Beauty day.

Time to metrosexualize.

My husband heads to the Lone Star state this week…could it be lone star as in “I want to be alone?”

I suggest that Texas secedes from the 48 contiguous states and becomes an island like Puerto Rico…leave Austin, please and make sure to take the Cowboys, Rick Perry, Ted Cruz and Tom DeLay.

Anyway, David needed to get manscaped so after four hours at Krav Maga or as I refer to it…Krap Magoo (Israeli Defense Forces self-defense, fitness and combat training). We met up and began the arduous process.

We headed to see our glam squad at Salon Benjamin in West Hollywood. Other than my Russian princess, Sasha, no one cuts hair like Carla. I dictated length and then headed to Melrose with Courtny and doggies to scope out Emmy dresses for my amazing TV agent daughter.

Nothing grabbed us that was under $800. Where’s the balance these days? The choices for dress up are excruciatingly limited unless you want to spend big bucks or go to Forever 21 which few of us qualify for anymore and purchase an ill conceived prom dress.

Exhausted from the 100 degree heat, sticker shock and tending to an adorable, brilliant 3 month-old puppy, we stopped on Melrose Place for an iced cappuccino at Alfred Coffee & Kitchen.

Cute place, bad attitude and expensive drinks. The baristas steam to their own drummer and never give you what you have requested. Rude and crude and bad coffee. I’m sorry, but I always get what I ask for at Starbucks or they redo it with a smile and not a belligerent attitude.

Next stop in our beauty regime, brows with the Queen of Tweeze, Maria, the eyebrow maven at Benefit in West Hollywood. Seriously, this compact package is a miracle worker with tweezers, tint and wax…a facial artist. The whole family is committed to Maria.

I must be very Kardashian and say maintaining is a necessity. Women should not sport mustaches and men need to abandon the unibrow, nose and ear hair…not that my husband qualities for that. I call it urban renewal…need to keep the property well maintained.

Looking gorgeous, we bopped across the street to The Churchill, a bustling gastropub on groovy West Third Street  and had adult beverages.

I ordered rose. I am having a summer romance with that wine which, by the way, is edging towards a drought by Labor Day. Americans cannot get enough of Whispering Angel and the like.

Jazmin, the striking bartender, was most gracious and we chatted with a couple of thirty-something guys that were a hoot. I loved that they invited us over to get high. Living across from Magnolia Bakery must be quite dangerous. I queried the price of an ounce and I can’t believe how inflation has upped the cost of weed.

Unfortunately, no time to share a joint as we had a conventional dinner reservation, but the offer made my night.

It reminded me of the time I sent my parents to see Huey Lewis and the News when they were in their prime (Huey and mom and dad). They took their seats in the front and were chatting to some twenty-something dudes. Morris was a very personable chap and could made a tree talk.

The guys were taken with him and asked him if he wanted to share a joint. My dad, who to my knowledge had never smoked a doobie retorted, “Thanks, but we already got high before we came too the concert.” I thought my mother was going to pass out…treasured parental unit memories!

We drove with the top down, sans dogs to Venice and had a romantic meal at our neighbor’s restaurant (review to follow).

A lovely day despite the dog days of August. Being with my metrosexual husband made the temperature rise even higher…31 years and still rockin’ my world.