Oscar Dreams

As many around the world, I'm watching the Oscar's Red Carpet ceremony. I can't help but to dream of one day 'walking the line' in a glamorous yellow dress, chatting about the screenplay of one of my works up for nomination, jaw-jabbing with other celebrities, and charming the press while answering the daunting question of 'what are you wearing?'

Then I sigh and return to my work as an assistant. It's a great job, but we all dream dreams. One day last year, and not a particularly good day, I sat at my desk, discouraged. And then I remembered something. digging through my bag-o-files, I pulled out an old copy of Fortune Magazine, with Miss Oprah Winfrey on the cover. My co-worker Jessica had given it to me, having pasted my name over Miss Oprah's.

Inspired, I designed the following cover that evening:

The next day, I placed this picture on my bulletin board at work. I look at it all day, every day. When I feel inadequate and discouraged, I look at my picture to remind myself of who I am and my purpose in life. My current situation is a step towards my destiny. I remind myself I'm a great writer and my break will come. A person will read my books and say, 'We need to talk. This is great.' 

As artists, writers, actors, musicians, dancers, performers, and athletes, we must constantly remind ourselves of our greatness and our tremendous talent, whether sitting at the Oscars, Grammy's, Lou's Bar, the library, or on the sofa. We all have a great gift and talent to share with the world, and it is our duty to continue to do so, no matter what.

Valentine Blunder

Fear is a motherf$cker. I think I blew it. In fact, I know I did. I became terrified and scared and impatient and panicked. I think the fact he may love me too, and planned to see me, became too much. It was too much. I just don't deal with this stuff well. That's why I write books.

I'm sorry.

What do I do now? I guess there is nothing to do. I  just need to let it go and move on.

Unbelievable. My one shot and I blow it. BAD.

Another Valentine's Day Bites the Dust

If you're looking for a Valentine miracle here, push on. There is none.

I had such high hopes. Guarded, but high hopes.

It's nearly 7pm, but still no word. The time has come to face facts; I will spend this weekend wading the cold depths of Knob Creek. Manhattans for the broken hearts! Dreams of spending time with the love of a life have come to an end. My love walked away  from me today, never looking back.

I want to cry, but why? What will it change? When a man wants you, there is nothing to stop him. When he doesn't, well there is no force in the Universe to compel him to do otherwise. Why would a woman want him to do so anyway? Who wants a love who doesn't love you enough to pursue you?

I'm going to my swimming lessons in the creek. I'm going to float.

Fantasy Valentine's Day

Once again, Single Awareness Day (SAD) is upon us, when those of us looking for love can ponder the idiosyncrasies of our personalities and the state of singleness.

Sigh.

Being single isn't bad. In fact, it's pretty cool. I do what I want when I want to. No shorties, no man to nag and tie me down. I'm a free spirit. I sleep in on the weekends. I go to my nerdy events, or I hang out at night. I write books and don't clean my house if I hit a hot streak. In fact, the more I think about it, the more ideal my marital status becomes.

Then this happens.

Now I'm depressed. My stomach churns just thinking about it. Every February 14th I get to experience the joy of watching all of the couples going out to their expensive dinners and receive trinkets of affection from their lovely ones. Some may even receive a proposal of one sort or another. Maybe the happy couples will decide instead to curl up on the sofa at home, watch a movie, order a pizza, have some drinks, and then some fun in the midnight hour.

Whatever

Instead of spending the next 11 days anticipating another evening of fun with my boys, Jack and Jim, skinny dipping in Knob Creek, I'm doing something new this year.

Folks have Fantasy Football and Basketball, so why shouldn't I enjoy Fantasy Valentine's Day? Over the next week, I will post my own Fantasy Valentine's day scenarios with my Fantasy Man. Sure, I have one. Be sure to follow my blog so you don't miss anything.

Classic Fantasy - The Roux of Love

Every good gumbo starts with a nice dark brown roux. It's the building block of flavor and substance. Once you have it place, you can create any type of gumbo you like.

The same rules apply for Fantasy Valentine's Day.

The Day Before Valentine's Day

I'm spending all day at the Lodge Torrey Pines Spa, getting buffed and fluffed. I'm getting the works too: full body scrub, facial, mani/pedi, steam, body wrap and anything else they may have to offer. I'm staying overnight because I don't want to spoil my pampered high by driving home.

Valentines Day

Morning
I begrudgingly leave my oh so comfy bed and depart the lodge for home. On the way, I stop and pick up my dress from my designer. I guess I must have ordered it weeks before and now it's ready.

Midday
I make it home and have a few mimosas. My make-up artist arrives to hook me up and help me dress for my big evening.

Evening
Fantasy Man is at the door. I look incredible. He looks fantastic, all big and fine. Wow, he put on a tux? He's right on time too. He looks too good. Maybe we should stay home and play some indoor sports. He gives me the eye, because he knows what I'm thinking. He shrugs off my subliminal invite and hands me gifts.

Wow, what a beautiful bouquet of flowers!

My favorite champagne? Thank you Fantasy Man.

We're going to Flemings Steak House and Wine Bar. How did he know I wanted steak?

After three bottles of wine and ingesting a steak big enough for two people, I need to lay down. My dress is tight and I probably need to burp. I suddenly hate Fantasy Man because I can't be brazen and am forced to act like a lady. But ohhh no! I'm the one who wanted Fantasy Man to take me out, now I must be Fantasy Lady. I excuse myself and go to the ladies room to get myself together.

Later that evening
I'm tired, ready to go home, take of my girdle, have some more wine and go asleep. Nevertheless I can't because I wanted to be a 'couple' for Valentine's Day. Fantasy Man has made reservations at the La Valencia. So what if he just dropped $700 on din din and my tab? How can he assume I'm going to spend the evening anywhere with him? Alas, he is Fantasy Man. To be honest, I can't say I'm totally opposed to the naughty idea. He knows what I like.

We head out to the patio and sit in an empty settee. Under the stars, seduced by the lullaby of the sea crashing into the shore, I lean into Fantasy Man's big chest and love him. I'm so grateful he's finally here with me. I want to cry, but I decide not to be a sap. Maybe one tear of joy falls. I could sit here in Fantasy Man's arms forever.

Fantasy Man removes a red box from his breast pocket. 

OMG, Cartier? My all time favorite jeweler? Two hearts entwined as one on a gold chain. Wow, I didn't know he had bank like that. Well he is Fantasy Man. It's nothing like a little trinket, dinner and wine to make a girl feel friendly. If I didn't want to be nice to him before, I certainly do now (who am I fooling, I was going to be nice to him anyway). I notice the look of pride and haughtiness on his face. Yup, he knows he's been a good boy and he waiting for me to pat him on his head and scratch him behind his ears. He knows I have some treats for him too. He extends his hand, inviting me to come with him. I accept his hand.

Funny thing, he didn't have too do all of this. We could have sat on the sofa, drank IPA's, and watched TV. For truth be told, I love Fantasy Man. Spending time with him is the most precious gift of all. However, I love it when Fantasy Man impresses me and blows my mind. It makes me love him all the more. He doesn't leave a stone un-turned either. Fantasy Man brought his A-Game tonight.

Who's yo' Daddy or Mommy?

Send your favorite photos of you Fantasy Man/Woman and I will post your pics to my site (no explicit pics, we only talk dirty here).

Send clean pictures, 

(DO NOT SEND X-RATED/NUDE, SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIALS) 

TO: 

blamehelenabooks at gmail dot com