Chocolate Made Me Do It

Halloween has come and gone but the remnants of too many “fun size” chocolate bars made me do something on the spur of the moment yesterday. I got up all my courage and went to check out one of those co-ed mega-gyms. It is time to do something about your weight when you take off your jeans and there is a perfect impression of the waistband, the zipper placket and the pockets on your abdomen.

I was nervous about walking in, but I must have been the most beautiful girl in the place, because 3 really cute buff guys fought to have me sit down with them and chat. Hey, ladies, in case you think that there is nothing better than being “carded” for liquor when you are over 45, I can tell you that there is. To walk into a gym and have a guy who looks like Fabio ask you why you are there is pure bliss. I should have said, “because my ass is as big as Texas and if I don’t lose some weight the only thing I will have to wear is my car cover”, but I demurely answered that I was looking to get into better shape to have more energy. It sounded so convincing that I almost added something about an interest in marathon running for good measure, but I was afraid I still smelled like chocolate and he would know I was a fake.

So I signed on the dotted line and went to put on my “workout clothes”. I wasn’t playing. I decided that if I was going to do this, I was going to start today. I then met back with my muscle man for a tour and orientation. He was really nice, but men usually are after you give them a big check.

Tell me this, what is up with everyone else? No one is friendly in those places! There is an aloof attitude that I just can’t explain. I don’t know if it’s the sweat or too much Lycra constricting their brains, but I can tell you that no one was very cordial.

After my fitness god left to pursue another chubby prospect, I decided to try to program one of the machines and get going. The problem is, I wear glasses, but foolishly left them in my locker thinking I probably wouldn’t be doing any embroidery or beadwork while I was there. I couldn’t figure out the digital commands on my machine, so I asked the fellow next to me. You would have thought I asked him to sacrifice 50 –yard line seats at the Super Bowl to help me for 2 minutes. He grunted and groaned and basically set my treadmill at cheetah level when I am clearly just a notch over turtle speed. Well, I DID finally see one of those workout freaks laugh. He was quite amused.

I was actually pretty lost as to what to do, so I just copied others and pretended that I knew what I was doing. Working out is not intuitive to me. I was never into sports except for ice skating when I was young and I was drawn to that sport because the outfits were the cutest. Luckily, one of the trainers took pity on me and showed me around the machines. After an hour, I felt pretty accomplished. I came, I sweated, I conquered! I felt proud.

Well, I survived my workout, showered in some sort of tiled phone booth, put my “civilian” clothes on and headed towards the front door.

Just as I was about to leave, Mr. “Fabio” gave me a wave and said, “See you next time”.

Next time? You mean you have to do this more than once?

This will never catch on...

You Can't Scare Me

October 31st is almost here. I have already done my part and paid $14 for a pumpkin that I will never eat and will pitch in the trash when it starts to decompose and stink. I am officially in the Trick-or-Treat mode.

We are crazy busy here at LoveFifi.com getting your corsets, push-up bras, padded panties, and fishnet hosiery out to you to wear under your costumes (by the way, thank you for your orders…kiss, kiss!). In fact, we are SO busy, that even Miss Fifi is working in the warehouse getting your packages ready to ship. Don’t faint, but I am really not bad at picking, packing, and shipping. I am much better at being queen, but that will have to wait until next week when all the hoop-di-doo is over. As I pack each order (lovingly, I might add), I think about the person who will be wearing the corsets and stockings and all the fun stuff from us that is going into creating their costumes. It's fun to fantasize and try to guess what their costume might look like. I do the same thing at the market when I look at what the folks ahead of me in line are buying and imagine what kind of people they are and what their lives are like. Old ladies who buy 30 cans of cat food, chocolate chip cookies, and the National Enquirer are easy to figure out. You can tell the single guys and health nuts easily, as well. I remember once there was a guy in front of me whose purchases were a bottle of Collins Mix, two limes, and a large container of Draino. I couldn't figure out what on earth was going on at his house. Thank goodness I wasn't alone on this one. When the cashier checked him through and told him the total, he also commented and chuckled that the guy must be mixing up one "hell of a cocktail". It's always good to know that I am not the only one with a sick brain.

I am truly enjoying my adventure in our shipping department and have learned two important things along the way. Number 1: our warehouse supervisor, Christine, is worship-able. The way she runs the place and handles the customers is awesome. She came to us from one of the fanciest department stores in the world, so she knows how to treat people. With her around, you can be sure your order will arrive at your door on time. Thank you, Chris!

And what was the second thing I learned?

Our United Parcel Service man is gorgeous! What a cutie! I loved watching him put all our packages in the truck. Warehouse work has many rewards.

Customer Service just told me a man called this morning and ordered our Belly Dancing outfit over the phone. He spent 10 minutes explaining that it was for his girlfriend. The more he explained, the more we knew for sure WHO would be wearing this outfit. Please, my darlings, you don’t have to explain anything to anyone at LoveFifi. We care only that your purchase will bring you joy. Period.

When my partners and I started this business, we did it with our eyes and arms wide open to our customers. Let’s get this straight once and for all. We don’t care if you are a guy ordering a corset for yourself. We only care that we help you find your size and that you are thrilled when your order arrives. Save your stories, honey. Though amusing, Fifi has been around the block a few times and I know that you didn’t lose a bet with your bowling buddies and have to dress as a woman for a week. The pink bra and panties are for you. So what?

A few weeks ago, a customer wrote to me about the size 2X Maid’s Costume she purchased. She thanked us profusely and then went on to tell us that she has enjoyed watching her husband do housework in it. I had to admire her. She fulfilled not only her fantasy, but mine. A husband that does housework, how divine is that?

Dressing up is good for the soul. Actors know how liberating it is to be someone else, Halloween allows us to live in a fantasy world for just a little while. So let’s do it!

I have to get back to packing now, so I will close for this week. I am ready with my tape and pink tissue and will wrap your purchase personally and blow a kiss to each package as it leaves the building. I know they don't do that at Victoria's Secret, but that's how we roll at Lovefifi.com.

Wishing you all a happy and safe Halloween. Before I go, I am sending you a link to one of my favorite pieces of television. Jimmy Kimmel had parents tell their kids that they ate all of their Trick-or-Treat candy. It's hilarious!

Soul Mates

My sister and I just returned from the 2013 Soul Train Cruise. We are still so electrified by the whole experience; I can’t wait to tell you all about it, as promised. You may recall that last week you got no article, just a lame letter from me explaining that I was so busy packing my dancing shoes that I had NO time to write a real article. Actually, that was not the complete truth. I was just so busy getting prepared at work to be gone for a week and trying to get myself ready, I actually didn’t have much to write about. You should be grateful I didn’t yammer on about what I was doing. It’s not that writing descriptions for the new holiday items and analyzing sales is not fascinating to tell you about or that the tale of my trip to the vet to get my dog her meds for the dog sitter is not interesting, it’s just that I love my readers too much to bore the snot out of you. But I was going on the SOUL TRAIN cruise and nothing I could write about the week before was worth typing.

I don’t think I have had this much fun ever before. I am older now and don’t remember everything I have done, but from what I can recall, this cruise was clearly the most fun you can have with your clothes on. It was a chartered event on the Holland America line and the entire week was all about the music I love most in the world, R&B/ Soul/Funk. Just in case you are curious, my next favorite music is classical, gospel, anything by Edith Piaf, Willie Nelson, or Elvis. OK, I’m weird... but I like to think of myself as eclectic.

“ We always bring 3X the amount of clothing that we would need if we were going on the QE2 for a month.”

Going on a cruise is pure heaven for me. I can be easily contacted in an emergency, but once on the water, there is no phone or computer at my fingertips to distract me. I have to completely concentrate on the tasks at hand: resting, sunning, being pampered at the spa, overeating, sleeping as long as I want, gambling, shopping in port, and being entertained. My cabin guy cleans up after me, brings me fresh towels, and leaves chocolate on my pillow at night. I can see why celebrities become brats when life is like this every day. I think you appreciate it more when it’s only for a week.

I watched Soul Train and American Bandstand faithfully for all the years that they were on. I wanted to go on this cruise because the line-up was so amazing and because losing both Dick Clark and Don Cornelius in the same year was really hard on this old girl. I have fond memories of blasting Soul Train on the TV every Saturday while I did my housework as a young bride. I had to turn it up so I could hear it over the Hoover as I pushed the it down the hallway dancing all the way, the star of my own Soul Train dance line. I would always rest when the groups came on and then go back to “getting down” with the dancers while I cleaned and dusted. You would be amazed how much work I could accomplish in that hour. I was always alone during that time, so the “dance like no one is watching” rule was always in effect when Soul Train was on.

The talent on board the ship was “old school” Soul and Funk. Every night after dinner there would be an amazing concert. Jeffrey Osborne... Earth, Wind, and Fire... Gladys Knight, just to name a few. The music was non-stop and fabulous. I did have a cathartic moment during the concerts, however. The music was intoxicating and it was hard to sit. I jumped up with the rest of the audience and danced my butt off as I have always done. I am a dancing fool. This time it was different. Getting older has given me a funky knee and a troublesome rotator cuff. It turns out that shaking my “groove thing” was painful, at times, but I didn’t let it spoil my fun. Thank goodness I still had enough mobility in my shoulder to motion to the cocktail waiter to order drinks. Ordinarily, I really don’t drink very much, but it is easy on a cruise ship. You don’t have to drive home!

I don’t know if I could ever go on a regular cruise again. Oh sure, there is entertainment, but it’s just not as exciting as having musical legends entertain you. On a regular cruise, the shows are mini-extravaganzas and the talent tries hard to deliver a first class show. The difference is that your waiter at lunch could very well be dancer #7 in the ship's production of "A Chorus Line" after dinner.

On the Soul Train Cruise, the entertainers gave small group private lessons on things that were also their passions. Sister and I attended cooking class with Gladys Knight and a drum seminar with Jeffrey Osborne (he started out as a drummer). Very fun! Gladys was charming and adorable and cooked up a yummy, healthy pudding that she makes for her grandbabies and I am certain that my drum playing has improved considerably since last week. Thank you, Jeffrey!

The best part of the cruise, by far, was the people we met. Sister and I met fabulous folks from all over the world. Our tablemates at dinner will most certainly be our friends for life. Every moment we spent with them was filled with laughter and joy. They are from Trinidad and, the last time I checked, that’s pretty far from California. I have no doubt that our paths will cross again, because we will all work on making it happen. You know what it’s like when you meet people and it feels like you have known them your whole life? That’s how it felt with Gillian and Junior. Love at first site is not just for romance. Hugs to both of you.

Sister and I have been on at least a half a dozen one-week cruises and we haven’t gotten much better at either packing a sensible amount of clothing or finding our way around the ships. We always bring three times the amount of clothing that we would need if we were going on the QE2 for a month. I doubt that I will ever break that habit because I need the flexibility of having my wardrobe choices match my moods. If the day ever comes that I need a walker or a wheel chair on my cruises, I can probably whittle down my clothing to those zip up house dresses and one pair of sneakers with Velcro closures. If that time ever comes, I will probably have cut my long blonde hair short and let it go gray. I have to stop this talk... it’s not making me happy. Until then I am ready for anything from scuba diving to a masquerade ball and the world and the cruise lines will have to deal with me and my luggage.

Finding our way around the ships is still baffling to both Sis and I. I tend to follow her because she is Marco Polo and Christopher Columbus on dry land. On a ship, her sense of directions blows wind, but she still has the courage of her convictions, so I follow. It usually takes us until the last day to get our bearings, but then it doesn’t matter. Even though we study the ship's maps by the elevators and pay attention to the “you are here” arrows, we never seem to wind up at our destination on the first try. It’s probably better that we are lost most of the time. We end up walking off at least some of the calories from the 15 desserts we wolfed down the day before.

So there you have it. We had an absolutely wonderful time. I truly wish all of you were there. Why don’t we all go together on the next one in 2014? Think about it and let me know. For now I will close and wish all of you the same thing it says on the T-shirt I bought. It’s the same thing that Don Cornelius said every week at the end of the show:

Wishing you all...

Fair Game

My adorable grandson turned 6 last week. This is a pretty big birthday for a kid. He is still a little boy, but not for long. He hasn’t lost his front teeth yet, so he still has that baby boy innocence. I know it is only a short time before he shoots up like a weed and is all BOY. Before I can adjust to the rough and tumble years to come, I need to make sure we celebrate the end of his sweet-little-boy period that I have grown to love.

I decided that it would be a great idea to make an especially big deal of his birthday this year. You see, I now have a 16-month-old granddaughter, who at times takes the spotlight away from her cousin. I adore them both and I really felt that commemorating being 6 was the thing to do. Although I am really good at planning parties and creating events to remember, I was running on empty when it came to thinking up something fabulous for my little guy’s birthday. I raised a gaggle of girls and am an official “girlie girl” myself, so even though I have made great strides in grandmothering a boy, I didn’t have the foggiest notion what to do for his birthday. With girls, it’s so easy. You get them a poofy pink dress and a plastic tiara, buy them dolls, stuffed animals and candy and they are in birthday heaven. Boys are way harder to figure out and it doesn’t get any clearer when they grow up, I would like to add.

I have a wonderful relationship with my grandson and I love to have him on weekends, just me and him. It didn’t take me long to realize that little boys are just big boys that are not ripe yet. When my grandson was about 2 ½ and could talk, I learned real fast that what little men like is good home cooking, having the latest toys to play with and watching TV on the couch until they fall asleep on my lap as I stroke their hair.

Somebody was watching over me and I got a random email from one of my credit card companies that told of an upcoming event at our county fair. The MONSTER TRUCK Spectacular was happening on the same weekend as my grandson’s 6th birthday. He loves trucks! When I take him to buy a toy, it’s always some kind of truck. He never seemed to be interested in anything but “twucks”. Damn, I hated it when he learned to pronounce his R’s a few months ago. Childhood is so fleeting...

Not only could I take him to the fair for the first time, but we would top off the day in our grandstand seats seeing life-sized trucks with gigantic tires flip, fly, and do wheelies in dirt. I got so excited and bought tickets for the family. I couldn’t wait to take him on the carnival rides and buy him cotton candy, but not in that order. MONSTER TRUCKS... this was a brilliant stroke of luck. What fun!

So we "kidnapped" him from school early last Friday and headed for the county fair. It was the last weekend of the fair and it was jam-packed with families and daters and a whole lot of idiots. I held his little hand for dear life and my sister was my back up as we made our way through the crowds. His excitement when we finally reached the FUN ZONE turned quickly to horror: there was nothing that wasn’t death defying. What happened to the circus train ride and the cute little caterpillar roller coaster for kids and the boats that went around in a circular pool of water with a bell kids could ring? When I was a child, I used to do all the kiddie rides and then get all my courage up to finally go on the Tilt-a-Whirl with my dad. I was game to go on anything that my grandson wanted to try but at that moment he was trying not to cry. Rides with calibrated neon lights flashing had names like Cliff Hanger, Dive Bomber, Turbo Drop and the Screaming Swing loomed all around us. Since my name is not Fifi Knieval, I found the FUN ZONE to be not even slightly fun. I told my little man that he wasn’t quite tall enough for the rides this year and suggested we move on to the carnival games. We spent a lot of money trying to win stupid stuffed toys that nobody really wanted but isn’t that part of the fun of the fair?

Finally it was time for the show. He still had no idea what was going on. The look on his face when the monster trucks roared onto the field was worth everything. He could not believe what he was watching! These crazy trucks screeched around the track and sped over ramps so they could fly through the air. One guy even drives backwards ONLY. Although I have never been to an event like this and would probably not admit to it ever, I liked it way better than I thought I would. Watching those giant trucks with wheels the size of the moon careen around corners and take flight off of piles of rubbish was really exciting. The crowd was into it big time. The hooting and hollering at all the antics on the track was worth the price of admission. At the very end of the show, one of the trucks went off the ramp and did a complete 360 flip, landed and bounced 10 feet up. If I didn’t know better, I would think my sister was giving these drivers driving lessons. Ha Ha! She will read this and roll her eyes, but if working at LoveFifi doesn’t work out for her, she could have a brilliant future in the monster truck business. She already knows the basics.

My grandson had the very best time, but he is only 6 and it was late. He was tired. As we headed out towards the exit, he wanted something to eat. I tried to entice him into the deep fried watermelon on a stick or a bacon wrapped dill pickle, but he just wanted a cup of gelato.

We were almost out when he spotted a blow up airplane on a stick and a light up plastic saber that glowed in the dark. He looked up at me with those puppy dog eyes and asked if he could choose one. I told him “NO” and then smiled and told him he must get both. It’s his birthday! That’s what grandmothers do. Deal with it. I didn’t even wince when I handed over $20 dollars for 2 toys with a life expectancy of 24 hours. All I could do was be grateful to be alive and know that this child loves me almost as much as I love him.

Happy Birthday, Xavier.

All Stuffed Up

Sadly, I have now reached the point in my life where I own more items than I can manage. I have always fancied myself as a collector of fine things, but I may be overestimating my belongings. In plain English, I love stuff. Old, new, antique, bright and shiny off the press, I love it all. Recently, I began weeding out my things. I felt that by only keeping what I was using, wearing, appreciating and cherishing, I could make my life better. It only takes catching a few minutes of “Hoarders” now and again to sober oneself up to what can happen when you can’t part with anything.

My possessions are organized, but so much is put away in boxes and cupboards because I only have so many walls, shelves, horizontal display areas and floor space. And then there are the clothes. My closets and dresser drawers can only hold so many outfits, shoes, scarves and purses, yet I still can’t resist buying something new and fabulous, especially if it’s a bargain.

“My first collection started when I was very young.”

When I first began de-cluttering my life, I started with my wardrobe. I went through every hanger and assessed whether I should keep the garment or not. I read somewhere that if you haven’t used it or worn it in a year, you should donate it. That is a lovely thought, but what if you couldn’t fit into it a year ago and you might lose weight next year? The same person also said that you should donate garments to charity if they are no longer in fashion. There’s something very wrong about that statement. What kind of conscience, or lack thereof, would allow you to push your old, dated, out of style clothing on somebody who is trying to upgrade their sad life and start over? Do you really think it would help someone who's down on their luck to show up at a job interview in my discarded M. C. Hammer pants? I am very proud to say that I was able to edit my wardrobe to a reasonable amount and now there is actually room in my closet to slide the hangers back and forth. I was on a roll.

Next, I went through my kitchen cabinets. This journey was bittersweet. I was reminded that a single woman living alone probably does not need every size of Pyrex baking dish, multiple sizes of cake pans plus duplicate muffin tins and pie plates. I am no longer requested to make dozens of cupcakes or cookies for the class party or after the game. I haven’t made a pie since Beyoncé was still part of Destiny’s Child and the chances of me baking a sheet cake during the balance of my life are as remote as me climbing Mount Everest. I boxed up a ton of cooking gear and gave it away. It felt good.

The next part was really difficult. I am talking about my collections. For most of my life I have created collections of certain items. I would collect until I was satisfied that my assemblage was complete and then I would go on to the next thing. Each collection earned a permanent place in my heart and in my home. My first collection started when I was very young. I collected poodles. There were a lot of them left over from the '50s and they were easy to find in thrift shops. I had ceramic, porcelain and glass poodles up the yin-yang. My parents bought me a white French provincial hutch/desk combo so I could display their cuteness in my teenage room. When I left home for college, my former room morphed into a guest room; a very poodle-less one, I might add. My boxed up collection has stayed with me through every stage of my life since, but sadly they never fit into the cool vibe of my first apartment or my first home after I married. I could have put my poodles in the family room, but to be fair, they would have had to share space with bowling trophies, so we compromised and used the space for family photos.

My next fixation was on English tea and candy tins. The designs on them were so beautiful and when I was collecting them, they were very inexpensive. I had a shelf built below the ceiling in my dream home kitchen and displayed my gorgeous tins, mostly from the early to mid 20th century, around the entire perimeter of my kitchen. When the nest was empty and the house was sold, I carefully boxed most of them up and stored them with the poodles in the garage of my much smaller condo.

I have gone through the same exercise with decorative bowls, candlesticks, vintage jewelry and antique linens, just to name a few. When space gets tight, I box most of it up, but display and use what I can. Because I am committed to simplifying my life, I took all the boxes down and started going through them with the intention of culling these collections down to only a few important pieces each.

You know how it is when you start going through stuff, it takes a lot longer than you think because you visit each piece as you pull it out and unwrap it. You remember where you found it and fall in love with it all over again. My middle daughter was visiting that day, and as I joyfully showed off one of my favorite floral tins, these words popped out of her mouth instantaneously: “99 Cent Sale when you die!” Very funny, I thought. So I pulled out a stunning pair of embroidered satin pillow cases from the 1920s. “99 Cent Sale when you die!”, she chirped. I pretended that it didn’t bother me because I know that when I DO die, my girls will be very sentimental and want to keep everything to remember me by. Right?

So the end of the saga goes like this. I couldn’t part with anything. The poodles, the tins, the china... I still have every piece. I pulled out some of my favorites from every collection and placed them around my home. I put everything else in a storage locker nearby. The plan is to rotate my collections like the museums do. It’s worth it to me to be able to touch and feel and appreciate these pieces of the past that each has a story. I feel that I have succeeded because I have much more storage space in my house now and my stuff is very well organized.

Although I always said that I didn’t want to burden my children with cleaning out a morass of my worldly possessions when I die, now I do. I like to consider it a part of the Circle of Life.

So for now, I feel very content. I have honed my material world down to a very respectable amount and passed a lot of really good and useful things on to others.

I don’t know what will happen to all my treasures after I am gone, but for now I love having every item within my reach to love and admire when I feel like it. So there! I hope you don’t find me to be too eccentric or whack-a-doo after this article. Oh wait. I forgot... that’s why you love me!

Be watching for another NEW and hopefully hilarious slice-of-my-life episode next week. And here’s a hint: If there is no article and they run something titled “Miss Fifi, In Memoriam”, be advised that there will also be a completely fabulous 99 Cent Sale going on shortly in Los Angeles.

Awesome August

It’s the end of August. Think about this: Every month on the calendar has at least one special holiday. My garage is filled with Santas, plastic eggs, noisemakers, shamrocks and pilgrims. It seems that there is always something exciting to look forward to as each month unfolds. We celebrated the 4th of July not so long ago and September has this week's Labor Day weekend. But nothing at all happens in August. Why?

OK, it IS my birthday month, but that’s about it. I’m looking at the calendar that my dry cleaner gave me, and the only special event in the whole month of August is a bank holiday in Canada.

When the master calendar was planned, there must have been a strike in August. It is baffling that there is nothing official going on with this particular 31-day period. It bothered me so much that I just had to investigate. Surely such a fine month was not intentionally overlooked.

Well, guess what? The 8th month of the year not only has a holiday, it has MANY! The reason you don’t know about them is that they haven’t exactly caught on yet. Shame on me for figuring this all out now that the month is almost over, but I feel that telling you what we missed will get you prepared for next year.

For example, did you know that August 7th was National Mustard Day. I wonder if Hallmark makes cards for National Left-Handers’ Day on the 13th? Watermelon Day (on the 16th) sounds yummy. On August 18th, it was National Bad Poetry Day. Here’s wishing all you bad poets out there my belated very best. I am sad that I missed August 25th is National Kiss and Make Up Day, I'm sure that there's somebody I pissed off, and I do enjoy kissing. Oh well, next year.

And just in case you weren’t already impressed, August also hosts Elvis Week (7th-16th), Kool-Aid Days (13th-15th) and the soon to be popular National Truck Driver’s Appreciation Week (22nd-28th).

By the way, these holidays and observances are real. I could never make this stuff up. Here’s an idea, why don’t we all create a holiday in August that means something to us? A day dedicated to a special event in your life or an activity or even your mate. Think of how flattered your husband would be if you were to declare it “National Brian Day.” He’ll love you for it and the month of August will be forever grateful.

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?