EastGirlsWest

We’re currently 65 miles north of Phoenix, spending the night at a commune/colony/”urban laboratory” called Arcosanti. I can’t reallly begin to describe this place. The Bethrothed says it reminds him of the British sci-fi TV show Space: 1999. There is a 1970’s-vision-of-what-the-future-will-look-like vibe to this place, and the vaguely lunar landscape of the desert only adds to that impression. But throw in a bit of Mad Max, plus a healthy dash of good old fashioned hippie optimisim, and you start to get the idea.

We’re staying in one of Arcosanti’s few guest rooms - a bargain at $45 for two twin beds, a very simple bathroom, concrete floors and a stray cat that keeps strolling in the door. It looks like Bauhaus worker housing. We also have views of nothing but the hills and valleys of the Arizona desert, unlimited fresh air, total silence and a really cool one-of-a-kind mural on the ceiling of our room. Oh - and free wifi! It’s fast, too.

This whole crazy place is the invention and vision of 88-year-old Paolo Soleri. Although he lives in Scottsdale, Soleri still visits here once a week to lead his “School of Thought” lectures. Such lectures last about an hour, and are attended by workshop students who live on site (mandatory) and site visitors (optional). Soleri mutters into a microphone to a room of 20 people, expounding on his thoughts about religion and society and technology and everything else it’s possible to have an opinion on. With his Italian accent, he is difficult to understand. And what he’s talking about? Difficult to understand. He’s a man people seek wisdom from. Yet, I suspect they do not find it. Looking around Arcosanti, though, it’s hard not to have respect for the mind that dreamed all this up.

It’s East Girl Southwest all week. We’re traveling with our friends Dave and Gayle, and by Saturday we’ll have covered Phoenix, Sedona and Tucson. Plus this wacky place. I’m taking tons of photos, and there are more reports to come.

It’s 90 degrees out here in the desert, people. Palm Desert, to be specific. And truthfully, hot feels pretty good right now - especially after my flirtation with the low 20s in Chicago earlier this week.

I’m here for a mini-mini Blogger/BlogHer gathering, generously hosted by Susan. We’re joined by four, fabulous other women: Katie, Tamara, Leah and Aaryn. So far it’s been wonderful, with a quiet morning at Susan’s a leisurely walk and lunch along The Paseo this afternoon. And art. We saw lots of photogenic art. There were two rides in a bright yellow golf cart.

Everyone’s got a big, fancy camera except me. I feel like I’m being followed by the paparazzi.

We’re all blogging and uploading photos and laptopping. We’re all taking pictures of each other taking pictures. I just commented on one of Angela’s Flickr photos while sitting three feet away from Aaryn who was looking at it. It’s all very meta.

Traditional Italian antipasto plate.

Shrimp cocktail.

Salad of mixed greens with dill and pomegranate.

Nana’s Italian Stuffed Peppers.

Linguini with homemade clam sauce, including fresh steamers.

Baked cod with olive, tomato and orange relish.

Lightly seared asparagus with lemon and olive oil.

Lots of wine.

Apple-cranberry pie, still warm from the oven.

Tay did most of the cooking, I did the baking, we both did the shopping (with Mom!). We take our Christmas dinner VERY seriously. And ate for over four hours.

I’m in Cape Cod. I just did an extremely satisfying and much-needed shot of Enbrel. Before that I drank two glasses of cabernet. Before that I spent the entire day driving around Massachusetts to retrieve our lost luggage. And prior to that I spent a day getting from the Pacific to the Atlantic. And in the beginning? There was shopping. Lots and lots of Christmas shopping.

The first few shopping trips are actually fun. I’m filled holiday cheer and the giving spirit. I buy beautiful and thoughtful gifts. I treat myself to an eggnog latte at the mall, and smile at my fellow shoppers.

Then quickly, it all goes to hell. By the last week before Christmas I’m a bitter, broken woman. I’m filled with stress, hate the mall, hate everyone, have no time for lattes and actual nightmares about people not getting presents. I think this photo that Aaryn took of the two of us at Fascist Valley a few days ago says it all.

But somehow the shopping gets done. And briefly, relief. It’s fleeting though, because mere hours after buying my last present I have to start packing all of my purchases into a too-small suitcase for transport to the east coast. (Here’s Tay, lying on a luggage conveyor at Boston’s Logan Airport. The same conveyor that did not deliver any of our bags, all containing gifts.)

Yet despite the shopping, and traveling and the stress, there is still some real Christmas joy. Yesterday afternoon my sister and I walked through the middle of Boston, arms linked, past the Macy’s Christmas windows, eating warm, roasted peanuts. I was wearing a hat, scarf and gloves, smelling the winter air, and listening to Jingle Bells play over the loudspeaker for all the pedestrians in Downtown Crossing.

And just tonight, in Provincetown, with my family, we found a Christmas tree made of lobster traps. The tree topper was a bunch of buoys. Only in New England, people. Only in New England.

Finally, there’s this. The most honest, hearwarming and real holiday video I’ve seen so far on The Internet. It’s two EastGirlsEast, my dear friend Mary and the love of her life, who completely charmed me with this wish:

I would like to erase abstinence-only funding on the federal level, as a stocking stuffer.

Watch it. It’s the best of Christmas and it will make you smile.

And any minute now, I will have come full circle back to that eggnog latte.

As you may already know, I’ve been married before. And there was a beautiful wedding, and a pretty dress, and a good time was had by all. I was in my 20’s and dirt poor, which made certain aspects of financing the wedding a challenge. But we also had some help (thank you, Mom) - and in some cases the lack of options made decisions very, very simple. For example:

Buying My Own Dress + no $$$ = Cheap Dress

See? So easy.

Now I’m older, wiser, prettier (let’s face it, women in their 30’s are hot), in a different relationship (Dreamy Betrothed) and a more stable economic situation. I am not in a “I’ll spend whatever the hell I feel like spending on my wedding” economic situation, but I can now actually pay my bills which sometimes leads me to convince myself I can live just a teensy, weensy bit beyond my means.

Tay and Angela took me out wedding dress shopping on Friday. Just in the nick of time it seems, because every bridal shop owner told us that dresses need to be ordered 4-6 months in advance of the wedding. (Apparently the seamstress is on a sewing schedule similar to my workout schedule, and then the dress is shipped to San Diego on a glacier.) We went to three beautiful shops, and I tried on the most stunning frocks I’ve ever worn in my life. I felt appropriately fairy princess-like and had a wonderful day (thank you, Tay & Angela).

We knew in advance that the establishments we were visiting carried a few dresses in my price range, but were also aware that most of the inventory would be decidedlly OUT of my price range. As in way out. As in not even close. There was a group decison made before we got out of the car: I should stretch the truth a bit about my budget, and then enjoy trying on the dresses.

We then told ourselves the following lies:

- I was just getting some ideas about what I liked and what I wanted.
- I was not going to fall in love with some dress I couldn’t afford on my first day of shopping.

Can you see where this is going?

I’m telling you, dress after dress made my heart swoon - and my shopping companions were quickly drawn into my web of fantasy. The first moment I crossed over to insanity occurred when I slipped into this dreamy Italian number. It was only two times my intended budget, which looking back now seems almost reasonable. But then I considered selling my car when I put this dress on. Also Italian. Even further out of reach.

Stop number two yielded the most glamorous garment I’ve ever wrapped by body in, followed by what became (for about an hour) The Dress. The Dress was then later replaced by what is now THE DRESS. But we all loved The Dress. I wouldn’t take it off. I tried it on twice. I mentally emptied my 401K.

It just kept getting better and better. Or worse and worse, depending on your outlook.

Our last stop found me simultaneously laughing and weeping in a Carolina Herrera that I have convinced myself I can’t live without. I love this dress, and it loves me back. It DOES. It needs me to wear it. If I own it, I will at last be happy. Tragically, I will also need to sell The Betrothed’s car to get it, and then he will not marry me.

I’m pretty sure I’ve come to my senses.

As we ate lunch halfway through the shopping day, I was sighing over my food, talking through the dresses with Tay and Angela, trying to understand how the lies we told ourselves were just that: lies.

“Well,” Tay said. “It’s kind of like going to the pound and telling yourself you’re not going to get a dog.”

So true. I really, really want a dog. But since it looks like I’m not going to get one, I wanted to at least post the evidence that I spent some time getting to know the dog, and that I looked really, really good wearing it.

The Last Supper

I mean, our dinner was nothing short of a religious experience.

Did they have pumpkin roll at The Last Supper? Probably not. Then again, I’m pretty sure my sister isn’t Jesus.

(photo taken by Angela, of course)

I could have posted a photo of the turkey, or the stuffing, or the potatoes, or the apple pie. But let’s be honest - it all comes down to one essential, delicious ingredient!

There are so many things I’m thankful for today I don’t know where to begin: my amazing family, my wonderful friends, The Betrothed, the abundance of food we’re cooking, the Democratic majority in Congress, The Wire, the cocktails my sister just whipped up, the cute green dress I’m wearing, Southern California weather, and so much more.

Happy Stuff Yourself Day to you and yours!

To be fair, it started with an innocent drive to the country to buy a pumpkin. It ended with two women in fetish gear on my couch.

You’re dying to know, right?

A few weeks ago:

Friend - “So, I have a friend, blah blah blah photographer, blah blah blah fashion shoot, blah blah blah favor, would love to use your house.”

Me & The Betrothed – “Sure.”

Last night:

Friend – “So thanks again, blah blah blah Suicide Girls, blah blah blah I’ll be there at the shoot.”

Me & The Betrothed – “Suicide Girls???”

The Betrothed, silently, in his head – “Oh yeah.”

Today:

Photographer – “Before the models get here, wanted to warn you, blah blah blah nude, blah blah blah fetish, blah blah blah riding crop, ball gag, you okay with all this?”

Me & The Betrothed – “Um, sure.”

The Betrothed, silently, in his head – “OH YEAH.”

So the girls showed up dressed for the first shot. Which involved them strutting down the middle of the street, in front of our house, with one of them leading the other by a leash. They were each wearing corsets, thigh highs and five-inch vinyl heels, and I’m pretty sure our 80-year-old neighbor had a massive heart attack. (Hopefully, because of the date, he thought they were just your average SDSU sorority girls dressed up for Slut-o-Ween.)

Of course, there was an audience indoors, as well. In addition to The Betrothed, the friend who set this up came over, along with another lucky gentleman. So just to review – that’s me, one photographer, two hot Suicide girls, and three men who were suddenly incapable of remembering their own names.

Now back to the pumpkin. We got up early and drove out to Bates Nut Farm, which is probably the least punk rock thing we could have done in preparation for this photo shoot. We returned with a lovely specimen, ready to carve. And carve we did! Once the photographer started snapping, we were obviously keeping an eye on the shoot. But, we didn’t want to stare, and after reviewing our iTunes libraries, surfing MySpace, and fully discussing the previous evening’s show (SoftLightes and Van She at Beauty Bar), the four of us not involved in the photo shoot had to find a way to keep occupied. So, like the wholesome, crafty people that we are, we carved our Halloween pumpkin while one girl tied the other one up and shoved her down onto all fours a mere 20 feet away.

We really did manage to distract ourselves, but every once in awhile a slice of conversation would cut through the din and silence us immediately. Something like “Well, why don’t we try a shot with me holding the whip and her licking my nipple?” Then the boys would all lean over in unison to get a better look at the scene. Hell, I leaned over right along with them.

The girls were lovely and quite sweet. By the time they finished the shoot, we were all chatty and it seemed quite normal that our living room couch had just seen some serious girl-on-girl action. And then, as they were packing up to leave, I noticed their ball gag lying on the coffee table, right over my copy of Martha Stewart Weddings.

I heart beef jerky.

On the way to Julian yesterday, we stopped and bought some at a roadside stand. Yummy.

Note to readers: during my long, inexcusable absence from writing, I hope you’ve at least been looking at Angela’s phenomenal pictures! Hearst Castle, The Madonna Inn, freaky squirrels, adorable infants, cute felines, presidential candidates and even a shot of Yours Truly and The Betrothed.

I love having a friend who takes photos. And is really, really good at it.