somewhere between a raccoon and Marilyn Manson by the day's end. And let’s not even discuss the time it takes for all the extra grooming! Shaving your legs and armpits, pumicing your feet and of course, you can’t run around looking pale in the summer; you must look tan! I am pasty white, so instant tanner is my only choice. Granted, these products have gotten infinitely better in recent years, but it’s just another step to getting ready that I don’t love. I am getting really good at putting one leg at a time on top the toilet seat and foaming each leg with instant bronzer and rubbing it on evenly. The effect is very natural and worth the trouble. I always remember to wash my hands immediately so I don’t have tan hands. I never do this job naked anymore, however, because I nearly had a heart attack several summers ago when I removed my nightgown one morning before showering only to see that both of my breasts had sinister brown patches on them. I was horrified! What terrible disease had I contacted? Upon further examination in the mirror, I remembered that I had put on “fake bake” the day before and now portions of my breasts matched my legs.

When I was a youngster, we didn’t have central air for most of my childhood years. There were two window units that you had to stand right in front of to cool off. And I did. I also ran through the sprinklers every day, all day. I slept with damp towels over my body with the fan blowing on me. We finally got AC throughout the house, but just as Scarlett O”Hara swore she would never be poor again, I made the same kind of commitment to myself as far as being hot. In the summer months, my home is “movie theater” cool all the time. I pay the power company extra all winter so that my summer air conditioning bills don’t kill me. The offices AND THE WAREHOUSE at LoveFifi.com are completely air conditioned. I made our landlord spend $20,000 dollars before we would sign our lease when it was discovered that the air conditioning stopped at the warehouse area. Nobody is going to be hot in Fifi’s world. Can you imagine that he thought it was OK for the offices to be cool in the summer, but not the warehouse where my people are schlepping cartons and pulling orders and doing the real work? It was not going to happen.

The perils of summer are not completely about the high temperatures, but also what happens when it’s hot. I have written before about my phobia of un-pedicured feet in sandals. I think there should be a law that makes it a crime to expose ugly calloused feet to the world. There are more affordable nail salons than there are Starbucks, so there is really no excuse. Pretty feet on women are a sexy accessory. The polishes come in amazing colors. Sandals are definitely one thing I really like about the warm weather. Summer is not only the traditional time for backyard parties and bar-b-ques (love!) it is the annual celebration of people that wear shorts who shouldn’t. You don’t have to be thin to look good in shorts, but if you have legs that have more dimples than the Osmonds or appear to have a road map of Texas tattooed on them, perhaps capri pants might be a better look. Let’s keep America beautiful!

For now, I look forward to going from my air conditioned building to my air conditioned car to my air conditioned house to beat this heat wave. Some relief should be around the corner soon. June Gloom, can you hear me calling?

BIG NEWS!

I recently lost some weight and everyone noticed, but not in the way I expected. It’s very different when you are 20-something and drop noticeable poundage. People assume it is vanity, or a big occasion or a reckless life style or a new man. When we get into our mid-30s through our 40s, we ladies fight the battles of a slower metabolism, hormonal changes, raising families and demanding careers that can pack on pounds. If you lose weight at this age, it can be credited to midlife crisis, finding yourself and making room for “me” time or being back in the dating game after a divorce.

Now if you are over 50, like yours truly, it’s a whole different ball game. I dropped some weight on purpose and the responses were so odd. A man friend who I have known for over 30 years, noticed immediately and gave me a congratulatory hug for my new look. But he ruined it all by adding that it will be easier for me to attract a man now that I am thinner. I was speechless. First of all, I was always proportionate and curvy. I am still built the same way only a bit smaller. Secondly, I have never had a minute’s problem attracting men no matter what my size or age. And to be brutally honest, attracting a man in my age group doesn't have as much to do with figure shape and beauty as it does with the ability to have stimulating conversations and enjoy common interests. And if a girl can cook and has ESPN, you are a virtual goddess.

I next encountered an acquaintance that threw her arms around me and whispered softly words that I never expected to hear. “Are you well, darling? I hope it’s nothing serious”. Good grief! She thought I was sick. She evidently has no idea how sick I would have to be to not be interested in eating. I am trying to think about that last statement and come up with an answer. Let’s see… how ill would I have to be to not want to eat? Unconscious is all I can come up with.

Only last week I ran into one of my neighbors who I had not seen for a while. She was quite surprised to see a smaller me. “Look at you! So how’s your business doing, honey?” she inquired with a concerned look on her face. Not “You look great”, or “You look younger” or healthier or anything close. She thought maybe I lost weight because I was so stressed out because the business was failing or I didn’t have money for groceries or some other ridiculous thought. “Everything is great. The business is doing wonderfully well, but thanks for asking”, I replied.

For the record, I lost weight for two reasons. My doctor nags me all the time about 15 or 20 lbs. I never hear the end of it. If I go see him because my knee hurts, it’s because I am too fat. If I am having trouble sleeping at night, it’s because I am too fat. If I have bronchitis, he tells me I’m too fat as he is writing out the prescription for Amoxicillin. It’s always the same no matter what I am there for. The second reason is that I decided it would be better for me all around if I lost a few pounds and actually fit into the clothes I own.

I have always been a curvy girl and I have always been happy with me. Maybe I was before my time, but I never felt compelled to diet into a size 6. The last time I was a size 6, I was 6. Been there, done that. Now I live in my size 14 world with great conviction.

I was something of a pioneer in my industry when it came to the plus sized body. I designed lingerie for the fuller figure decades ago. As you know, we have a fantastic array of plus size merchandise on LoveFifi.com. As a matter of fact, we are currently re-photographing our entire plus department on plus sized models. Yeah!

This girl has always been comfortable with being in the double digit size range my entire adult life. I have never been, or wanted to be, skinny and I have done a fine job of that never happening. There are times when I want to weigh less, but I preserve my curves and remain proud. When you’re beauti-FULL, as I call it, you have to have a thick skin to go along with your thicker figure. I don’t even mind some of the jokes. What is it called when fat people go skinny dipping? Chunky dunking… pretty cute, huh?

I am so excited about the new attitude and bold confidence of the plus sized girls in today’s world. They wear their fuller figures like badge of honor. They dress the way they want. They flaunt it and they know how to enter a room with panache like nobody’s business. They love their curves! One of my idols, Miss Mae West, was known for her hourglass body. Here’s what Miss Mae said on the subject. “Cultivate your curves-they may be dangerous, but they won’t be avoided”.

If you are not aware, there is a proud army of plus-sized women fighting hard to be recognized and counted with all the other beautiful women in the universe. There is a “curvy girl” revolution going on and I want to sign up for active duty. I say a big “BRAVO!” to those ladies who are true to themselves and fearless about their bodies. Whether you call it being self-assured, uninhibited or having swagger, it’s all awesome. I have to indulge once again in the words of my beloved Mae who wrote the book on how to “work it”.

“It isn’t what I do, but how I do it. It isn’t what I say, but how I say it, and how I look when I do and say it!”
~Mae West

Contact Information

I grew up in a very loving family that believed in hugs and kisses. My mother's arms around me, or my dad's pats on the head or playful tickles always told me I was loved. My family was very demonstrative and I am very grateful that I grew up in that kind of environment.

I recently went to say goodbye to a dear friend and realized halfway through our hug that this was not something she did very often. It was not an uncomfortable experience, but it made me think long and hard about how lucky I am and how much she had probably missed in life. I am a hugger and proud of it.

I believe in the power of touch so devoutly. It transmits wordless messages that say so much. For example, people have been shaking hands to introduce themselves for eons. Have you ever heard someone comment about a handshake they just experienced? I have. The comments can range from "firm and genuine" to "wimpy and limp". A message from human to human was sent in a matter of seconds that conveyed a message that might ultimately affect a relationship. For me personally, when a man shakes my hand and then places his left hand over mine so that my hand is sheltered by both of his hands, it tells me that he probably protects the women in his life. I am always impressed and I have to be careful not to swoon. This, of course, is not the litmus test for judging character in a man as I am sure there is probably an ax murderer or two who shake women's hands in this manner, but I do consider this an indication of a gentleman most of the time.

There are so many times that touch has amazing meaning. When I was a kid, my mom would stroke my forehead to soothe me when I was sick in bed with tonsillitis. To this day, you could not convince me that it was not her tender touch that cured me instead of the penicillin.

I am pretty sure that when some of you realized that this article was about touching, that your first thoughts were not about how validated or reassured you feel when your boss pats you on the shoulder for a "job well done", but to the romantic or maybe erotic side of touch. I don't ever want to disappoint, so let's go there. The best first kiss I ever received was when the man looked into my eyes and drew me towards him by very gently caressing the sides of my face until my lips met his. It was gorgeous and is permanently tattooed in my memories. To my gentleman readers out there... you are welcome to use it, but you need to write me a thank you note.

The most electrifyingly sexy thing I ever saw in a movie was in The Age of Innocence. Ladies, if you haven't seen this exquisite period piece, please do. Guys, you should try to watch it with her because it is beautiful and your woman will be very impressed at your sensitivity and artful soul. Granted, it doesn't have any guns, breasts, monsters or car chases, but your lady will be in a very romantic and loving mood when all is said and done. Okay, back to the sexiest scene on film. Daniel-Day Lewis is engaged to Winona Ryder, but he and her married cousin, played by Michelle Pfieffer, have a secret forbidden "thing" for each other. In my favorite scene, All three are at a gathering and there is a receiving line or something where Daniel is sandwiched between his fiancé and his lover in the line. Now remember, this takes place in the late 19th century, so in order to be received, ladies and gentlemen had to remove their gloves to present themselves. As Daniel and Michelle waited their turns, they were able to touch each other's bare hand for a brief, but provocatively explosive second made even more thrilling because of the danger of the fiancé standing so close. Believe me when I tell you that this was more exciting and sexy to me than any totally nude romp could ever be. I'm telling you, touch is everything.

Do you know who REALLY understands the magic of touch? Dogs and cats. Petting their heads, scratching behind their ears and rubbing them from stem to stern are all pure heaven to them. The moment I wake up, my little Beau rolls over on his back for his morning belly rub. This is even BEFORE coffee, so you know how much I love this little guy.

So the next time a friend surprises you with an instantaneous shoulder rub, be grateful for the gift of human touch. If you are not a hugger, get over it. You are missing one of the best things life has to offer.

I think you know me well enough by now to know that I am a big believer in the theory that the most wonderful things in life cannot be bought. However, so there is no confusion, I still believe that people that say that money can't buy happiness don't know where to shop. I'm just saying...

Love And War

Sometimes people write to me and ask if I am REAL and if I actually write these columns and answer your questions myself. I have to laugh. I can’t even get my kids do their chores without nagging them, so it is unlikely that I could talk someone into writing a column for me. Of course, I am REAL. And you would know just how real if you had been here yesterday.

I love getting letters from my readers. I feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world because I get to know you through your words, just as you get to know me though mine. In this crazy fast-paced world, where people conduct their whole lives on cell phones, eat over the sink so they do not to make dirty dishes and drive-thru everything from the bank to their house of worship, I am flattered when you take the time to email me. I keep every one of your letters, by the way, even that mean one from the guy in New Jersey who told me that leopard print is OUT and that I use too much of it on the site. He is wrong, of course, and I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. However, I am still not over the hurt of it all, but my therapist is helping me greatly.

Anyway, back to yesterday. I was going through this week’s reader mail, when I came upon a letter that took my breath away. With every word that I read, my heart thumped loudly and my eyes filled with tears. Incredible warmth came over my whole body. I just sat at my computer and cried. I cannot ever remember being so completely touched. I could tell you all about this fabulous letter, but better yet, why don’t I let you read it.

Hello Ms. Fifi,
I just had to write to tell you thank you for the wonderful lingerie you have sent. The quality is top notch, better in fact than many very expensive designer boutiques. I love the service I receive and have decided that I will entrust you with all my lingerie and delicates needs from now on. My husband is serving in the desert right now so I sent him your site address. He calls once every two weeks or so and one of the first things he says after I love you is "This is what I want you to get from Fifi's this time...” I get to shop and he gets to look forward to coming home to a whole new wardrobe of beautiful little things for me to model for him. I just had to write to tell you thank you. It is hard to miss him so much but now I'm not as depressed because I have a mission while he is gone. My mission is to transform my ordinary Army wife, middle aged self into a beautiful hottie, (for lack of a better modern term). Your lingerie makes me feel beautiful on the outside which makes me feel beautiful on the inside. My personality has changed from just having a ho-hum grin to having a beaming, brilliant smile. Every one has noticed and all I say is thank you and whisper "LOVE FIFI" to them and their wives. There will be a lot of happy soldiers coming home soon and thanks to you they will be returning to very beautiful wives and girlfriends.

Imagine getting to be part of some of the most passionate and intimate moments in people’s lives. We have learned from the many letters of gratitude we get from Military wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends and lovers that the first time couples get to see each other after being apart for so many months and miles is even more spectacular than any wedding night hoped to be. They are celebrating their love, but more than that, they are celebrating keeping alive and returning safely to each others arms. My goose bumps have goose bumps.

I know that many of our troops have come home, but many more are still in places like Afghanistan. Saying “thank you for serving” sounds so inadequate. Thank you for risking your lives, living away from the people you love and giving up all your creature comforts seems much more appropriate.

To our military men and women and your spouses, we at LoveFifi.com are so totally honored to be a part of what keeps your dreams alive when you are forced to be apart. But even better than that, to be a part of your homecomings is over-the-moon wonderful. We are so touched and proud.

What's Love Got To Do With It?

Tina Turner asks a good question. Let’s talk about it.

Did you know that we are the only creatures who can laugh…and love? Even though you think your Schnauzer loves you, it’s not the same kind of love that humans experience.

With Valentine’s Day so close, I think we should really examine this LOVE thing. How do we KNOW when we are loved? It’s important to know it when it comes your way.

I was a bit spoiled in the love department when I was a little girl. My mom would do things for me like cut my sandwiches into shapes with cookie cutters so when it was time for lunch, I had a special surprise. She used to make pancakes on Sunday for the family and always made these little teensy weensy pancakes just for me. She called them “dolly” pancakes. And when I would run through the sprinklers in the summertime, she would greet me at the front door with towels right out of the dryer. These were all beautiful acts of love that mean so much to me. I often look up at heaven and thank my mommy for all the things she did to make me feel so special.

When I was 16, my boyfriend gave me his class ring. He was the first love of my life. I wore his big ring on a long chain around my neck so everyone at school would know that I was “TAKEN”. As cool as I looked, the dangling ring bopped me in the forehead every time I bent over. If it hadn’t been for my bangs, the world would have seen that I was too blond to remember to hold the necklace when I bent down. I only ever thought about doing that when the ring bonked me in the head. Love sometimes comes with a price to pay. He said “I love you” all the time, wrote me mushy notes and called me every night. I was sure that he truly loved me until some dumb butt spiked the punch at the Senior Prom and I threw up in the center console of his vintage Thunderbird. He never got over it and we broke up eventually. I seriously questioned boyfriend/girlfriend love for a long time after that.

When I was in college, my boyfriend never TOLD me he loved me. He was a starving student and worked two jobs. When I studied, he would change the LP’s on the stereo so I could concentrate. He stayed up with me many times and helped me cram for tests. I can honestly say that he loved me, but I didn’t appreciate it at the time. I broke up with him when I graduated and broke his heart. Peter, if you are out there, I am so sorry. You deserved better.

As most of you know, assistant is my sister. That makes her my assister, right? Sometimes I get so involved being Fifi that I can’t see straight. She will pop in the office and bring me a cut up piece of fruit or an 8 oz. glass of water. She used to bring me chocolate or chips but those made my butt grow. I still appreciate her sweet effort to please me. She is pretty busy herself, but always thinks of my needs. That’s real love.

Now that I am older I know that true love is not about just saying the words “I Love You” (but I DO still adore how they sound). Real love is not measured in gifts, or extravagances, although an occasional diamond never hurts to drive the point home. Love is better measured in things you do, like when I wake up in the morning to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Now THAT is love.

So, Tina... what’s love got to do with it?

EVERYTHING

Until next time.

In The Mood

All you Bah Humbuggers out there can hate me if you like, but I really love the Christmas season. Of course, you must understand it doesn’t officially begin until I hear Jose Feliciano sing “Feliz Navidad” on the radio. It’s my rule and I’m sticking to it. I heard it early this year, before Thanksgiving, so I have been jolly for weeks now. It's so cute... most of my friends and family know how I am about this song, and they call and text me when they hear it.

As I was driving home last night and realized that the “elves” (aka husbands) in my neighborhood had worked hard—under protest, no doubt—over the last few weekends. Millions of lights were strung on houses everywhere I looked. I always get a kick out of how people hang Christmas lights and decorate the outside of their homes. Some houses are a work of art; the lights are planned in a well thought out design with no beginning or end. The bright lights define the structural highlights of the house and garden. Some of these outdoor light extravaganzas are such perfection, if I didn’t know better, I would swear Martha Stewart had something to do with it.

And then there are THOSE houses... you know the ones I mean. Lights of every shape and color are randomly twirled around bushes and beams, some strands barely attached within an inch of their lives to the shrubs and eaves. Sometimes there weren't enough lights to finish the whole front of the house, so the illuminated string abruptly stops as if no one would notice. And even worse, if the last strand is extra long, you will see a fairly symmetrically-done display, but at the end there is a frenetic clump of too many lights on the last bush. It’s kind of like if a cake decorator meticulously rendered every frosting rose and each lacy icing edge and then, just because there was some left, put a big pile of frosting in the corner of the cake as a finishing touch.

To assault the senses even further, these cattywompus light displays almost always seem to include one random string of lights that flash on and off like the sign on a diner that lets you know that they have "Good Food". I don't know why these people bother to illuminate their homes. I wish that there was some kind of law that would prohibit people from vomiting Christmas lights in their front yards. I will work on it for next year.

I really do enjoy the kind of unspoken competition that goes on between neighbors when it comes to the big lawn decorations. Lighted reindeer, Santas, choo-choo trains, candy canes all add fantasyland-like dimension to neighborhood lawns. I just love it, but I wish that people would think more about the “big picture” when placing those bigger-than-life props on their lawns. Some stuff just does NOT go together. If I am wrong, then please tell me this: just which part of Jerusalem is Frosty the Snowman from?

I finished the tree in my living room ages ago and it is GORGEOUS! My kids always tease me because they said my tree is TOO perfect. I was told it looks like a display tree at Macy’s and that I am obsessive about it. I have no idea why having a flawlessly decorated tree with precisely placed, hand blown Czechoslovakian ornaments, and perfectly timed, twinkling crystal white lights is a bad thing. My children say it has no “soul”. Soul, huh? I’ll give you soul. Gorgeous is good enough for me.

Back in the 70s I had this brainstorm of having an old fashioned Christmas tree. I painstakingly strung popcorn and cranberries on long pieces of brightly colored yarn. I made ornaments from acorns and pine cones. I spent hours cutting cloth strips and fashioning a patchwork chain to use as a garland. It was a total labor of love. I will tell you without a doubt that it was by far the butt ugliest tree in the history of Christmas.

Well my darlings... I must go now. I have errands to do. I need to order some sugar plums and pick up my boughs of holly.

Until Next Time.

Dough Balls

Few things in life are guaranteed. You’ve heard the saying about death and taxes being the only “sure things” we can look forward to.

In actuality, this statement is completely false. Oh, sure… we all have to pay taxes and we’re all going to die. Those facts are undeniably true. But while we are here, there is one sure-fire reality that exists for all of us, something far more pleasant than death OR taxes, but just as certain.

You probably don’t know about it, or haven’t thought about it, but Fifi will now teach you something that could very well change the way you live your life, so listen up.

If you have trouble remembering things, please make a little note of it. This is very important.

My darlings... Now hear this: there is no such thing as a bad dough ball. PERIOD!

What is a dough ball, you ask? A dough ball is simply any food made primarily of fat and flour. Cookies, muffins, biscuits, bread of any kind, dumplings, waffles, fritters and bagels are all stunning examples. It can be as simple as a soda cracker or as complex as a French GATEAU CHASSEUR (a delicate almond cake drizzled with black raspberry reduction), but it’s all dough balls.

Dough balls can be basic or complicated. The addition of sugar or filling or frosting doesn’t take away from the fact that a dough ball is a dough ball is a dough ball.

Every nationality on the planet has its own version. It doesn’t matter if it is Italian gnocchi, Chinese dim sum, French éclairs, Mexican tamales or English crumpets… they’re all dough balls and they’re all delicious. Shall I go on? Can you name a dough ball that isn’t yummy? I can’t, and I have the butt to prove that I have tasted them all.

Whether it is doughnuts, hush puppies, matzo balls or cupcakes, there are just no bad dough balls. So move over, death and taxes, and make room for something truly fabulous we can surely count on.

Oh, I am so glad I shared this with you; you are just going to love the challenge of dedicating just a little part of your life to trying to find a dough ball that isn’t great. And don’t try to convince me about the fruitcake thing, there are plenty of people who love it.

Now the next time you’re at the mall and you pass the soft pretzel place, you will say quietly to yourself “dough ball” and think of me. And then you’ll pass the Cinnabon store, and say “dough ball” and then Mrs. Fields, and so on and so on.

When I am right I am RIGHT!

Miss Traditional

It’s Thanksgiving evening and I am alone for the first time today. I am tired, and ready for a hot bath and pajamas, but first I thought I would write my article. I am filled with sentimentality and warm fuzzy feelings, so here I go.

Okay, I confess, I never really got the significance of this holiday on a historical level. The Pilgrims and Indians thing is way over my head. But a holiday that gets families together and includes pie gets my vote.

I hope you all had a wonderful day with your families. I did. In case you are curious as to what Thanksgiving like at my house, let me explain.

Do you remember the TV show “The Waltons”? Think back on how mom and dad Walton and all the kids worked side-by-side preparing the traditional meal. Every family member did his or her part with a smile. And to make it even better, Dad always had an inspirational story of Thanksgivings past to share as they worked together in perfect harmony. Got the picture?

Thanksgiving at my house is absolutely NOTHING like that.

Are we the only family in America who always has to send someone to the market at the last minute to get some vital part of the meal? You’d think after spending nearly $300 in the first place that we would have everything we need. But not us, we always forget something and find ourselves at the mercy of the only open market in town. Is $14.99 too much to pay for a carton of whipping cream? Let me know.

Dinner is always good, although no one in my family is very good at carving. They need to teach this at university level, because obviously it is not intuitive. It seems to also be a “man” thing, by the way. My CPA brother-in-law did the honors, and though he meant well, the pieces were a bit large to manage. I honestly could have done a better job by simply just backing over the bird with my car, but I didn’t say anything. It was a really wonderful dinner, and though I didn’t think it was possible to use every dish, bowl and platter in the house, we did it.

I wish I could tell you that we entertained ourselves after the meal with the men teaching the young ones how to whittle while the women worked on a quilt, but I would be lying. The truth is we watched football on television. However the most fun of the day occurred when my mother-in-law discovered that her grandson had pierced his tongue. Now THAT’S entertainment!

I am going to bed now. My heart is happy. I spent the day with many of the people I love, and the ones I didn’t get to see today know that I love them and that they live in my heart every day.

I am off to my bath and my bed, but tradition dictates that I swing by the kitchen and make a turkey sandwich. How else would you end the national day of overeating?

Goodnight, my wonderful readers. Goodnight, my precious family and friends. Goodnight, John-Boy.

Sweet Inspiration

You will not hear me whining about Thanksgiving. I really am looking forward to it. I just wish it wasn’t next week.

I am never ready for these holidays on time, but I am trying my hardest to get into the mood. I just watched a cooking show where the French chef made a roast turkey injected with a white grape reduction and glazed with Jerusalem oranges. It was gorgeous. I was so inspired by his creativity.

The thing that tickles me is that somewhere in America, some family will actually be eating that very meal. Someone watching along with me will be inspired enough to recreate that culinary masterpiece for their loved ones. I miss those Thanksgivings of the olden days when I would prepare the feast for my family. Cooking for my loved ones when they were younger was a whole lot easier. Now I have a vegetarian daughter, one that doesn’t eat fowl, one that doesn’t like turkey and a son-in-law that is dreadfully allergic to onions. I can’t cook without onions. So to make a meal for my grown-up children and the rest of my clan, I would have to make 2 versions of the side dishes, a turkey, a roast beef and a Tofurkey. Then of course there are the older relatives who have dietary restrictions. Just shoot me. We’re going to a restaurant.

OK, I got off track... back to the subject of inspiration. To be inspired is a miraculous thing. Inspiration is what gives us the wings with which we can fly and visit our dreams. Oh yes! I want to be inspired and fly, but I would probably get a middle seat.

All kidding aside, I DO get inspired by the world around me, and believe me, I am grateful. It doesn’t need to be complicated or fancy to warm your soul. Just think about pumpkin pie. Does it ever taste better than at Thanksgiving? Have you ever had a slice in July? It’s good, but not the same.

I am not here to deliver a heavy Thanksgiving message. I just want to remind you all about the delicious things in this world that cost nothing and feel so good. If something inspires you like a song, a flower, a sunset... share it with someone. And keep your eyes and ears open when others tell you what rocks their world. You don’t want to miss anything! It doesn’t matter if you are the inspire-er or the inspire-ee. It’s all good.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and don’t worry if you over eat a bit; I have a warehouse full of girdles, corsets, slimmers and sucker-inners.

Sacred Grounds

I am an admitted drug addict. Don’t start planning an intervention just yet. I have it somewhat under control. I am not alone in this, by the way. In the U.S. alone, more than 75% of the population shares my obsession.

I love coffee. I need coffee. I would not want to live without coffee. I got it bad and I don’t want to be cured. I won’t go to rehab... no, no, no! It is the last of my vices and I am not changing. For the record, I am half English and my maternal grandmother made certain that I had a rich appreciation for tea. I have at least one cup of tea every day, between my cups of coffee.

I am not a connoisseur by any means, but I know good coffee when I taste it. I don’t have the foggiest idea what the difference is between Arabica and Robusta beans, but I can tell in a second if coffee is swill or nectar of the gods.

Coffee makes the morning special. This is probably way too much information, but I actually get the coffee going before I even go to the bathroom. I am often dancing in my pajamas, but I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to take that first intoxicating sip. Speaking of dancing, did you know that coffee was discovered because of dancing? It was dancing goats, to be exact. Legend has it that centuries ago in the Ethiopian highlands, a goat herder named Kaldi noticed that his goats became very spirited and began dancing when they ate the berries off a certain tree. Being a good religious man, he reported his findings to the monks in the monastery. The monks made a drink from the berries and found that it kept them awake and alert for the long hours of evening prayer. The rest is history. Let’s fast forward to 2013. There are more than 20,000 coffee houses in the United States alone. There’s everything from mom and pop shops to Starbucks and everything in between.

Coffee is a powerful drink. It’s actually a commodity. Only gasoline ranks higher. It’s important in other ways, as well. People get acquainted over coffee and fall in love. Couples plan their future, business deals are made, tests are crammed for and beautiful dinners all involve drinking coffee.

Coffee is so important to me that a few years ago I invested in a single-cup machine. It’s one of the best things I ever did for myself. I don’t want to sound like a commercial, but every time I brew myself one perfect cup of coffee, I feel like a celebrity. I have my Keurig set to turn itself at 6 a.m. The blue “on” light illuminates my dark kitchen and greets me each morning like my own private sunrise. With a hot cup of coffee in hand, it isn’t long before I am snuggled on my outdoor couch with my puppies, communing with the birds and admiring the great outdoors. Coffee makes mornings an event.

Even though I am a devout coffee drinker, I am not an extremist. There is plenty of great coffee out there without spending a fortune. In fact, some of the best coffee comes from little hole in the wall places. I am not a snob. Good coffee is good coffee, whether it is served in a paper cup or Rosenthal china. My only rule is no Styrofoam. I won’t eat or drink out of that crap and you shouldn’t either. It takes 500 years to disintegrate.

Have you heard about the most expensive coffee in the world? It comes from Indonesia, but more importantly, it comes from weasel poop. This animal called a palm civet eats the soft outer part of the coffee “cherry”, but does not digest the hard inner beans. It then excretes them and they are gathered and roasted to make Kopi Luwak coffee. It is believed that the journey through the animal’s digestive system adds a unique flavor to the brew. I bet! It sells for $600 a pound and sometimes $50 a cup. And I thought Starbucks was expensive.

So now you know about my habit. If you ask me, I consider coffee drinking to be an art. I have included a photo of the LoveFifi.com coffee bar here at the office so you can see where all my dancing goats and I grab a cup before our morning meeting.

And just for fun, in case you haven’t had enough yet... I am including an incredible array of photos from the premier coffee artist of the world. I will never be able to drink a plain cappuccino again! Enjoy!