The Grace (Chanel) Moment, Part 13*

*My occasional weekly feature in which I natter on endlessly about something for which I'm grateful.  

It hit me as the BF-M & I turned a casino corner, en route to the Vegas Bar du 15 Minutes last Saturday evening.  Upon encountering the endless sea of primped, tanned, bleached clubgoers clamoring at the velvet rope - without so much as a word to one another - we swiftly made a left turn into the Chanel boutique instead.

There are some friendships that are limited by those conventional phases in life, the people who subconsciously will fit you in so long as the correct checkmarks - Married?  Kids? - are marked off.  Likewise, there are people about whom you probably think to yourself, "If only they didn't have kids (or did have) already, we'd be such good friends."  I don't propose that this is a negative thing;  we can only have so many close friends.  I mean, good friends tend to deplete one's wine supply, so I think we can agree that caution is best here.

What touched my icy, unfeeling self just a tad this Saturday night - well, aside from the jewelry counter - was the recognition that I am slowly passing from one excellent phase of life to another, and that I have a few very good people who can make that leap with me.  Not to say that I won't darken the doorstep of a chic bar or ten again twenty-something style**, but if I feel like staying in, there are friends for me, and I suspect for many of us here, who will happily join in.  Particularly if Chanel is involved.

**And certainly not to say that I imbibe much less, but the thirty-something hangovers?  Oy.

Edited to Add:  For those who asked about my Chanel purchases, I didn't make any, but thank you for grasping the deeply meaningful and hugely important part of this post.  

The Grace Day, Part 12

Darlings, I've missed you!  Well, sort of.  As much as one can when back home in beachy (or, this weekend, of course, slightly rainy) paradise.

You know those friends who you not only, you know, want to be friends with, but the ones who you can't quite figure out why they let you hang around because they are that much funnier and more interesting and more brave and intelligent AND - it must be said - Prettier than you?  Where you hope and pray that by your terrible sense of humor biting wit and subterfuge alone, you might trick these fine people into speaking to you on a regular basis?

I spent the whole of Saturday with those people.  And on top of that, I got to spend it with them eating and drinking and spa-ing* in places like this:

*Yes, this is a verb when done properly.

(Credit:  Estancia La Jolla)

Whatever you do, by whatever means possible, book yourself a spa day here.  And try to trick these friends into being yours - or your attorneys**.  They are intimidatingly, awe-inspiringly good at both.  

**Just in case that "whatever means possible" doesn't work so well for your spa strategy.  Not that I would encourage that.  No, really.

Why You Should Like My Friend Better Than Paris . . .

In a likely futile attempt to distract you gentle readers and myself from Election Returns Purgatory, I'd like to direct your attention to someone far more interesting than me . . . I mean, really more interesting than me. Who doesn't need to, say, hold random blog contests to obtain virtual friendships and defeat the evil one that is P. Hilton. Behold the electronic missive I just received from one of my bestest best friends, quoted in part to protect the identities of the far more intriguing:

". . . I'm leaving for Burma this week with Friend X . . . just a girls' trip through a leisurely totalitarian dictatorship . . . did I tell you about Sri Lanka, the archeological expedition? That should be fun."

Whereas the average email from me would read more along the lines of:

"So today I went to work and am pondering a gym visit, although that might interfere with my catching up on TiVo'd "The Office" episodes. On the other hand, maybe I'll just go hog wild and tackle my split ends instead. Decisions, decisions!"

Honestly, I have no idea why my funny, intriguing, stylish, intelligent, beautiful (yes, to make things supremely unfair, this BF is also incredibly good looking) best friends put up with me and my mundane self - and this isn't a compliment-fishing expedition here, truly - but emails like this remind me that I should do whatever is in my powers to bribe, trick, or lure them into assuring their continued BF support. On nights like this, when I feel queasy about The State of The Upcoming Union, I take comfort in knowing that the world at large has these people in it. If only because they are obviously going to take over the world (or Burma at the very least) one day, so best to stay on their good side . . .


(Important Note to the BF-J - love you, International Woman of Mystery.)

************************************************************************************
A special thank-you for the clever girls at A Tale of Two Sisters for gifting me with a "Smile Award." I for one certainly smile when I see things like this on their fair site:

Thank you for making my day a bit more sparkly with this one, dolls.