Tag: Tom

I’m Being Followed & A Free Pot* Giveaway

I’m Being Followed

bees kneesI really need someone who can interpret signs from the universe to please explain to me why I am being followed by bees.  I’m not making this up.

Bee Incident #1:  There was the near-death experience with the bee that flew into my house.  Okay.  I didn’t have a near-death experience.  It was the bee that almost died because I was going to squish it, that’s why.  But I didn’t squish it.  However, I’m pretty sure that it knew I was going to squish it because it flew away and formed a bee posse to come after me.

Bee Incident #2:  A bee flew into my car the day before yesterday.  After it flew into my car, it flew around inside of my car, buzzing loudly.  I didn’t squish it though because I wanted Hannah the Bee Rescuer to be proud of me.  Also, I didn’t squish it because I was running away from my car making screech-y noises.

Bee Incident #3:  Yesterday, on a sidewalk full of people outside of my local Coffee Bean, I was attacked by a Very Giant Flying Object that made loud buzzing sounds.  I can’t be 100% certain it was a bee because it had a landing lights and a flight attendant on board passing out roasted peanuts, but it was BUZZING and following me in a stalker-ish and serial-killer-like manner.  I was running in an evasive serpentine pattern on the sidewalk making screech-y noises while people drinking coffee observed attentively.  Then the Very Giant Flying Object went after my friend.  She started running in an evasive serpentine pattern on the sidewalk making screech-y noises while people drinking coffee observed attentively.  So I yelled at those people, “Don’t any of you dare take out your phones and video this!  I don’t want to see this on YouTube later!”  True story.  And then we ran into the parking lot and hid under our cars.

Obviously, the universe is sending me a message, but I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS, PLEASE HELP ME.

Free Pot!

gary and wifeOnce upon a time, I started this blog in 2006.  I became friends with a blogger who, among other scintillating characteristics, is also a potter of considerable distinction.  We love each other but only in an imaginary cousinly way because the potter has a hawt wife he calls Missus Tastycakes and I have a long-suffering an awesome husband, a Hot Toe Doctor, and Adam Lambert.  Back in the olden days, Gary and I used to do joint (no pun intended) giveaways on our blogs.  What’s that you say?  Giveaways?  Why, yes.

Come back on Monday to learn more about Gary and find out how to enter our Free Pot* Giveaway.  Also, chocolate will be involved because what goes better with free pot than free chocolate? 


*pot, as in pottery, yo. What did you think?

There is No Such Thing as a Chocolate Croissant!

This waking up before everyone else, drinking coffee, eating toasted brioche, and writing could become a habit.

The weather was sunny and clear yesterday, cordially supporting our desire to see Paris from the top of Tour Eiffel. The Eiffel Tower was completed in 1889 to be used as the entrance to the World’s Fair that year, is named for its designer Gustave Eiffel, and stands 1,063 feet tall.

In addition to the view the view the view, the Eiffel Tower has shops, dining, and an ice rink in the winter months. Laura’s pictures paint a thousand words about the view. Can you spot L’arc de triomphe? Notre Dame?

Laura also took some photographs from the ground. I especially like her study of contrast through the trees in the morning and afternoon (photos at the top of this post). Also, the photographs that she took of the tower when it was first lit in the early evening hours against a deep blue sky are glorious (just below).
Following a day of taking in the city view, walking, riding the Metro, and shopping (Laura and I knew that Tom needed a black cashmere scarf, and now he has one, voilà!), we dined at Le Dome du Marais, a place I recommended in a 2008 blog post. The restaurant sports a domed ceiling in the main room that changes throughout the evening, casting lovely luminescent shades of color over the room.
The meal was superb. Laura and I shared burrata with tomato and basil, followed by a mushroom risotto. Tom had pâté de foie gras followed by black cod. The dessert menu is picture below. Tom did not get the Homemade Paris “Brest” (whatever that is), but he did point it out to us with his Beavis and Butthead laugh.
I have been asked if the French people are standoffish. The only difficult encounter we have had so far was in the Metro station with a machine that dispenses billets (tickets). It totally turned up its mechanical nose at each and every one of our credit cards. And just a word of advice: If you want to order a chocolate croissant, don’t say that. Order pain au chocolat (chocolate bread). Otherwise you get a plain croissant and then a cross look when you want to change the order.
Au revoir for now. Car horns down on the street have announced for the umpteenth time this morning that it is time to start the day here.

This Could Only Happen To Me. True Story.

I struggle with my weight. There is a thin person inside of me and she is out from time to time. But sometimes she hides. There are all sorts of complicated issues wrapped up in the three preceding sentences. It’s really that simple.

So there’s that.

Also, I dated someone on and off for a few years while I was between husbands. The on part was understandable, I suppose, because after ending a really unfortunate marriage (to say the least) that produced two of the best now-grown-up women I know in the world (to say the least), I was desperate had no desire to date anyone for much more than a little adult companionship. The off part was understandable because we were mismatched in every way. The best part of the mismatching was that this guy totally knew how to have fun and I didn’t. At all. And I learned to have fun, which is awesome. The worst part of the mismatching was that all that this guy knew how to do at that time was have fun, and I had two young daughters and a life to get in order. My life and I may or may not have been a bit of a train wreck at the time. So as I got my life in order, he had to go. So he did, but first he cheated on me with another woman who eventually became my best friend in law school although I didn’t find out about that until I was in law school. I’m not making this up.

So there’s also that.

When I was dating this guy I was very thin, probably owing to being freshly divorcing and fraught with worry about my kids and happier than I’d ever been in my life because F.R.E.E.D.O.M. from oppression is awesome. Etc. Then this guy and I broke up for good. I went to law school. I met my then-best friend and found out she dated my ex-boyfriend while I was dating him. And I met Tom. (Tom who was and is totally hot, as pictured above in my blog masthead. Just saying.) Tom became my other best friend. I lived happily ever after. And I struggle with weight from time to time.

So there’s that, too.

Fourteen years ago, during a time that I had put on some weight and happened to be buying an ice cream cone at the Thrifty Drug Store in Beverly Hills, I turned around and there was the ex-boyfriend. It was bad enough to run into an ex-boyfriend when not looking at all hot, but did I have to be eating a double-scoop chocolate ice cream cone?

I lost weight after that and looked hot. I did not once run into him or any other ex-boyfriends while I was looking hot.

Now I have put on some weight again over recent months years.

Today, while on vacation at the family camp we have been going to every year for the past sixteen years that never before was attended by any ex-boyfriends at all, I was standing at the food counter ordering an Oreo milkshake, when I turned around and there he was. SERIOUSLY? I managed to slip away unseen, but am sure to run into him soon since this family camp is only so big.

If anyone needs me, I’m under the bed in my cabin until Saturday — or until I learn whatever lesson the Universe wants me to learn at ice cream counters that are frequented by ex-boyfriends. Also, if anyone has any insights about the mysterious lesson that has eluded me for fourteen fifty years, I took my laptop under the bed with me and the Wi-Fi signal is strong down here.

So that’s that.

Brown Butter Sea Salt Cookies Are the New Crack

These are the most delicious cookies on the planet, probably even the galaxy, probably even in every galaxy. My in-laws sent us a dozen of them for Christmas. It probably would have gotten ugly around here if the three of us had to split the booty evenly, but I opened them first and ate a half-dozen before I knew what hit me. WHAT?

My in-laws sent us two dozen for Valentine’s Day.

Tom and Laura are sick.

Advantage Cheri. (Again.)

NOTE: This is not a paid product endorsement or advertisement. I wrote this post and included a hyperlink to the Brown Butter Cookie website because Holy Mother of Everyone Who Is Now or Has Ever Been Holy these cookies are the best cookies E.V.E.R. And, yes, my dear MIL, this means that I’m still giving away my writing for free. I love you, too.


It’s a Good Thing Blognut Won’t Read This*

We have really nice next-door neighbors and I am so sad that they put their house up for sale this week. And being interested in the asking price because as a homeowner it is always nice to be abreast of market trends and whatnot, and not at all because I am nosy, I went to the real estate agent’s website to take a look. There I found a YouTube tour of the inside of the house, and can I just tell you that I’m ready to strike a match over on this side of the fence and move right in over on that side of the fence? It’s beyond lovely. Every room looks like a page from a Pottery Barn catalog. Tasteful, aesthetically pleasing, and spotless.

So I ran into my neighbor out in front today. We chatted about the holidays, where they are moving, why they are moving, etc. And our conversation concluded as follows:

Me: “Your house is so lovely, who staged it for you?”

Neighbor: “Um. Nobody. That’s our stuff.”

Me: [Suddenly mute for the first time in my life. Well, except for the time that Adam Lambert put his hand on my shoulder.]

Neighbor: “Really, we live that way.”

Me: “Uh, ahem, yes, of course. Well, yes, um, really, your home is so lovely. It will obviously show well and sell quickly.”

I was wondering if I gave myself away. Surely he would be able to tell by my stupid “Who staged it for you?” question that we don’t live that way. Quickly I talked myself into a comfy state of denial that I was sure I could make stick. No, this neighbor has no clue about my cluttered closets, cabinets, drawers, and, shut up, I’m not even going to mention what’s under the daybed in my office. Because the outside of my house looks okay. It’s not at all cluttered with unwanted and unnecessary things.

Just then he looked up and reached over my right shoulder into a tree at the side of my front walkway. I watched him pluck a large black spider and a strong black web off of one of the limbs. I was about to jump sky high when I realized it was a forgotten Halloween decoration still hanging in the tree.

*In case you didn’t know, Blognuts hate spiders.


Adam Lambert in San Diego: My Backstage Surprise . . . True Story

Backstage Dude: “No individual photos. Group photos only. No autographs.”

Jamie: “Oh Cheri, don’t do a group photo. It should just be you in the picture with Adam Lambert.”

Cheri: “No, really, Jamie, you pose with him alone, and I’ll do my photo with Tom and Laura.”

Jamie: “But you love Adam Lambert and he loves you. It should just be the two of you in your photo.”

Cheri: “Honestly, I’m totally happy to have Tom and Laura in the photo too. “ [I could always crop them out later.] [I have bomb-diggity Photoshop skillz.] [What?] [Kidding about the cropping.] [No, I’m not.] [Yes, I am.]

Then it was my turn to meet Adam for the fourth time (third was here) (second here) (first here) (not counting when I saw him sing the national anthem at high school football games just a decade ago) (WHAT?). True story.

First I showed Adam my iPhone boyfriend wallpaper and he smiled patiently. True story.

Next Adam patiently signed the 16×20 photo on canvas that my friend Trish gave me (click to enlarge the photo and check out the name on the red heart pin on his lapel). True story.

Adam also graciously signed a For Your Entertainment CD for Laura (yes, I had one left after I gave away over 500 of them to my closest friends). True story.

Then I told Adam that my oldest daughter, Kristen, went to high school at Mt. Carmel at the same time he did, and that she said to give him a rainbow hello with glitter on top. Adam told me to tell her the same. True story.

Then we posed for our group photo — or what I thought was our group photo.

Then Adam Lambert put his hand on my shoulder and I totally lost my flippin’ mind. Totally. I went mute. Seriously? Seriously? That never happens to me. I lived in L.A. almost all of my life and I practiced family law in Beverly Hills. Celebrity sightings? Meh. Pretty much a whatever thing. (Except for Johnny Depp.) But in that moment when Adam Lambert touched my shoulder? I was struck dumb. Totally. Gah. True story.

In hindsight, and had I any ability to speak at all, I would have told Adam to pay no attention to my middle-aged-mom-fan disguise because I’m really a hot young androgynous-looking gay dude who he should take home and get to know better. Right? That wouldn’t have been as creepy as an old broad who’d just showed him a Photoshopped picture of herself with him on her iPhone before she went mute.


As I was walking away, I turned back to watch Jamie get her photo taken with him, and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Not Jamie and Adam.

Tom was having his photo taken with Adam Lambert. True story.

Now I can’t decide which one of them I love the most. Tom or Adam Lambert? Tom or Adam Lambert? Hmmmm. Thankfully, I have this picture of them together to pore over, which may or may not facilitate the decision-making process. I’ll get back to you with my final answer.

Apparently Tom was taking photos of us while Laura and I were getting “officially” photographed. So when we were done with ours, Tom simply went next.

And then it was Jamie’s turn to put her head on Adam’s shoulder . . . *love*

Oh. Yeah. There was also a concert. And it was fantastic too. The best one I’ve ever attended, and that includes the Stones and Elton John. True story.

I’m still basking in the afterglow of multiple Lambergasms one week later. True story.

The End


Dear Deb, Debbie, and Whom It May Concern:

Thank you for stopping by to check on me. Currently, I am very busy taking a blogging break. And as new-agey-clichéd as this may sound, I am enjoying living in the present moment this summer (except for the tooth extraction/bone graft) (see below). I’ve been spending quality time with my family and friends, reading, going to movies, relaxing at the beach, swimming, and plan to get some more use from our Disneyland Passports. My youngest daughter, Laura, and I are working our way through the Everybody Loves Raymond series (we’re on Season 5), and after watching all five seasons of Weeds, Tom and I are now on Season 1 of Arrested Development. So this blogging break is of a yet-to-be determined length. It could last all summer. And fall. Or until Tuesday. I just don’t know.

Meanwhile, here’s a top-ten list of catch-up things to tide us over for the summer (and fall) (or until Tuesday) (I just don’t know):

1. Much to the relief of my family, I did not fall off of my shoes and land on my Spanx-encrusted arse at my oldest daughter Kristen’s wedding as expected. In fact, the wedding went off without a hitch, except that the bride and groom were hitched, of course.

2. My big toenail did have to be removed two weeks before the wedding (yes, Deb, pus was involved) (no, Debbie, no hot toe doctor was involved) (yes, the same toe that has been the bane of my existence since October 2008) (three times now the nail has been removed) (I’m keeping score) (I found a toe doctor within walking distance from my house) (to save on gas) (except that I can’t walk so well) (obviously). The morning of the wedding I painted the skin on my toe with New-Skin Liquid Bandage and then two coats of polish to match the other nine nails. It didn’t look too bad. True story.

3. The Mac Prep + Prime that the Mac God sold me before the wedding kept my face from melting off during the outdoor ceremony that took place in temperatures all up in the 90s, yo. I do not do product reviews or endorsements, and I’m not going to start with an unpaid one for Mac Prep + Prime. However, I am highly recommending and endorsing the activity of getting yourself a Mac God. Everybody should have one of his or her own.

4. I am not selfishly savoring snapshots (appalling attempt at alliteration, apologies), but have 3,768 photos from the totally awesome bridal shower, rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception to sort through. I will post some photos someplace or other when some sort of sorting and uploading is accomplished. Meanwhile, we need a few photos of the dress (that Kristen designed) (true story) and whatnot to tide us over:

Pictured (click photo to enlarge):
Kristen & Adam; Kristen & Adam
Courtney; Laura
Tom, Laura, Cheri, Kristen & Courtney

5. Speaking of saving on gas (see number two above), my Volvo does not. But with fold-down third-row seating and room for five passengers, I get picked to drive for my youngest daughter’s class field trips (I actually like doing this) (what?) (I really do). It was also awesome for helping Courtney move in May, and it was great for taking a two-week road trip that included Kristen & Adam’s wedding preparation and festivities in June. I have had the car for two years now, and after several days on pain medication (see number six below) I finally named my car, Ikea, owing to its very large size and being Swedish.

6. Immediately upon my return home following the wedding, I had a tooth extraction and bone graft (to be followed by a dental implant in a few months) and the aforementioned pain medication. Apparently, so much pain medication was involved during my recovery period that when our family played Scattergories one evening, the letter rolled was “D,” and under the category of brand names Laura wrote “Darvocet.” True story.

7. I put off this extraction/bone graft procedure until after the wedding because I knew that I would need all of my energy to pull up my Spanx before the ceremony. And because I was a tad freaked out about the source of the “donor material,” a euphemism for BONE TAKEN FROM SOME UNKNOWN PERSON’S CORPSE, that would be grafted into my head. Think about it! If Albert DeSalvo were the donor, I might end up wanting to strangle someone at the wedding. As it turns out, I’ve been having random urges to marry a billionaire and become a TrimSpa spokesperson, so guess who it is that I’m thinking provided the “donor material” for my bone graft?

8. Possibly still under the influence of Darvocet (not an endorsement, obviously), I asked my wife if we could throw an African-themed Bon Voyage for Jamie (who was on her way to Swaziland) and Happy Birthday party for Courtney’s dog, Rafiki (aka “thebrindledog”). True Story. Kate read Go Dog Go to the children and the piñata was filled with doggy treats. Also True Stories.

9. I have tickets to see Adam Lambert’s Glam Nation Tour concert. Duh. I am so excited and expect to be having my usual multiple Lambergasms! Duh. I am going with my youngest daughter, my husband, and my wife. Duh. I will be wearing my biker boots and leather bracelet with the metal spikes. Duh. Laura, Kate and I have already planned to put purple streaks in our hair. Duh. But I really need help deciding which of my four (yes, I have four) (what?) Adam Lambert T-shirts to wear:

a., b., c., or d.?
(Sorry I don’t have photos of my chest in the last two shirts, Stu.)

10. Finally, I have another decision that I need help with. Not nearly as important as what shirt to wear to the Adam Lambert concert, but still. In fact, I am ashamed to admit this publicly (whereas I don’t mind telling you that I wore painted toe skin and Spanx to my daughter’s wedding), but I am going to need a new washer and dryer, you know, for doing the L-word. Hello, my name is Cheri, and I have done laundry. There. They say that admitting it is the first step in getting rid of the problem. Meanwhile, do you have or plan to buy a particular washer/dryer that you like/dislike? Tell me. Please.

So. That’s it. Except that during my new-agey-clichéd living-in-the-present-moment blogging break that may or may not last all summer or fall or until Tuesday, I plan to continue some random drive-by visiting of OPBs (Other People’s Blogs). Until then . . . please help me with numbers 9 and 10 above. Thank you.

Love, Cheri


P.S. I’m off the Darvocet now. True Story. Heh.

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