And The Winner Is...

I am not a big fan of awards shows, but I love the Oscars and look forward to seeing the 85th Annual Academy Awards tonight. Award shows have multiplied like bunnies because people like to watch celebrities in gorgeous clothes and like everything else in this world, it all boils down to money. Sponsors have deep pockets and these events sell product.

In the good old days, there were the Oscars and then with TV, came the Emmy Awards. When the Grammys began to be televised, the musical performances were worth the viewing. I even occasionally watched the Tonys to keep current in case I decided to fly off to New York for the weekend to see a show or two. I always opted for buying groceries and paying the mortgage instead, but I loved the idea of dashing off to see the hottest play on Broadway. The Academy Awards, the Emmys, the Grammys, and the Tonys covered the entertainment industry perfectly. In my opinion, awards shows should have stopped there, but as usual they didn’t ask me, so there are now a bazillion of them.

It seems like every time you turn around there is big hype for the latest and greatest awards show. There are around 60 entertainment industry awards shows televised annually. How much excellence should really be rewarded? It saddens me that the standards for outstanding achievement have drastically changed in so many areas. When I was in school, you had win a spelling bee or have straight A's to win an award. By the time my youngest was in school, she was “Student of the Month” twice in one school year. Let me assure you that with this kid we applauded her C minuses and she was always in trouble for talking in class. Although I gave her kudos and showed up to take photos at her awards ceremonies twice, I still don’t understand how she was the most outstanding student… twice. This kind of lowering-the bar philosophy has played havoc with the integrity of being the best in your field. This is painfully evident in not only what has happened to awards given out in the entertainment field, but also the 3rd grade at Ralph Waldo Emerson Elementary School. It’s very distressing.

I hate most of these copycat awards shows. There are too many awards given out for being best. How can you be best if everyone else is best? One show that really makes no sense to me is the Teen Choice Awards. Does anyone really trust the opinion of a teenager? I have never watched this event, but I can only imagine that the winners probably roll their eyes while making their acceptance speeches. Don’t think I hate teenagers, I don’t... I raised 6 of them. My dear friend, Mayra, always said that only God loves teenagers. I am curious to know if she is entirely correct on that one. I have my doubts.

What really bugs me about some of these wannabe awards shows are the stupid categories. One of the other awards shows that is televised has a main category called Outstanding Visual Effects in an Animated Commercial or Video Game Trailer. I am sure the nominees are talented, but do we really need this show to be on television? If this trend keeps up we will be seeing the Insurance Professionals of the Year Awards on our big screen TVs. People, this is why we have banquet rooms and ballrooms in hotels, so you can have luncheons and give out rewards. Please don’t put this stuff on television. Surely there are still enough reruns of “Three’s Company” to fill the airways at much less cost. Think about it.

The Oscars are still the granddaddy of all awards shows. We used to watch it at home when I was growing up. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Academy Awards and all the beautiful fashions didn’t somehow inspire me to go to art school and become a designer. I look so forward to see what everyone is wearing. In fact, I will let you in on a little secret, I am having an Academy Awards party!

Before I started LoveFifi.com, I was lucky enough to work for 20 years at one of the most famous lingerie companies in the world. There was a fantastic team of women who created the garments and every year at Oscar time, we got together at one of our houses for a party. Ten years ago, we all went our separate ways, but will remain friends forever. One of our group wrote an email and lamented about the “good old days” and our fabulous Oscar parties. The next thing I knew, we were having one at my house this year.

I am really into it. Although I haven’t had time to see even one of the movies, I don’t care. We will have ballots that cost $5 bucks each, just like they used to. The winner will get the pot except for one five dollar bill. That goes to the one whose answers sucked the most.

Don’t tell anyone, but I bought a piece of red carpet to roll down my path to the front door. Everyone is bringing something for our potluck and my invitation states that they should dress comfortably, but must include one Oscar worthy piece of formal wear in their attire. I am waiting for my guests to arrive in their shorts and bowties, sweats and tiaras or whatever. It will be fun.

I hope you will all enjoy the awards. They are so Hollywood and there is nothing like it. The sports freaks have their Super Bowl and the rest of us have the Oscars.

Speaking of tiaras, I need to find mine and shine it up. See you next week and if you have a minute, write and tell me what you loved and didn’t love about the Academy Awards.

I'm Just Sayin'

One of my fondest memories of my sweet mother was at the end of her life when I bought her a few new t-shirts to go with her everday sweat pants. Although she suffered from Macular Degeneration, and at certain times of the day could only see shadows, she still had a reputation to keep up at her retirement village as the resident fashionista. In a world where most of the ladies wore old housecoats, this was not a difficult goal to attain. I bought her the two jazziest shirts I could find. Both were emblazoned with flowers and birds and were studded with rhinestones. I was sure she could see her new duds with all the sparkles, and I knew the other residents would see her and comment. When I unveiled my purchases, she held them up, smiled brightly and squealed. “You GO girl!” she said with delight. “I got me some bling!” I looked at my Boston-born, college educated, Renaissance-woman-of-a -mother in shock. Who is this woman What did you do with my grammatically correct mother who never swore or used a sentence with a dangling participle in her entire life?

I had forgotten that my mom spent much of her time listening to the TV and radio. Since her sight was often diminished, she could hear better than most. Whatever transformation took place, my petite little mom embraced American slang in her final days and I must say it was pretty adorable. My guess is that between listening to NPR and watching PBS, she must have seen a few episodes of Maury, Oprah, and Entertainment Tonight. By the way, when I put her to rest, she wore plenty of sparkles. I wouldn’t have dared to let her show up in heaven un-blingy.

Slang is such an interesting phenomenon. It just appears like magic and is spread like a virus. There are no slangmeisters who create this stuff. It just arrives and thrives until it fizzles out. The true gems stick around for decades and become part of our regular speech while the really stupid ones die off. I have discovered through my extensive slang research on the subject (this morning) that the life span of a slang expression usually appears, peaks, and wanes into oblivion over a two decade period.

It is said that slang words and phrases really took off in the 1950s. I think that is true, but history shows (yes, there is slang history) that American slang actually had it’s beginnings in the 1920s and 30s. You may not use these terms, but if you have seen old black and white movies, you know I am speaking the truth.

The Roaring 20s brought us “23 Skiddoo”, which meant to scram. There was also hotsy totsy, meaning very uptown and fancy. I am seriously thinking of bringing this one back as I am sick to death of glam. Who’s with me on this? One that thankfully was born and died in the 20s was the bees knees which referred to something that was beyond outstanding. The 30s brought us I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! which expresses disbelief. You may not have ever used that one, but I bet you know what skivvies are, don’t you. Yes, men’s underwear. You can thank the slangsters of the 1930s for that one.

With the 1940s there was a war going on. Girls were gals. If a man had a full wallet he had a lot of lettuce. If you conspired with someone, you were in cahoots. Old fashioned was old hat and if it was you that was old fashioned you were a fuddy duddy. I don’t use these words, but I sure as heck know what they mean. It must be because I hang around older people.

The 1950s were the beginning of the first hipster generation. The Beat Generation, it was called. Beatniks were the cool cats. The word cool is iconic in the world of slang. It described anything that was fantastic. If you liked something back in the rock n’ roll 50s, you were more apt to say that you dig it. And you didn’t have to be a father to be called Daddio.

In the 1960s all hell broke loose in the slang world. The surfer craze, the Beatles, free love and Hippies all added new words to pepper the English language. If it was great, it was bitchin’. I was forbidden to use it then, and now that I am old enough, it makes me sound stupid. Life is not always fair. Whether it was good music or drugs or just being happy that made you feel groovy, it was a good place to be. Good looking people were known as foxes. A breathtakingly gorgeous person was a stone fox. If you were feeling down, you were undoubtedly on a bummer. A person who was off in his own reality was trippin’. Young people in the 60s were always aware if something or someone had a good or bad vibe. Kissing was referred to as swapping spit and I must note that this era also gave us the words woody for a man’s erection and zits for pimples. Ok, it wasn’t La Belle Époque, but it was a very interesting time in history. If you agree with me, go ahead and say it along with me 60s-style. Ready? RIGHT ON! Now didn’t that feel righteous?

The 1970s and 80s brought us disco amongst other phenomena and a lot wonderful words that went with it all. People were encouraged to keep on truckin’ no matter how hard life got. If something was really good, it was dynamite. If someone was a jerk or an idiot, he or she was referred to as a turkey. I wonder how the turkey community felt about it. Thank goodness it didn’t last long. I was a young girl then and I loved to boogie. I am not just talking about dancing, but getting your butt in gear and getting going. It was a good time for me. I remember a day in 1980 when a cute man on a motorcycle called me bodacious as I passed by on the street. It felt pretty good since I had just given birth. It felt even better after I got home and took off my sweater. I discovered that I had leaked milk from nursing through my blouse. I will never forget that day that I passed for bodacious. As we proceeded into the 80s, we tried to relax, veg out and stay mellow. Too much stress might get us psyched out and that wouldn’t be good. The 80s were good for me. Although I honestly never understood what it meant when something was tubular, all things rad kept me pretty happy. I learned to get real and I have remained in that state ever since. I was never a wannabe or a yuppy. I never got mad enough to go postal. Sadly, I never had a boy toy, but as it happens, I am now interviewing for one in the year 2013. It’s not too late is it? Whoever it was that said “yes”... bite me!

The 90s were a blur to me and I missed a lot of pop culture. I was busy with my career and raising thousands of children. I didn’t have time to get jiggy with anything or anyone. I never used the 1990s extended version of the word sweeeeet when something was good. I was too tired to ever be considered da bomb and I didn’t have to much time to be chillin’ like a villian. Don’t diss me because I was oblivious during this period of time. I wanted to be kickin’ it with the others but life was chaotic for me. For those of you who flourished in the 90s, good for you. Whatever...

With the new millennium came ginormous changes in the way people talked. The term awesome from the 70s was still going strong. Cool was sometimes jazzed up to coolio. The cougar was born. For the 2 of you out there that don’t know what a cougar is, it’s an older woman who is into younger men. It’s kinda like a stone fox with mileage. What was once known as your posse 25 years ago, is now referred to as your peeps. I am particularly fond of this era because if I say something that is a little wacky or I am having a senior moment, my kids might just attribute it to me being so random. So much better than senile, don’t you think?

So, let’s examine the state of slang as we begin 2013. Cool is king. Since the early 1950s, anything cool is still cool.

I don’t mind slang. I think you have to be careful how you use it or you might as well have geezer tattooed on your forehead. I like to keep up with the times, but I don’t indulge in slang unless I feel it punctuates what I am saying with just the right amount of panache. But that’s just how I roll.

Stupid Cupid

Valentine's Day. Many of you are looking forward to flowers, candy, lingerie, and LOVE. It’s all so dreamy... or is it?

I hate to be blunt (oh, I don't really, but it sounds nice), but what if you don't HAVE a Valentine at the moment? I don't have to tell you that in life (and dancing), timing is everything.

It can all be pretty depressing if you don't have a "significant other" right now. It's not like you can escape the reminders either...

I was at the supermarket the other day. There were signs and banners all over the store with little cupids reminding me to remember my Valentine. Forgive my stupidity, but what token of my undying love am I supposed to purchase from the grocery store? Let me see... "Darling, I love you. I got you a rump roast."

So, maybe you are in between sweethearts. It can happen. What are you supposed to do? Go into a hole until Valentine's Day passes and all the cooing and kissing are over? I think not. And besides, there is too much good chocolate floating around right now to even think about disappearing.

Don't tell her that I told you, but my sister just dumped her boyfriend. I am actually not sure if she was the dumper or the dumpee, but it doesn't really matter. She’s in a funk.

As it happens, my Valentine is out of town on February 14th, so I am taking this opportunity to teach my sister that being Valentine-less is not fatal.

She suggested that I come over to her house and watch "Wheel of Fortune" and order a pizza. Well, as enchanting as it sounds to eat dinner from a cardboard box and be cooped up with an angry woman and Pat Sajak, I took a big pass.

We are going out to dinner, just sister and me. She loves the ocean, so I have made a reservation at a lovely seaside restaurant. We will dress up and look beautiful. I will make the effort to mention to her how small her butt looks in the outfit she is wearing. If I am struck by lightning as the words come out, it will be worth it to make her happy. We will laugh and dine and do wicked fashion critiques on every unsuspecting person that walks through the door. No one will be safe!

The best part is that since I am her date, she won't have to do her "eat like a bird" routine. Being able to order two desserts without guilt makes up for a lot.

When it is all over, we will have laughed until our faces hurt, eaten up all of our fat grams through the month of April, and spent an evening with someone we love. It doesn't get much better than that!

For any of you who have not yet purchased anything for your special someone, please don't run out and buy something stupid at Walgreen's to try to keep out of trouble. There is nothing there that can save you. What you can do is trust in Miss Fifi to save the day. Go find some decent looking note paper and write your darling one a love letter. In this world of texts and informal communication, a love letter is a rarity. Tell that person in your own words why they mean so much to you. Remind them of special times you've had together. Channel your most romantic self and be generous with your words. When you hand them the letter, tell them that the day belongs to them and you want to do whatever they want to do. No Valentine is better than words from your own heart and hand. Nothing feels better than to spend a day doing whatever sounds like fun. It would also be nice if you bought some lovelies from my site. Surprise her by sending them or surprise him by wearing them. It's all good and I am taking my sister to a fancy seafood restaurant and I could use the money.

Happy Valentines Day!

Number Numb

I am getting older and I look so forward to life getting simpler and less complicated. Things don’t seem to be going my way, however. Here’s what I am talking about.

Remember how it used to be when you asked someone for their telephone number? You’d look for a little scrap of paper to jot it down. Well, not anymore. Nobody under 75 has an address book anymore. Everything is done on your smartphone. I can't type or text like a teenager, but I have small hands and am pretty adept on the phone keyboard. It's still not that easy because everyone these days has a home phone, an office phone, a cell, a fax, and, at least, one email address. I could write a person's biography in nearly the same time it takes for me to enter all the numerals in their contact information. But I'm not complaining, it is important to keep up with technology so you can be a part of this world.

“I didn’t like it much when they lengthened my zip code with a hyphen and four more numbers, but I didn’t say anything.”

But... in my opinion, this whole numbers deal is way out of control. I get up in the morning and my digital scale reports to me in big, fat red numbers not only how much I weigh, but what I weighed the last time. If I let it, it would also let me know my percentage of body fat, but I am smart enough to jump off before it has a chance.

Then I go to my cell phone to see if anyone has called since the night before. I obediently put in my SECRET CODE which prevents any reprehensible scoundrels from breaking into my system and hearing the messages from my sister about how her cat has diarrhea from something he ate or how she really likes the new lip gloss she bought. You can't be too careful.

It’s time to leave for work and I am off to the gas station. I put my card in the pump slot and, naturally, it wants numbers. I dutifully put in my PIN number, but it quickly asks for my zip code. Geesh! What's next... my bra size and zodiac sign? Just recently, I went through all of that and a digital message came up and said "see cashier". I was in kind of a dicey neighborhood, so I tried to be understanding about the extra security measures. When I got there he asked me for my license plate number. I don't have a vanity plate that says something cute, so I had to go outside to look at the numbers and then repeat them in my head over and over until I got back to the cashier. Of course, there was a line by then, and some moron in front of me was buying a Hot Pockets and a coffee with only coins that he kept counting and recounting out loud. Finally it was my turn and I spit out my licence plate letters and digits like projectile vomit. I wasn't going back! The cashier then asked me if I knew my VIN number. "Well I don't know it by heart," I said sarcastically, "that's why I had it tattooed on my ass. Let me check!" Thankfully, he knew I had had enough and sent me back to the pump to gas up.

When I get to work, I put the code number needed to disarm the alarm system. I settle into my leopard-lined office, but before I start my day, I decide to call my credit card company and resolve a billing problem. The first thing that the electronic operator wants me to do is enter my account number. I do so. After that, she wants me to enter the last 4 digits of my Social Security number. I follow her instructions obediently. Now, when the real person finally comes on the line, what do you think she wants to know? You guessed it! My account number and my SS#! So my question is, WHO is the electronic operator selling this information to? Someone needs to look into this immediately.

It’s down to business, and I go to my computer. First, I need to LOGIN with another set of numbers and letters. See, this is what gets me. If it was just a matter of having a password, that is fine. I like security as well as the next guy. But everything I do has different criteria for the secret code, so I can’t always use the same one. Some need only five or six digits, but others require more... and letters, too. Often times these added letters are also case sensitive, and you have to remember if you put your dogs name in caps or lower case. It is all way too much work. And don’t even get me started about all the places you have to log in a password on the Internet. I gave up long ago trying to sort out my Amazon login from my Orbitz. Wherever I go on a site, I just look for the link that says "Forgot Your Password?" and hit it. Of course I have forgotten my password! Albert Einstein couldn’t remember all these stupid numbers. Anyhow, it doesn’t take long and it is much easier on my brain.

I have tried to adjust and keep up with this high tech world, I really have. I didn’t like it much when they lengthened my zip code with a hyphen and four more numbers, but I didn’t say anything.

Look, I can deal with the passwords and secret codes. I can handle the fact that the world, including myself, has four phone numbers. I am proud to say that I have memorized my driver's license, passport and Social Security numbers. I even know my American Express number and security code by heart so I can order things that I don't need when sleep eludes me in the middle of the night. But please, let it stop here.

If we don’t watch out, this numbers madness could de-personalize the human race to the point where some day we might all have numbers instead of names. I am serious, it could happen!

Instead of Fifi, I could be 88437. But don’t worry, we will always be close, so you can just call me 88.

Until the Next Time.

The Palomino And The Butterfly

Miss Fifi is off on one of her fabulous adventures, so we, her loyal staff, have chosen an article we love from the archives for you to enjoy!

I have two perfect sisters. I am the oldest of the three of us, but neither of them ever mentions it out loud. My sisters have been known to get giggly and stupid if a business offers a senior citizens rate on food or services. They always let me know how close I am to qualifying. How thoughtful.

The funny thing is that both of my sisters think that I am so damn accomplished and exciting. Just because I have told them that I am “The Queen of the World”, I didn’t actually think that they believed me.

The truth of the matter is, even though I obviously have them convinced that I am brilliant beyond words and completely fabulous in all ways, it is really me who is humbled by them.

We call my middle sister Del. It’s a shortened version of her proper name, but I still like to tell everyone that it’s short for “delicious”. She is taller than me with natural platinum blonde hair and devastating baby blue eyes. When she enters a room, she is always noticed, and it’s more than just her looks. It’s the way she carries herself. She has this regal air about her. Just recently I gave her a dark brown outfit of mine that I never wore. When she put it on, she was an elegant vision in espresso colored gauze. Gorgeous! I never wore it because I looked like a big bran muffin in it. She can carry off what others can’t.

She didn’t always stand up straight and tall and walk into a room like she owned the place. Growing up in a world of button-nosed size 5 “Gidget” girls had an effect on her self esteem. One day she explained to me why she sought the shadows rather than the spotlight. No... it’s not because I pushed her out of the way.

I will never forget that moment when she explained to me, quite tearfully, that her height and athletic shape made her feel awkward and unbeautiful amongst all the little petite girls. It came as such a shock to me. “But sister!” I told her, "You are SO beautiful. You are my palomino.” “Palomino?” she asked quizzingly. I went on to tell her that she has always reminded me of one of those gorgeous palomino horses. The very essence of magnificence... the palest gold in color with a silky flaxen mane that blows in the wind as this thoroughbred creature gallops gracefully through life. Powerful, beautiful and strong.

Del liked that. Now every time she is having a bad hair day, a fat day, or a generally crappy day, she asks me to tell her that “palomino thing” again.

Jackie is our baby sister. Soon she will turn 48. Since no one does denial better than she does, she refers to this upcoming birthday as turning 30/18.

Everyone loves Jackie. She is pretty and sexy and funny. She can dance and sing and will do so with all she’s got as if no one is watching. She is a free spirit who would rather be sitting on the back of a Harley than having tea with the queen, but there is a gentle feminine innocence to her that captivates and charms. Have you ever been outside and all of a sudden, out of nowhere comes this beautiful creature with iridescent multi-colored wings fluttering by? Every eye is watching as it flits poetically from flower to leaf. It’s like that when Jackie is around. Jackie spent a good part of her life in the security and darkness of her own personal cocoon. Even when she evolved from a caterpillar, there were times when even the ones who loved her most had trouble believing that she would ever find the courage to change and take flight. But just like the process of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly is a miracle of nature, so is our baby sister. When she finally emerged and faced the world, she discovered that she was one of the most beautiful things in it.

These are words I have wanted to write for a very long time. Today seemed like the perfect opportunity to pay tribute to my beautiful sisters. They mean the world to me. And besides, we have no idea who will die first, so if it’s not me, I have a great head start on their eulogies.

I love you, Dellie and Jacks. I love you both ridiculous amounts and I am so proud to be your sister. Oh sorry... your older sister. I know how much you love to hear me say those words!

Do Or Diet

I have begun a food program. You know the one I mean. They have celebrity spokespeople who used to be chubby bunnies and are now svelte. This famous plan has weekly meetings where you weigh in and then sit in a group and talk about what you ate all week. You are not allowed to call it a “diet” under any circumstances. I don’t know who they think they are kidding, because if I have to write down what I ate and do math, it’s a DIET. The whole concept revolves around the theory that you can eat anything you want, you just have to use portion control. It's a nice theory, but I really think that they should give you a thimble as part of the equipment so you can measure out the eclairs and beef stroganoff properly.

Well, I just completed my first month for the 27th time. I have joined this program so often that I am surprised that my photo isn't in the lobby. But, I know it works and hopefully this time it will.

"Our lecturer lost a whole person—148 lbs."

The weigh-in process is pretty interesting. You have to get in line with people who are saving each other’s places while they run into the bathroom one last time. I don't know how much pee weighs, but unless you are Clydesdale, I honestly don't think it matters that much. Besides that, people started disrobing before my eyes. Shoes, socks, jackets, watches, cell phones, earrings... you name it. One guy even took a pack of gum out of his pocket before getting weighed. They have little cubicles where a staff member weighs you in. This person is an ex-fatty who is there to commend your losses and explain away any gains. They will not allow you to feel bad if your weight should go up. It’s water weight, or the time of day, or the phase of the moon or the wind that is responsible. Thank goodness I didn't blurt out about the bag of cheese doodles and the Snickers bar. I was congratulated about my 1.2 lb. loss as if I had just won an Olympic Gold Medal.

They try to keep the whole weigh-in experience very private. It almost works except for the fact that they have digital scales that display your weight in huge digital numbers the size of the ones in Times Square.

So I got weighed and went and sat down for the meeting. Our lecturer is fabulous. She lost a whole person, 148 lbs, so she knows what she is talking about. She is awesome.

It is really hard to get excited when the weight loss is less than extraordinary. The lady who signed me up had on a name tag that proudly proclaimed she had lost 12 lbs. I can lose more weight than that by just taking off my bracelets.

I really respect my lecturer, because I know how hard it is to stay focused on losing weight. I have been on many diets and the reason they don’t work for me is always the same... I get hungry.

The group then told stories of triumphs and challenges they had faced with fattening foods. One lady told this riveting account of a piece of 5 layer chocolate cake that she was offered and only ate a few bites. I joined the class in applauding her self-control while all the time fantasizing about what happened to the rest of that piece of cake.

We talked about goals. Some people wanted to wear a bikini again, some were getting smaller for an upcoming wedding or special event. Everyone had a dream of getting skinny and sexy. My dream? I would just be happy really weighing what it says on my driver’s license.

This really is a great program and gets easier every day. And I promise to faithfully keep at it until someone comes up with that Krispy Kreme Diet that I have been waiting for.

Until Next Time

Going Places

I have such vacation fever, it’s crazy. I love to get away at this time of year because the kids are all back at school and some of the best places to go are reasonably quiet and inexpensive.

I sat down at the computer and started shopping for a place to get away from it all. I live in California, so sun is not a novelty to me. I wanted to go somewhere that I can just be me. No make up, no hair-dos, no muss and fuss. I just want to relax. I am planning on going alone, so I don't have to make anyone happy but me. Contrary to popular belief, I am not hard to please. I just need a comfortable bed and some peace and quiet. I don't ski or toboggan, but I do like the snow. Sitting by a nice fire and sipping cognac is sport enough for me. If I went somewhere tropical, that would be fine. As long as they have air conditioning and a pool where I can dangle my feet while drinking a mojito, I would be happy. I don't drink much in real life because I always have work to do or a place to go and alcohol doesn't fit into my life style. But I do enjoy cocktails when I don't have anything to do but take it easy.

Okay, so back to where I am going to go. I wanted something out of the ordinary. I don't have time to go to the Galapagos Islands or Katmandu. Going to Hawaii or Acapulco is too touristy. Where can I go that is unexplored, but not too primitive? What kind of vacation spot will I be able to talk about when I get back and have everyone fascinated? Here are some great REAL places I found. Wanna come along?

I bet we would have a great time in Happyland, CT. We could turn a frown upside-down in Smileyberg, KS. If we were especially hungry, we might visit Sandwich, MA. I love animals, so Hippo, KY, Chicken, AK, and Monkey’s Eyebrow, AZ could be fun. You know, if we just want something not too exciting, Okay, OK, Ordinary, KY, or Boring, OR would be perfect.

Alright, I am done being silly, but these are real places... no kidding. But when all was said and done, I have decided to spend a few days in Palm Springs, CA. It's close and the desert is lovely at this time of year. In Fifi speak, that means it's not hot. I hate to be hot. I am speaking of the temperature way, not the "oh baby, you look hot!" way.

You see, in the quiet of Palm Springs, I can take in the serenity of the desert landscapes, experience a sunrise, or perhaps even one of those magnificent desert sunsets that are so often captured in photographic art. I can explore my inner self, meditate and even begin a spiritual journey that may carry me the rest of my life.

On the second day there are shopping outlets, restaurants, and casinos. Woohoo! I am all set!

By the way, so many of you have asked what is going on with that new man in my life. He is still around and we still see each other, but we have decided to be friends. To be honest, he just wasn't husband material. Sadly, the only men I seem to meet that ARE husband material all have the same imperfection—they have wives. Well, I'm off to the springs!