Paolo and Ronnie threw a pumpkin-carving party at their swank Hollywood apartment on Saturday. It was a lot of fun. We feasted on pizza, red wine, smelly but yummy cheese, slices of Bartlett pears and fistfuls of chocolate candy. This is Ronnie's pumpkin, which is an homage to the many tattooes of butterflies fluttering on his arms.
This is Jack's pumpkin. It is a Mexican whore. Considering that Jack wore white patent leather fetish boots during the carving, it's no surprise that he opted for a kinky theme.
This is my space-themed pumpkin. I was listening to David Bowie's "Major Tom" earlier that day. I painted the entire exterior of the pumpkin blue and stuck two fluorescent lights in the middle.
Ronnie ordered everyone to take their art project home because he didn't want to live like a farmer in a pumpkin patch. After I left Paulo and Ronnie's place, I set my pumpkin atop the hood of my car to open the passenger door. The blue blob rolled off the Prius onto the street. Some of the blue paint chipped off. But it was still pretty enough for me to leave on the stoop of my apartment building for my neighbors to enjoy.
The next day, I took a break from writing a story that I needed to file by Monday morning. I walked to a local cafe that had an adjacent gourmet shop. I bought some fig jam from France. For a snack, I slathered butter and the sweetly earthy jam on a mini baguette. The Boule chocolates were part of a goody bag from a fashion event.
I also put on some lipstick. Never mind that I was on deadline and had no plans to see anyone that evening. A writer for The New York Times blames the decline of Western civilization on lip gloss. I'm a big fan of lip gloss, which I think is more fun, fresh and easy on the smackers than lipstick. But I recently discovered a tube by Nars that left a sheer stain without any sticky goop and vulgar wetness. Gipsy left off the "y" but came packed with moisturizer. It's my new favorite lip color.
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