Temporarily single and ready to mingle in the big city, again.

David is breaking new ground in Seattle and I am playing the role of Marlo Thomas in, That Girl (holy shit, that dates me!).

Monday, I had my highlights done and a haircut. I frequent Salon Benjamin in West Hollywood. My daughter, Courtny, turned me on to it.

I resisted because most Bev Hills and West Hollywood salons are very snotty. Everyone dresses up, acts important when they aren’t and it’s a lot of money for a free cup of pressed coffee or a glass of Perrier.

Well, Salon Benjamin is surprisingly chill and affords a very pleasant environment and, of course, it is home to my dream team…do I now qualify for Housewives of Beverly Hills?

Added bonus, canines are welcome so Madison and I can have a girls day out.

Conveniently, they had a pop up in NYC this past Sunday and Monday at Arte Salon in NoLita.

I am excited to announce that I have my own bicoastal dream team…meet the dynamic duo of Alaina and Carla, colorist and stylist extraordinaire. Don’t hate me because I am beautiful…blame my dream team.

I also have an assist in New York City from Bolivian beauty, Alejandra, an owner of Gleam Salon on the upper west side.

I am now sporting a bouncing, breezy hairstyle accentuated by golden highlights. The demands of aging.

My hair was almost black and now I am like every menopausal babe…gotta lighten up the hair so your crinkly, wrinkly face looks brighter and for hundreds of dollars, hopefully, younger.

You have to admire the creativity of the celebrity and pedestrian plastic surgery sect.  They claim they have new ‘dos when in fact they had plastic surgery, botox, Juvederm and every other possible injection. But, as usual, it is all about the hair.

I left after four hours of urban renewal, the skies opened up and drenched me, but I fought hard to preserve the ‘do.

I descended into the steamy, humid bowels of the city and took the B train.

Dilemma…a party on my head and nowhere to go so I stayed home and admired myself in the mirror while feasting on Chinese takeout…david hates Chinese so I indulged while he was gone.

After hours of admiring my new look, I checked email and had a notice from Apple, asking for verification that I had purchased the Rihanna album through iTunes. If not, I needed to inform them.

I did and it felt hinky. I decided to call Apple and after being on hold for 35 minutes I was informed that it was a scam and I had been had.

Until midnight, I dealt with Visa, changing passwords and all the other crap that goes with being hacked.

I was ready to head bash someone even if it meant mussing my hair.

Bed welcomed me at 1am, but the frustration translated into a migraine. So much for my easy, breezy literal rerun of, That Girl.

Nostalgia…take a peek at the opening of, That Girl.