DAHLINGS -
Happy November 13!
And I've had a traditional November 13. First, the maid came in with the news that she had tried to wash a Charles James chiffon gown in the washing machine. She's currently locked in the utility closet.
Then I decided to take Fletcher for a walk in the park myself, since it isn't raining. I concealed my true identity with a peacoat (ugh), sunglasses and one of those conductor hats every woman in New York in wearing. As if wearing flats wasn't bad enough, a young man decided to show me his knife. His explanation was that he was not robbing or threatening me, just that he was proud of it. The young man had stabbed another gentleman the previous evening in a bar fight.
"Don't you think you should put that away?" I asked with as much sang-froid as I could.
"It's okay, I have a card," he responded. As twisted as this sounds, that is EXACTLY what happened. Then he told me that he had a gun in the back waistband of his pants. The young man let me walk away. This is why I have a driver and Leo walks Fletcher.
After I reported the youth to the police, I retreated upstairs for a restorative cup of tea. Oh, who am I fooling, it was a straight shot of bourbon.
Leo came in with my messages. A close relative needs surgery. This day simply keeps getting more delightful, and it's not even lunchtime yet.
I felt this song expressed how I feel at the moment. The first 1.17 minute is a spoken intro, which you can feel free to skip.
I should mention that I am Italian. So this seemed apropos. The original is in the first person, but I couldn't find a proper video for it.
One thinks that this is a cue to spend the rest of the day in bed with Fletcher and a hot toddy. No gentleman callers. God KNOWS what could happen.
Hope your day is far better than mine.
Ciao,
Elisa
Showing posts with label Fletcher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fletcher. Show all posts
Friday, January 13, 2012
Monday, July 11, 2011
Today's Life Lesson
DAHLINGS -
NEVER leave your puppy alone in your salon, with the closet doors open. Now I have $50,000 worth of Fortuny confetti.
If I'm to post everyday, it is impossible to consistently offer "high-level content." My deepest apologies.
Ciao,
Elisa
P.S. No, I don't have the option to remove those stupid "funny" "interesting" tags.
P.P.S. I have no idea why the Adsense ads have nothing to do with my content. YOU try dealing with Google some time.
NEVER leave your puppy alone in your salon, with the closet doors open. Now I have $50,000 worth of Fortuny confetti.
If I'm to post everyday, it is impossible to consistently offer "high-level content." My deepest apologies.
Ciao,
Elisa
P.S. No, I don't have the option to remove those stupid "funny" "interesting" tags.
P.P.S. I have no idea why the Adsense ads have nothing to do with my content. YOU try dealing with Google some time.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
A Small Meditation on Grief
DAHLINGS -
Yesterday would have been the ninth anniversary of the day that Bucky the Wonderdog came into my life. He died mid-January, and I have been dreading June 27 for weeks. As I anticipated, I spent much of the day in tears, which Fletcher the puppy was hard-put to understand.
There have been a great many losses this year. As you know, I do not divulge personal details about myself. Unless it is about my sex life or my great beauty.
Grief has taken its toll on me, and on this blog. I have failed my readers by failing to provide content, letting slip my part in the zeitgeist. In part it is because I cannot care about the usual matters that obsess moi. Rien enlève le chagrin. Interests and people will snatch one away for a short period, but then that’s over and it’s mourning in America. (Or at least New York.)
On Twitter I can be as carefree as I want, in 140 characters. An entire entry does not have to be composed. I don’t seem to be able to do that right now. There are many topics I wish to write about. The New York Senate bill legalizing gay marriage filled me with joy, as did attending the Gay Pride Parade. I wanted to snatch off half of the drag queens’ outfits. There is no such thing as too much sparkle.
Leo has been no help. He has this damn cat he lost in childhood and if I so much as mention Bucky he bursts into tears and isn’t good for anything the rest of the day.
I could say the same for myself. Here in front of my monitor, I sit, crushed, uninspired, sad.
But, as Scarlett O’Hara said, “tomorrow is another day.” Or rather, Margaret Mitchell did, but let’s not confuse the young ones.
Ciao,
Elisa sans Bucky the Wonderdog
Yesterday would have been the ninth anniversary of the day that Bucky the Wonderdog came into my life. He died mid-January, and I have been dreading June 27 for weeks. As I anticipated, I spent much of the day in tears, which Fletcher the puppy was hard-put to understand.
There have been a great many losses this year. As you know, I do not divulge personal details about myself. Unless it is about my sex life or my great beauty.
Grief has taken its toll on me, and on this blog. I have failed my readers by failing to provide content, letting slip my part in the zeitgeist. In part it is because I cannot care about the usual matters that obsess moi. Rien enlève le chagrin. Interests and people will snatch one away for a short period, but then that’s over and it’s mourning in America. (Or at least New York.)
On Twitter I can be as carefree as I want, in 140 characters. An entire entry does not have to be composed. I don’t seem to be able to do that right now. There are many topics I wish to write about. The New York Senate bill legalizing gay marriage filled me with joy, as did attending the Gay Pride Parade. I wanted to snatch off half of the drag queens’ outfits. There is no such thing as too much sparkle.
Leo has been no help. He has this damn cat he lost in childhood and if I so much as mention Bucky he bursts into tears and isn’t good for anything the rest of the day.
I could say the same for myself. Here in front of my monitor, I sit, crushed, uninspired, sad.
But, as Scarlett O’Hara said, “tomorrow is another day.” Or rather, Margaret Mitchell did, but let’s not confuse the young ones.
Ciao,
Elisa sans Bucky the Wonderdog
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Meet Fletcher
DAHLINGS -
Mes lecteurs chérie, meet Fletcher, the newest occupant of my fabulous Central Park West apartment. He is a miniature pinscher puppy, with impeccable bredding and a tendency to lick himself when important guests are around. The world is his toilet.
Mes lecteurs chérie, meet Fletcher, the newest occupant of my fabulous Central Park West apartment. He is a miniature pinscher puppy, with impeccable bredding and a tendency to lick himself when important guests are around. The world is his toilet.
Fletcher is going to be a sizeable small dog, as evidenced by his large front paws. He uses them like paddles, particular when the maid gives him access to my boudior in the morning. I wake to the sensation of paws slapping my face in greeting. Not quite what I would wish for, but he is so adorable that I forgive him.
The loss of Bucky still gnaws at my heart, and when Fletcher came into my home a month ago, I wondered if I could bond with this flailing black and tan puppy. Fortunately, his personality and appearance is quite different from my late darling's. If one had to choose a descriptive word for Fletcher's personality, the word "goofy" comes to mind. I find myself succumbing to his charm.
Il faut être prudent éviter de marcher dans des tas de merde de chien. As cleaning up his messes is the maid's job, I care not where Fletcher relieves himself. As long as it is not one of the rooms that I myself use. The kitchen, pantry, and the servants' quarters are all fair game. I've heard the maid muttering in Spanish as she walks past me, carrying paper towels and something called 'Nature's Miracle'.
Fletcher is not an aggressive dog. Not to worry, I'll have a trainer up here to teach him to bite people without warning in no time.
Ciao,
Elisa
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