She’s Got Legs

l to r: VienneMilano's Gioia in Teal, Claudia in Black, Ottavia in Black Lace

l to r: VienneMilano’s Gioia in Teal, Claudia in Black, Ottavia in Black Lace

“Oh my god…hey…where have you been?”

These are the sentiments that bubbled in my brain as I casually and recently pulled on a pair of thigh high stockings. The “where have you been” was me talking to myself at age 17 when I wore thigh highs, much like people wear underwear—almost daily. It was in my early years that I put a lot of work into my looks and wore vintage pumps, garter belts, swing skirts and tight sweaters. I loved the ’50s era and dreamed of perfecting Marilyn Monroe’s inimitable signature facial moves complete with bedroom eyes and flirty little nose twitch. No, really, I had a dream that she visited me from the grave and taught me her tricks. In the end, and in front of the mirror after waking up, this beak just didn’t have flirt.

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Andy Cohen Marries Buster Posey

How’s that for click-bait?

Actually, it’s true. Sort of.

Last night I attended a book signing for Bravo’s Andy Cohen, and then moved on to the Castro Theater where he did a Q&A with Rashida Jones.

Me and Andy Cohen. Note his half-smile, lean-away, "Get me the fuck out of here" posture. Andy, I don't blame you.

Me and Andy Cohen. Note his half-smile, lean-away, “Get me out of here” posture. Andy, I don’t blame you.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t really dish too hard on who’s the craziest or dumbest housewife, which took the fun out of most of their conversation. He did say that “Million Dollar Listing” is coming to San Francisco, which is real news and excites me to no end.

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I Forget What I Was Going To Wear

Paula Mangin, April 77 biker jacket,

Last week, I left this April 77 jacket pictured above on BART. I was happy then; I am not happy now.

Full disclosure, I was engrossed in Candy Crush when the “24th and Mission” announcement broke my concentration, causing me to quickly grab my stuff and dash off the train. As the doors slammed shut behind me, I frantically realized my jacket was not in my arms or on my body, but instead was resting comfortably on a seat-back en-route to Glen Park. CRAP. I sullenly stomped out of the station and into the cool fall air sans jacket and wits.

Forgetting wardrobe and words happens with increased frequency and I hate it.

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Can We Boast About My Tennis Attire?

While Jslow goes back to school, I’m going back to camp.

What are we, twelve?

But yes, in early December, I’m going to Tennis Camp and I don’t have a thing to wear.

paula mangin blank stare blink fur tennis

Our move to the Golden Gate Heights “suburbs” of San Francisco placed me within two blocks of two courts that are miles away form each other in vibe: Golden Gate Heights Park, pock-marked and paved with pine needles, battered nets fog-logged and saggy; and JP Murphy, re-surfaced, freshly painted and smooth, like the society ladies who lob and volley in their sharp skirts before retiring to their fancy manses in neighboring Forest Hill.

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My Aching Back (pack)

The load for just one day.

The load for just one day.

This week I found myself in the kitchen nestling into my husbands arms crying, “I’m so sick of homework.” His blunt response, “You won’t get a break until Christmas.” Tough love.

As mentioned by Paula, I’m now a full-time Freshman at an art school in Los Angeles. Totally my decision and deep down I know a wise one, but as my son said on the soccer field as we walked in the fading sun to my daughter’s game, “I just miss hanging out with you. Any free time you have is spent doing homework.” With a knife in my gut and his still–but not for long–smooshy hand in mine, I tried to explain and justify my pursuit of needing to do something I really, really love as a lesson to myself and to our family. The lesson—it’s never too late. But his honest feelings still hurt.

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