Laras lousy vacation: Day I
So, as CEO and acting president I decided the best thing to do for my newly formed company was for me to go on a vacation the second week on the job. I mean, don’t you? But for the first time ever, (well not ever, but almost) I couldn’t figure out who the hell to go with. Bella was like, “mom I’m bored whenever I go on vacation with you, I’m staying in the big dirty apple”. And others, “Lara, it’s just not a good week”, so I’m like, “f&ck it. I’m going alone.” And alone I go, 4 hours all by my lonesome to Newport, RI. And it’s nasty–i.e. weather, not the place.
But then I get there, and got this fantabulous, discount CEO rate at the Hyatt (which I think is great until I realize the Hyatt is way out of downtown, so not only do you have to pay $20 to park at the hotel, but an additional $15 to park in town, unless you take the Hyatt’s bus (which means you can’t get to the beach, but whateva– who am I to complain?) And also, they are upgrading me, which means, (though it sounded good at the time) you get a balcony that is covered with Seagull poop, so then you have to complain and all that jazz which takes another 60 minutes out of your coveted vacation. But any waaaay…
For dinner, I end up at The Mooring, which is right on Bowen’s Pier ’cause I looked for the perfect place with the perfect view. And when the “hostess” asked me “how many?” I said “one”. And she repeated it saying “one??”, like it wasn’t possible and that her hearing must have been bad, and I’m like “yeah, um, one” thinking that one really is the loneliest number. But then when she seated me in a not PERFECT spot and I asked for the one that was PERFECT looking at over at this:
she gave it to me, because, she confidentially told me later, she felt bad refusing, because I guess that this is saved for romantic couples, and I was like ONE. But anyway, then I got the mixed grill which was shrimp, scallops and cod, which came from this boat that very day: 
And then after that, I listened to an Adrian Grenier look-alike sing nice LITE FM music on his guiter while I sipped on champagne, and I have to say, one just didn’t seem that lonely after all. In fact, it was goddamn friggin’ awesome. And no side bar complaining either. 
How much are these jeans, or: being self employed is fantastic!
So, as most of you know (or many of you), last Monday marked my first day as an entrepreneur. That means, I now work for myself. A mid-sized corporation consisting of me, myself and I. And what better way grow that corporation, than to look big, act big and dress big. Which means, a short trip to Bergdorf Goodman.
After an hour of hunting around for some entrepreneurial bargains, and finding none to my satisfaction, I stumble upon, gladness of gladness, these jeans. 
And I’m like, “just look at this detail!”
So I try them on, because I just have to have them, not bothering with price. And they fit, well they fit me like I’m a big corporation, so I know in this digital world, I just have to have them. Otherwise, corporate failure. So I go to ring them up and the saleswoman tells me the price. Just take a guess internet, just one guess.
Well anyhow, if you want to see the price, HERE IT IS. I’ll let you figure out if they are hanging in my closet right now.
I must be insane…or just high…
…But like, I had to post this. So, two weeks ago, I quit a fairly comfortable, secure job (or so I thought) to start my own business. Like WHAT was I thinking? And actually, I wasn’t drunk. Maybe, just a little delusional. What do you think? Happy Friday?
Bra police, or: Should you wear this on a sail boat?
So, yesterday I went sailing around the isle of Manhattan, no it ain’t Capri, but what ever, and this 50 foot sail boat had 40 people, so you could say it was a little…PACKED. And I show up in shorts and a tank and this is fine and dandy for sailboat attire, but I look around me and feel a little under dressed. ’cause most all the other ladies around me are well turned out in cute little sundresses. And I’m like, well at least if the wind blows I am perfectly attired …but it didn’t much. Then I see this girl, and I’m sorry, but I just don’t get that whole bra-strap thing. So I was curious what you all thought about it.
And then, just when I thought all was clear, I looked to my right, and there was a very nice man wearing a not so nice shirt that he must have found in his, well, somewhere…and I’m like, sail us back to Soho. Please.
Gym etiquette, or, for Godsakes, man!
To all you dudes that need to wear a big honking towel around your neck to keep the sweat from dripping off, please do NOT wear a shirt that exposes your pits when you are in a very small gym with equipment right on top of each other. Because if you sweat like a pig, guess what you smell like? (Except for the fact that I don’t really know what pigs smell like because I’ve never spent a single minute next to one, and I am making assumptions that I am sure all the animal activists will be up in arms about.) But I think you get my drift. Because, it takes me a whole lot of motivation to get off my ass, go to the gym (after 6 weeks of laziness), finally get on the elipitcal and when I finally do make it there, the last thing I want to be doing is smell my own pits, because for the life of me I could have sworn that I put deodorant (yes, I did) only to realize, that I will now have to suffer with the fact that for some friggin’ reason you thought that the gym attire you decided to wear would get you a whole bevy of lasses. Either that, or your cleaning lady hasn’t come for 2 months and it’s the only thing you have left to wear.
Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody
But clearly, she does. Is it me, or does a cab work just as well? “So what?” says Bella. “Maybe she thought it would be fun.” And I’m like. Yup. She probably does.
And you think…
THE talk…with Bella
So tonight we had “the talk” (or a semblance of one or whatever appears to be one in 2009– somewhat different than the ones that I had with my mother in the ’70’s) and here’s how it went.
BELLA: So it’s way more awkward for kids to talk about sex with your parents than the parents feel about talking to kids about sex.
ME: You feel AWKWARD, with ME? Like WHY? I talked about sex with MY mother.
BELLA: You did? Do I want to hear this?
ME: I don’t know do you?
BELLA: I guess.
ME: I asked my mother what an erect penis looked like and she drew it for us. Granny’s a good artist, you know.
BELLA: OKAY mom.
ME: …and me and auntie were like, “EEWWWWWW”.
BELLA: Ewwww. Mommmm.
ME: But I know what one looks like now.
BELLA: Mooommmmm. I don’t want to hear anymore.
ME: Listen, you were telling me in 3 grade what oral sex was.
BELLA: So what’s wrong with that? All the little kids know what it is now. It’s OK.
ME: Not really. They are not emotionally ready to hear about it and neither were you.
BELLA: I guess the parents just have to guide their children to make the right choices.
ME: So is that what I did wrong?
BELLA: Um, like when?
ME: Like your whole party incident.
BELLA: Mooom.
ME: What was that KUI?
BELLA: Huh?
ME: Kissing under the influence. Well, I don’t mind the kissing part, but at least do it with a boy you like. Not some experimental thing. Like I am under the influence of this PARTAY so I will just hook up with some guy.
BELLA: Well, it’s not like it’s real sex or anything.
ME: That’s right. And that’s NOT happening until…
BELLA: Until???
ME: You’re married. That’s a perfect age.
BELLA: Do you like my new haircut?
ME: Just STOP flipping it, for God’s sakes.