OPRAH’S FAVORITE THINGS SHOW

OPRAH’S FAVORITE THINGS SHOW

Okay God,

Remember in The Color Purple when Miss Sophia was jailed for inciting a riot?

Forty-five years ago, a black woman would have gone to jail after making so many white women scream hysterically and cry, but then again, ONLY Oprah could make a pair of cotton pajamas, bunny slippers, and an automatic dental-floss machine feel like winning the Lotto.

All the black women in the audience say, “Oh Lawd, he’s so goooood to me.” And all the men in the audience break out in tears and dial their wives to alert them to never ever call them a metrasexual for watching Oprah. After announcing that “Everybody getzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz waunnnnnnnnn, Oprah belts out her trademark call of, “YAHHHHH, YAHHHH, YAHHHH.” This is big, big, big; so, so big.

Then Oprah and Gayle ended the taping of the favorite-things show with their own altered version of Helen Reddy’s hit “I Am Woman” with slightly altered lyrics:

I AM OPRAH, HEAR ME ROAR.
YOU’RE ON MY SHOW OF THINGS I ADORE.
I HAVE GIVEN GIFTS THAT OTHERS CAN’T TAKE AWAY.

I’M NOT AN EMBRYO. MAYA ANGELOU TOLD ME SO.
SO I’LL SPREAD MY GOODNESS ALL ACROSS LAND.

I AM STRONG. HaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaH
I AM INVINCIBLE

I AM OPRAH
I AM OPRAH

Meanwhile, Oprah is cueing her staff to catch her studio audience members because the sistahs are droppin’ like flies in a Pentecostal tent deliverance meeting.


God: I guess you didn’t get the car, did you?

YOUR SISTER HAS TO SHAVE AND OTHER ACTS OF DIPLOMACY

Okay God:

I just watched a Bridezilla broadcast on either E! Entertainment or Style Network and remember - I'm just trying to be of service to mankind... so for those struggling with nutty relatives and in-laws - this one's for you.

There you are fresh from your make-up counter makeover for the big day when – your sister-in-law-to-be walks in with her ever-growing Johnny Depp goatee and announces to you and your entire bridal party that she’s glad there’s nothing she needs to do but show up for the wedding rehearsal. Your first reaction is to laugh thinking she has to see that thing under her chin. Your second reaction becomes a growing shock that yes she’s actually serious and no she doesn’t see the goatee. Your third reaction looks like a scene from HOME ALONE when Kevin screams “AHHHHHHHHHH”.

Perhaps it’s not a goatee but a shaving challenge of another kind that leaves you on the verge of a nervous breakdown knowing full well that your single soon-to-be mother-in-law is going to be leaping in the air to catch your bouquet. Or maybe it’s your cousin that your mother forced you to have in her wedding. The last time you saw her you were both 12 years old at Lazy Daze Summer camp. You got poison ivy and she hit on biker-dudes. Or could it be your that fiancée’s obnoxious best man, Roger, whom you’re renamed TADD (Totally Attention Deficit Dude) whose been assigned the arduous task of the first toast at the reception. TADD has yet to realize that a 37-year-old man burping aloud his order number at Pizza Hut, drinking from a keg spickett, and quoting lines from film Dude, Where’s My Car is not a beautiful thing. Your fiancé thinks he’s free spirit – you would like to kill his spirit.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH diplomacy! Diplomacy is tantamount to telling someone something they really need to know - knowing full well you may hear about it for the rest of your life. So what do you do? Let’s analyze this.

The goatee is going to be in your wedding pictures for the rest of your life – it has to go! So, you rent Sense & Sensibility and invite all of your bridesmaids over for a pajama party. After two hours of crying and eating high carb pizza, the Goatee sister has to be sleepy. When she falls asleep, your maid of honor gently applies the wax, you lay down the cloth strip, and your trusted little brother that hates her pulls the cloth strip and runs downstairs. Goatee wakes up screaming and you rush to her room with your mischievous dog in tow. You point to the dog and apologize profusely.

Well the cousin thing is easy. Pick the most expensive bridesmaid dress for her to wear. If the dress is under $2,000 – keep looking. Oh - and the shoes must be Jimmy Choos or Manolo Blahnik. Like a said before…this one is easy.

The hairy leaping mother-in-law - pass on that one. This is a battle you cannot win. Remember, it’s not like it your mother. Then there’s TADD. You could make him some Ex-Lax cookies 24 hours before the wedding but if the fear of going to jail stops you – strategically seat him next to your priest, pastor, or rabbi and put a bug in their ears that he’s thinking of converting but is wobbling on the way he should go.

Now go enjoy your wedding!

SCARY MOVIES

Okay God,

I love movies, I really do. I love epic films such as The Godfather, crime dramas such as Heat, romantic comedies such as When Harry Met Sally, and, of course, the ultimate chick film Sense & Sensibility. I do not, however, relish the thought of going to see a scary movie. Why would I spend $15 (excluding popcorn) to purposely scare the living daylights out of myself? If I want to be scared, I’ll just turn on the news and get all the anxiety in the comfort of my home or hop on the freeway and go twenty mph in the fast lane.

When I see a scary movie, (a) I don’t sleep with the lights off for at least four nights; (b) the coat rack in my living room begins to look like Freddy Krueger; (c) I set up this insane pretense and tell concerned office workers that the dark circles under and around my eyes is “smokey eye shadow”; or (d) I tell the truth: I went to a double horror feature with my great-great aunt Louise (aka Aunt Ah-Hell) and it’s the last scary movie I’ll ever go to, no matter what!

Where do I begin? Remember ninety-eight-year-old Great-Great Aunt Louise from the family reunion, the one who had the fifty-two-year-old Beverly Hills plastic surgeon boyfriend Armondo? Well, she’s back. Aunt Louise got into an argument with Armondo and told him she needed some space because he was getting a bit too needy. Then to drown her sorrows, she decided to go to Las Vegas to try out NASCAR racing at the Richard Petty Driving Experience. Well, that didn’t work. Aunt Louise got into a fight with the girl on the other end of the telephone because she couldn’t get Jeff Gordon’s phone number. So when she asked me to spend the night with her and stop by Blockbuster and pick up a couple of movies, I should have said yes instead of, “Let’s go to a movie and you can pick whatever you want to see.” As if in a warning from God above, she even said to me, “Baby, just pick up the moveerah Mahogany with the Ross lady and the movie with the couch-jumping boy named Maver-ricks. I loves me some Ice Man.” I can be really stubborn, so I told her it was good for her to get out of the house.

Put it to you this way: the last time Aunt Louise went to an actual movie theater, movies were called picture shows. After we sat down and pretended to enjoy stale popcorn, the first thing she asked was, “Now, baby, these movies aren’t the devil’s workshop, are they?” I didn’t know what to say since she was the one who picked the double feature: Swamp Thing and Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Aunt Louise got really emotional during Swamp Thing: “I’m just so happy the woman’s big breastisiss saved her life. Ah, Lawd, that monster’s outfit is so ugly; there’s no way he’s gonna blend in and make little swamp friends.” I did a slow-motion look to my right and decided to just keep quiet.

During the next feature was when things got a little rough.

Rocky Horror Picture Show had been on-screen for about five minutes when Aunt Louise leaned over and said, “Angie, when is Sylvestah Stallion coming out, and where’s the tall, shiny, and robust brother-man who teaches him ’bout the eye of the tigah?” Not even thirty seconds later, Tim Curry comes on-screen dressed in drag. Aunt Louise removed the lid of her cup and sniffed it to see if something had been placed in her “drank.” But then she had that moment of clarity and yelled out, “AH, hell, what is this? Ah, the devil is lie. Ah, Glowrie, Ah, Glowrie.” She then grabbed her purse and started praying in tongues, which sounded like, “Come outside and tie my tie . . . shoulda bought a Honda gotta Toyota instead . . . yester me, yester you, yesterday.”

The guys sitting three rows behind us did not appreciate the outburst and got the theater manager. This would have been a good time to leave, but Aunt Louise insisted on staying, saying, “Da devil ain’t keepin’ my three dollars.” She told the manager that he was not too old to be spanked and to get out of her way. She reached down and pulled something out of her rolled-down white stockings. He looked at me and I shook my head and mouthed to him, “DON’T GO THERE. I THINK SHE HAS A GUN,” which made him take off running at full speed and call the police. Aunt Louise “instructed” the gentlemen in the booth to shut the film down and bring her a fresh cup of “Co-cola.”

About that time, two policemen showed up. Aunt Louise looked at one of the policeman and asked him, “Are you Crockett or Tubbs?” The police officer looked at Aunt Louise and then at the theater manager, and said, “You’re on your own, pal.” Aunt Louise replied, “I take it you’re Crockett; now Miami Vice yo tail on outta here. This is kingdom business.”
She then went into the lobby, grabbed a ticket podium, and placed it front and center in front of the projection screen in the theater. Unfortunately, she placed the podium right when the food throwing commenced and was nailed by what appeared to be a chocolate éclair. Aunt Louise yelled out, “Who thaud (throwed) this cream puff at me?” (Just so you know, there is nothing scarier than a ninety-eight-year-old woman at a podium with a 150-pound King James Bible.)
She announced, “Er-body in dis room gettin’ saved or in-duh-vidual ass-whuppins will take place.” Then a voice from the midsection of the theater said, “You can’t say assth.” Aunt Louise recognized that voice and said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Stand up. Are you Lissy’s sistah’s baby boy? AH-huh. By da way, I diapered yo ass, so I can say ass, and ass is in the good book. You may not respeck yo momma, but you respeckin’ me! I taught yo tail in 1972. Remember how we all thought you waz retauded because yo head was so big? Boy, you had a big wadder-head.” He stood up and replied, “Yes, ma’am,” and sat back down. About that time, a RuPaul impersonator, decked out in a bustier, black garters, and matching black thigh-high stockings, stood up, blew a whistle, and said, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!”

I saw Aunt Louise’s face and knew what she was about to say. I fell to the ground to get into the fetal position. “Ah, hell, not today. I ain’t havin’ it!” I got on all fours and crawled to the back of the theater because I knew what was about to happen. I heard, “Angu-lah, get off that flo and hold my Bible and get a popcorn container to take up an offerin’ when I’m done.” There was no way I was going back out there until I heard, “Keep hiding from me, you’ll be seeing Kang James and Kang Jesus.”

I ran down the aisle, got her Bible, and while she was giving her testimony, crawled back to the rear of the theater and promised the Lord that I would never refuse to go to Blockbuster for her again.

Next thing I knew, I saw a young man, his whistle, bustier, and pumps all airborne. This young man, sans his pantyhose, received a concussion, Jesus, and Aunt Louise.

That is the last time I went to a scary movie.

God: Sounds like she scared the hell out of you!

WHERE’S THE BEEF & SKINNY CHEF

Okay God,

How can you be a size 2 and be a successful chef? If you won’t eat your own food, why should I? I want chefs to have some meat on their bones. Emeril LaGassee and G. Garvin are my boyz. They enjoy food and I can hang out with them. Paula Dean, love her. Rachael Ray and Nigella Lawson, hello, love them too.

Common denominator: They eat their own cooking!

My friend Jessica and I went to a restaurant in a trendy section of Los Angeles. The buzz on the restaurant was fantastic, so we were both excited about checking it out. Let me preface something about Jessica: She’s a straight shooter and does not mince words if something is awry, especially as it pertains to food and the customer service. She also bears a likeness to Jennifer Aniston and is a sweet but tough broad. Put it to you this way—she doesn’t like wire hangers.

The first course resembled something our parents told us not to touch. Adding to our inability to identify the appetizer, our waiter, a very hot Guatemalan gentleman, kept repeating over and over, “But Robert De Niro is over dare.” Jessica told him, “Don’t come over here again without telling us what this is because it’s not tuna tartare.” He responded, “Okay, but Robert De Niro is over dare.”

After our third request for help, the bouncy hostess, fresh from a reality dating show (don’t ask me how I know), came over and asked us how she could be of service. Jessica said she would give the hostess $50 if she could identify the appetizer. Our sweet hostess broke down in tears and said, “No one told me the job would be so demanding.” The manager of the restaurant came over and asked us what happened. Having the cooler head between the two of us, I told the manager that whatever was on the plate could not seriously be called food. He looked at “it” and began to sweat and ordered the staff to count their fingers just in case someone was missing a digit.

After hearing that comment, a hush fell over the restaurant. Table by table, only “Check, please” could be heard. The chef came out of the kitchen hoping to stop the mass exodus of her heavily leveraged restaurant and was about to pull a diva-like stunt when Jessica showed her the plate and asked, “Boo, what is this? I’m not spending money on therapy because you cooked someone’s finger.”

The chef looked at me straight in the eye and said, “I don’t know. I never eat my cooking.”

This was not a good thing to say. Jessica turned to me, handed me her Gucci bag, and started taking off her jewelry. I knew that the next person who spoke to her was going to the hospital. Unfortunately, the Guatemalan waiter returned and said, “Okay, but Robert De Niro is over dare.” I yelled, “Run, Forest, Run!” All of a sudden, the waiter’s comprehension was golden, and he ran out of the restaurant like a hungry pit bull was chasing him.

At this juncture, all I wanted was my parking validated. All Jessica wanted was a fight with the chef and asked, “Where do you eat, and why are you charging us three hundred dollars for a finger?”

The hostess, returning from her break, saw Jessica and started crying again. Apparently, this was not the first time an appetizer went most foul. It seemed part of her job was to be the official taster. The chef took a fork, picked up the “appetizer,” and told the hostess to “open wide.” Our teary hostess passed out, and now Chef Finger was faced with tasting her own appetizer. Jessica gave her the if-you-don’t-taste-it-you’ll-be-missing-nine-other-fingers look.

This time she ate her own meal. Two weeks later, the restaurant closed.

God: Sounds like a balanced meal.

The Single's Table

Okay God,

It never ceases to amaze me how well-meaning married friends and church and family members manage to shove all the single people together at the same table. It doesn’t matter if the occasion is a wedding, a birthday party, a picnic, or a first communion. All the single people are stuck together. In theory, this seating should work, but it doesn’t.

My manicurist recently attended a good friend’s wedding whose reception was at a lovely country club. At her table—the single’s table—sat every good reason on earth never to take the plunge. Loser Lane was the best way to describe that single table. Harsh assessment? No. You know you’re in trouble when the topic of discussion centers on bunions and hemorrhoids.

I went to a picnic where my friend Janice thought that seating me next to her single doctor friend would be a possible match. After a three-minute conversation, he started crying and said, “The big city is scary. I miss the feed store and my job at the shirt factory. Can I call you Mommy?” I looked around to see if his “mommy” was behind me. My eyes must have been the size of Texas because I had heard enough. I walked him to the playroom and put in a Sponge Bob DVD and gave him a Popsicle.

Moments later, I was in the food line when a Jamie Foxx look-alike offered to buy me a drink. I looked at him and said, “Food and drink are free.” Why did I say free? I knew what was coming next. He gave me his business card, which had a condom stapled to it. He took the “free” comment to mean that other nocturnal activities with respect to me were “free.” I quickly explained to him that circumcision during biblical times was done without a sedative or an alcohol swab. He left and walked in a holding pattern.

Realizing that this was going to be a very long day, I settled in for the long haul. I walked over to the bar and asked for a virgin margarita (with tons of sugar) from my buddy Manalo, who moonlights as a bartender. A very handsome Aussie walked over to me and said, “You’re a nice sheila. Who ya with?” He then proceeded to kiss my hand and said, “Because I’d like to dance cheek-to-cheek with you.” Manalo, without missing a beat, said to me while handing the wannabe Russell Crowe a drink, “Great, an-heela, you’ve found a donor since you’re ovulating.”

That was the last time I saw the Gladiator.

So is there such a thing as a good single table?

God: Why do you think I periodically call a fast?

Thanksgiving Dinner Invitations

THANKSGIVING DINNER INVITATIONS

Okay God,

One of my favorite holidays is Thanksgiving. Unless you’re working in retail, you have a long five-day weekend to shop for Christmas and visit your family.
There have been times when I have been unable (okay, I was too broke) to go home to visit my parents for the holidays. I have discovered over the years that sometimes cooking your own dinner and watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade and Dallas Cowboys game alone is the way to go. I have had enough of the proverbial “Thanksgiving Dinner Invitation.”
You remember when I had dinner with the family of former police officers who turned dinner into a WWE Smack Down! wrestling match. Officer Big Daddy, bearing a striking resemblance to Terry Bradshaw, walked around with a gun placed in his plaid pants like Al Bundy’s hand from Married with Children. Big Daddy walked around the family room like he was wearing a soiled diaper. Every time he walked by a mirror, he would grab his gun and scream, “You’re going down, punk!” The first two times he did this routine, I hit the deck because I wasn’t sure if the gun was loaded. After the third time he did this, I started to see the humor. I must admit that I just waiting for the gun to go off in his pants (I needed a good laugh), which meant, yes, I was staring at his crotch. Well, Officer Big Daddy thought I was “checking him out” and told me that “he had more where that came from.” His son, Officer Normal, saw the exchange and told me to excuse his father’s behavior. It seems that Officer Big Daddy was “retired” from the force due to “extreme prolonged periods of mental exertion.” Meanwhile, Officer Big Momma, whose ankles and knees cracked whenever she walked, was in charge of the family sobriety checkpoints. If I heard her once I heard her a million times say to her six-year-old grandson, “Raise your left leg and place your right index finger on your nose.” I told her, “Ma’am, he’s drinking tropical punch Kool-Aid.” She responded to me by using her middle finger to demonstrate her IQ score. I grabbed my keys and headed for Red Lobster, which closed early due to the holiday.

A couple of years later, I spent Thanksgiving with Kevin, the guy I was dating at the time. We were invited to his friend’s house for dinner. I knew something was wrong when we got lost on the way over there. I asked, “When is the last time you saw this person?” He replied, “Fifteen years ago but recently we caught up.” That was my hint that this little get-together was going to be a colossal disaster. Forty-five minutes late, we walked into the house where a plume of smoke hovered, carrying a very distinctive scent. Put it to you this way—the host didn’t have a pet skunk. Again, this was a sign to just GET OUT! Kevin said to me, “We don’t have to stay long. Let’s just socialize and get a quick bite and we’ll leave within an hour.” Reluctantly I agreed, but I knew that something was about to hit the fan.

When dinner was announced, let’s just say that the munchies were in full effect. It was like a pack of dogs following one female dog in heat. We finally made it to the table, where I had an ounce of potato salad, one fork of collard greens, a sliver of cranberry sauce, and a diet Coke. Seeing that his hopes for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner were dashed by the Attack of the Zombies, a very ticked-off Kevin grabbed the last chicken wing, the final sliver of cranberry sauce, half of the last roll (I had the other half), and a spoon of green peas. Kevin leaned over to me and said, “I saw some fruit on a statue in the other room. I can have that,” and headed to the other room.

Okay, I was in that room as well and the only fruit I saw was on a statue of Buddha. Kevin was about to jack up BUDDHA. I gave my plate scraps to the whining dog in the kitchen and ran to the room, and there was Kevin: “This orange is so good.” Meanwhile, a small group of Stepford junkies started screaming at him. Thirty-five seconds later, we were in the In-N-Out Burger drive-thru. However, due to a power failure, the restaurant closed.

Then there was the dinner with the happily married couple, Tracy and Colin. Finally, I thought I would have a “normal” Thanksgiving dinner. But they decided to get a divorce just before we ate. Suddenly there was a sound in the kitchen: “You did what?!” Linda and Shep, the other invited guests, looked at each other and then at me. Tracy and Colin came out of the kitchen with the turkey, and let’s just say something had gone down. See, this is when I should have grabbed my keys. Tracy said, “Angela, would you pray over dinner? Because Colin sure can’t with his lying, cheating, low-down, tail!” Before I could respond, Colin said, “Yeah, let’s let a real woman pray over dinner—not a narcissistic, domineering, hard-hearted control freak.” Linda and Shep got up from the table, grabbed their keys, and said, “We’ll pick up our plate and utensils later.” Tracy responded by saying, “Fine, I didn’t want you over here anyway,” and Colin said, “You both need to be on Jenny Craig anyway.”

Okay, cue the awkward moment. If I stayed, it would be hell. If I left, it would be hell. So I took them up on the offer to pray. “Dear Lord, Dear Lord, Dear Lawd, Dear, Dear, Dear Lawd. I, ah . . . I, ah . . . The Lord is my shepherd, and he prepares a table before in the presence of—” Before I could finish my prayer, I felt something whiz by my head. I opened my eyes just in time to see the turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy—airborne. Shortly thereafter, a barrage of compound expletives came out of the mouths of my generous hosts. I got on my hands and knees to try to crawl out of the house, but just as I made it to the door, Jerry, the amorous Saint Bernard, thought he found a friend. I turned around and advised Cujo that I would Stephen King him if he continued in this vein. Jerry went away.

I went home grateful to be alive and blissfully single. By the way, what is that noise?

God: Your stomach. You’re still hungry.

I'm Not Lisa - Green Acres is a Myth

Okay God:

So I went to a nursery to assist a friend of mine with a flower garden. I was okay until "Oli-vah" attempted to help me. It seems that after a colonic treatment Oli-vah decided that his talents were no longer suited for the Pacific Stock Exchange but to be used to "cover the earth with plants". All I wanted to know was did the pot come with the plant. He went on to tell me about his fluid levels being back on track and that he longer was afraid to sneeze for fear of bean burrito recupercussion.

Now - All I wanted to know was whether the pot comes with the plant. He went on to tell me about his third wife's obscession with wild pink flowers with a yellow center. Oli-vah advised me that the yellow center represented his wife's cowardly behavior and that her Analyst told her that pink was her color due to a past life attempting to tap dance into the 21st century.

I know better than to ask questions - but I didn't follow my own advice. I foolishly asked, "why was your wife going to an Analyst in the first place?" He told me without an hestitation, "I have a fascination with the television show "Green Acres" and we use to pretend to be Lisa and Oli-vah. She felt like Mr. Drucker was more her type so I sent her to an Analyst."

Well - I asked.

God: I think Oli-vah's on pot which why he's selling plants.

BEA or Bust Part Deaux

When last we left, I was providing BEA attendees with a chance to have a fun in the Southern California sun. It would be a shame to come this far only to see the inside of the convention center. By the way - if you've seen the film FACE-OFF starring John Travolta and Nicholas Cage - you've seen the LA Convention Center. Downtown LA is undergoing a major renovation these last few years. ESPN Zone and Staple Center are close by as well as Dodger Stadium. If you go to a Dodger game - be sure to get a Dodger Dog (so good). Walking at night - well...it's okay if you are with a group leaving an event but otherwise it can be dicey.

Pasadena: You will love Pasadena. It's about 15-20 minutes form Downtown LA and it's just fabulous. One of the coolest book stores is Romans Bookstore. You should go to Twin Palms restaurant (Kevin Costner's former wife owns it and it's fantastic) or try Red, White, & Bluez - for great jazz. If you need some R & R take the time to go to Burke Williams and ask for Denzel the massage therapist. It does sound great, "Denzel gave me a massage".

Santa Monica: Very affluent beach city and very laid back. Lots of people watching here and there's something for everyone. Check out Third Street Promenade, Bubba Gump's Restaurant on the Pier, Montana Blvd for shopping. Also check Brentwood Country Mart for their awesome stores. Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner are often their with their little cutie pie.

Malibu:Duke's, Gladstone's, Malibu Country Mart is great for people watching. Here's the deal. I love Malibu but don't be dismayed when the average size is 2. I am convinced that Photo-Shop was developed in Malibu. If you need a moment of absolute quiet, try Sierra Retreat for about an hour. If you bring your cell phone you might get a funky look.

Century City: My favorite shopping center in LA. You name it - they got it. There's also a cool new store called CUSP which is part of the Neiman Marcus chain that has the best. Bloomingdale's, Macy's, Restoration Hardware, Tori Burch...movie theaters, etc. Great people watching as well.

Laguna Beach: It's worth the drive. Trust me - you will see some of the prettiest beaches. Laguna is an artists mecca. You will not be disappointed - trust me. If you see a sexy red-head in a convertible - it's Bette Midler (unless she has a show in Vegas).

Speaking of Vegas: Your a 38 minute flight away. Out of LAX, there are flights every hour and half hour to Vegas. If you fly to Vegas Sunday afternoon - you will get a cheaper flight and hotel room. Sunday through Thursday will prove to be the cheapest for hotel accommodations. Put it to you this way...a room at casino may be $350 on Saturday night but $99 Sunday night...you get my drift. Eating in Vegas is cheap and entertainment is 24 hours a day.

Have fun!!!

Stop by Booth 4144 if you have any questions.

xoxo

Angela

BEA or Bust

Okay God I'm a bit perplexed...

Book Expo is coming to Los Angeles. Let's think about that for a minute. The book industry is coming to the film industry.

Wait a minute - BOOKS in Los Angeles. Huh? It could work - I see talent being discovered (cough, cough). Books being acquired by a larger publisher (cough, cough). Books being optioned for television series (cough, cough) and reality tv show pitches on HGTV being considered (I wonder if that would happen to moi!).

One of the best things about going to Book Expo of America this year is the prospect of meeting new people. Being the dazzling, magnificent, shy woman that I am, I love the opportunty of meeting people worldwide who share a love of books. However, don't you hate the $20 hotdog and $15 dollar slice of cold pizza and the $40K facelifts. Then there is the LA Literati which is composed for former east coast intellectuals who had got ahold of some tofu and decided to give the west coast a whirl for the sake of "art". Then of course there is the guy who goes booth to booth collecting business cards because he thinks you two could work together on a project. The truth: He sells real estate "plots" to senior citizens at Leisure World and goes on MySpace.com to add your name as a "friend". Later (approximately two weeks) you receive an email seeking the best way to get "biblical knowledge" of you in the horizontal-tango way.

With that being said - there is so much to do here that it makes sense and cents to have more Book Expo outings here in LA-LA land. First of all - it's not going to rain, there is no humidity, some tv shows are on hiatus which means that you may see more celebrities in their natural habitats (Kitson on Robertson, The Ivy on Robertson, Planet Blue in Malibu, and Ralph's Supermarket on Lincoln in Marina Del Rey, and of course Rodeo Drive).

Tell you what - I'll give you a breakdown on customs and places to go. First of all, don't be afraid to go to Rodeo drive - one of the best kept secrets about Bev Hills is that - most parking is FREE. I would warn you about the "Watch for elastic skin stretching Warnings" as you enter the parking structures. We don't want a sneeze from a 88 year old woman with her 8th "refresher procedure" to cause you post-traumatic stress syndrome. Try: Spago - it's worth every moment you're there. Also Crustacean is really good. Both places require reservations.

If you venture out to the San Fernando Valley (i.e. Valley Girl land) just know that broken english or sentences beginning with the word "like" means you're speaking to a high-strung 14 year-old teenage girl who just discovered that one of the lead actors in High School Musical is actually a 40 year old transvestite with re-occurring past life flashbacks. The valley is great - Ca Del Sole restaurant is great and it's down the street from Universal Studios.

Venice Beach - okay (exhale) - Very cool place to people watch. Just don't eat anything before you get there because of the site of the orange-tanned middle-aged couple with well-endowed butt wrinkles playing the guitar and singing Bon Jovi's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" may make one provide human graffitti in the alleyways. There are no words to prepare you for so I'm just warning you.

Try: Go to Hal's Bar & Grill for good music and jazz! (Abbott Kinney Dr. in Venice)

South Bay (Manhattan Beach, Hermosa Beach, Redondo Beach) - Beautiful, laid-back, nothing too crazed - just know that you'll stand out like a tourist if you're clotheed head-to-toe. The Beach rules and if you have time to play volleyball - don't be shy - ask if you can join in on a game (just be prepared - volleyball folks here are HARDCORE).

Try: Martha's Grill on Hermosa Beach (26th) and New Orleans Cajun Creole Restaurant at 140 Pier Ave in Hermosa. Also if you have extra time on Sunday: Jay Leno is at the Magic Comedy Club every Sunday night. In Manhattan Beach: Good Stuff Burger and try Shade Hotel for a cool place to have a meeting. You'll look like you're the "man or woman" and you may see Denzel at the shusi restaurant around the corner.

If you have extra time - go to Trumps International Golf Club in Rancho Palos Verdes for dinner or brunch! You're literally overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Getting there is a drive - hire a driver for the day - do not take a cab. If you want to take a cab - call me - I'll charge you what Reed Exhibitions charged me for my Booth 4144 in the African American Pavillion (shameless plug) and get you there quick.

Pasadena, Santa Monica, Malibu, will be covered tomorrow.

God: Hot Dogs $20, Cold Pizza $15, - Angela's ability to overtly self-promote herself, plug book, prospective tv shows - PRICELESS.

Okay God - LA Moments

Okay God,

I had a very LA-moment.

I was standing in line to purchase a smoothie at Jamba Juice in Manhattan Beach recently and I overhead the conversation between two little boys. The little guys could not have been more than 6 years old but by their conversation – they were at least 22.

The door opened and a gust of wind hoisted the beach cover-up of a woman frightfully attempting to relive her teen years with a body which now included a built-in hula-hoop. The cover-up no longer covered up what these little guys would grow to fantasize about on a 24 hours basis.

The leader of the two boys quips, “Hey, she has two of them in the back” to which the other little guy retorts, “Yeah she needs work.” The leader ponders what was just said then provides us with the fact that he’s still 6 years told, “Nah, I wonder if I could set my marbles in the little dents.”

It made me think however, at the age of 6 – these little fellas were already aware that people had the option to alter their body and that what the person presently had was never enough.

God: How do you think Ebert and Roeper got started?

Who's That Girl?

I was born a poor black child...no that's Steve Martin's line in The Jerk (I just couldn't resist). In all seriousness, I started a small press publishing company at the end of 2005. I'm looking to make a splash and not a tinkle.

Now that the serious stuff is out of the way...I'm a former actress-turned-writer with Big Dreams of producing, publishing, fashion design - you get the point (I'm P. Diddy with Blahniks). OKAY GOD, EXPLAIN THIS ONE! is my first tap-dance into the realm of "so doiling - you waunt to write". It's a hilarious Q & A between the Big Guy and someone who sounds a lot like me. It's a Black Bridget Jones' Diary meets Ally McBeal. The book is available for acquisition and I'm looking to turn this into a chick lit feature film/sit com. If you think Tracy Ullman has characters - meet my people!! My second book OKAY GOD, EXPLAIN MEN will be released next year.

I'm also disarmingly charming, media-genic, stylish, and fabulous - imagine a 5'4 Kimora-Oprah-Tyra with mad writing skills and a love for helping people. One question remains - WHERE IS MY MAN? and WHY IS GOD TRIPPIN'!!! See you at my both in the African American Pavillion (RIVER MAVERICK PUBLISHING in