To My Darling Readers

I hope you all had a fabulous 4th of July. I did! I cooked 12 racks of ribs, whipped up a big crock of baked beans, cut up 3 big watermelons, toasted a ton of garlic bread and made dozens of cookies. The family had an absolute blast and everyone was more than "Thanksgiving" full when they rolled out the door after the fireworks. It was wonderful.

We all returned to work Monday with a killer week ahead of us. Tuesday we began a marathon photo shoot for the Fall and Holiday season. You cannot even believe the magnificent new styles we have coming your way. The biggest news of all is that we photographed every style we have that comes in Plus Sizes on PLUS models. So many of you have requested this and we are doing it. We have rounded up the most gorgeous group of PLUS sized models from size 14 to 24.

It's so funny, the PLUS models are all so fun-loving and gregarious. They laugh and tease and were so much fun during the fittings. One day I happened to mention to one these models that the whole group of curvy models were crazy-cute and full of smiles all the time. Her response was that the "fluffier" models were the happiest because they're NOT hungry. I can relate!

Anyway, I am up to my eyeballs with things to do, so there won't be a regular article. I figured you wouldn't hate me if I told you what was going on. Y'all mean the world to me and I never want to disappoint. I will be back next week with some more of my mayhem and foolishness.

Hugs and Kisses...

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

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.

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?

Party Animal

I am one of those crazy people who love when my birthday comes around. I almost always have a party or go somewhere special. I make a big deal of it because I am very happy to be alive and well.

I honestly don't understand people who are content with letting their birthday just be another day. Let me be very clear... I love to celebrate other people's birthdays, too. I just think birthdays are wonderful fun.

So I am planning a really great event this year. I am having one of those huge milestone birthdays in about a week, so I thought I would do it up right. Just about everyone I care about will be there with the exception of some people who live very far away. They will be there in my heart. I really hope to be stupid-rich someday so I can have everyone I love attend my next big one. Crap! If only I had played the Power Ball last night. The pot was $400 million. Somebody won it and it could have been me.

I think it is so much fun to spoil the ones who mean the most. I am having this affair catered so no one, including myself, has to cook. Since the party is in the afternoon, I am doing all appetizers. The caterer emailed me a list of choices. Aren’t my friends and family going to be excited to be dining on such yummies as “smoked almond stuffed dates wrapped in bacon with chipotle brown sugar drizzle”. Will I ever be able to serve them Doritos and bean dip again?

My parties always have a theme. I have asked my guests to wear only black and white. I have no idea what I will wear, but I did have a brief fantasy about appearing in shocking pink and being the only one who was different. It seemed a little too flashy so I abandoned the idea. Black and white are much more slimming anyway. My sister is constantly reminding me that I am not Beyonce, Angelina Jolie or Queen Elizabeth and to reel in my diva-ness. I try, but it’s not easy being me.

I tried to get some entertainment for this shindig, but it seems that there is not much available for grown ups. All the “talent” readily available is more suited for children of drunken bachelors. If I thought my guests would appreciate having their faces painted or jumping on a moon bouncer, I have lots of choices. I did consider the moon bounce idea proceeded by tequila shooters, but rethought the danger and the vomit aspects and decided NO.

If I had wanted to see scantily clad beauties parading around my party, that would have been easy, too. But let’s face it, I can do that at work. While I was actually typing this article, the leader of a group from the agency I contacted called me to talk about the entertainment. I was clear about the type of music I like when I submitted the order and I had my doubts about this group from the beginning of the conversation. He worked hard to convince me that their ensemble could sing many styles. I wanted a R&B kind of group. Try as he could, this man just couldn’t convince me that a barbershop quartet could deliver Motown. No group is THAT versatile.

I have been so busy with LoveFifi, I didn’t start the planning of this party until a few days ago. Trying to throw it all together and make it completely divine isn’t an easy task, but I will do it.

And in case you were wondering do I plan to have birthday celebrations in the years to come? For as long as I have birthdays, my darlings. If I can figure out a way to have parties even after I take my dirt nap, I will “party on” forever. Would you expect any less of me?