Trophy Wives and Luxury Hotels

[mallorys_camera]

Forget Botox, boob implants, facelifts. The real cosmetic difference between the haves and have-nots is their teeth. Dental hygiene is the closest thing we have to a barometer for social Darwinism. You listen to someone who opens his mouth and flashes great big shiny white incisors. The same words are garbled and lost when the speaker's front teeth are yellowing and irregular.

I was reminded of this once again when after a loooong weekend at the store - things are starting to perk up! - I staggered home to watch back-to-back episodes of The Real Housewives of Orange County, a show with which I've become mildly obsessed.

Why?

Well, I'd like to be a Trophy Wife.

It's not gonna happen. But hey! an overworked, exhausted, struggling middle-aged girl can dream.

And as far as I can tell, all that stands between me and my dreams is 20 pounds, breast implants and about $15,000 worth of Smile Enhancement, a cosmetic procedure I could snag for approximately one-third of its American price tag by flying to Bangkok. (Extra added bonus: I could see the Emerald Buddha up close and personal plus spend a couple of relaxing afternoons in a brothel!)

The most interesting of The Real Housewives to me is Jeana, the portly, stoic real estate agent - among the top closers of multi-million dollar properties in California - philosophically making the best of a bad marriage, blunt and unapologetic about her own materialism: "Why have three Mercedes when you can have four?"

Jeana pulled off the Trophy Wife thing right. She cemented the deal when she was young and beautiful. Former Playmate; parlayed the Playboy Mansion fixture gig into marriage to a successful baseball player. Blow jobs? Been there; done that. Now that she's middle-aged, the only thing that passes her lips are the forbidden foods of her girlhood - ice cream, chocolate cake - although she never eats where the camera can see her.

One senses on the other hand that Lauri - recent fiancée of a rich land developer - spends a lot of time on her knees, fighting that gag reflex. Lauri perforce is my Trophy Wife role model! Lauri is blonde, of course. I'm not. The Trophy Wife bylaws don't strictly stipulate "blonde" but the vast majority of club members are. Plus Lauri is athletic and except for my bicycle riding, I'm really not. (And I can't take up tennis because I have no hand eye coordination whatsoever!) But I suppose a really good trainer could figure out Nautilus embraces that after four months or so would make my body look athletic, right? (Okay, maybe six months.) And appearances are everything.

Of course, the main thing standing between me and my dream is my attitude - I fucking hate rich white men. I want to beat them to death with their own sense of entitlement. But surely I could keep my mouth closed - yet open when a flaccid Viagra-teased cock was about to be inserted into it - until the pre-nup was signed and the tasteful, beach-side ceremony at the Pebble Beach Lodge concluded?

I mean, couldn't I?

A girl can dream…

In other news, the Little Store had an almost okay weekend - meaning just under my sales projections. We're tracking to last year's figures. Good given that Cannery Row is one big ugly construction zone and therefore tourism in general is down. Bad in that the business is not showing growth. I would say two-thirds of our sales are to repeat customers - we have incredibly high retention, a devoted customer following.

At some indeterminate point in the future, the construction will be a new luxury hotel. Ridiculous! 'The one thing Cannery Row does not need is a new luxury hotel. The luxury hotels in Pebble Beach do well enough all year round but that's because Pebble Beach has all those golf courses, and tucked away on a private road you have to pay eight bucks to even drive on, is the enclave of the wealthy and discrete.

As far as I can tell -- and the the tourism revenue figures, publicly available, support this -- the other luxury hotels on the peninsula sit empty most of the year. I mean, c'mon! If you had the money to burn on a luxury suite with a wood-burning fireplace and a pink Jacuzzi, would you really want a view of Kitsch Central and Bubba Gump's outside your glass-enclosed balcony? I think not.

But just as "Rosebud" was engraved on Charles Foster Kane's heart, and "Why have ten Mercedes when you can have twelve?" on Jeana's, so the phrase "luxury hotel" is incised on ___ __________, Mister Cannery Row Company's black, corroding aorta. It will bubble up in mucous and despair when he finally expires. And in twenty years - thanks, Global Warming! - all vestiges of his empire will be gone.

Comments

[cake-o-rama.livejournal.com]

Indeedy. I was once walking down a nighttime street in Deep Ellum, Dallas when a bum asked to use our cell phone. We said we didn't have one, to which he said 'bullshit, look at your teeth.'
I've had my top teeth partially redone as the result of bad genetics and I suppose bad habits. The back teeth are no better than the bum's that night in Dallas. We call this 'a million dollar fence for $3 cows'

What I mean to say though is this is the best post I've read in so long that I just sit here and know you could write a dozen mercedes. Truly.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Oh! Well that is sweet of you to say.

[woobiewoobster.livejournal.com]

Jeana is strangely fascinating to me--she appears to have it all except for happiness. She's probably wanting love and can't/won't give up on her insensitive oaf of a husband (for whatever reason)

Lauri, well Lauri must have a cooter lined with gold because she doesn't have much else to offer (from what I can see). She's good at spending his money and getting lots and lots of Botox--Good Lord, someone tell her to lay off the Botox!

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

I am so-oo hoping George goes down when the bottom falls out of the sub-prime mortgage market! I want to see Lauri working behind the counter at Bergdorf Goodman's!

[nokomisjeff.livejournal.com]

Methinks you nailed it 100% on the teeth. I never made that connection before, and you're right.

My lovely wife really enjoys "The Real Housewives of Orange County." She also laughs about the BJ thing when referring to those women.

I live in the nastiest beach house on my key. McMansions have sprung up like mushrooms on cow shit after a rainstorm. I get to see a lot of rich white men every day. I see the guys who are my age, with the bellies, out of shape physiques, thinning hair, and their trophy wives. I always look at those guys and wonder if they can still get it up. In our part of the world, the Miami Vice look is starting to re-emerge. Seeing guys my age try to look like Don Johnson is laughable. Oh well, my kid tells me to be more tolerant, so I guess I should keep my disdain for these guys to a minimum.

Aloha,

Jeff

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

My aunt has a little property like that -- a three room house smack in the middle of the Santa Cruz hills. Suits her just fine -- she grew up in an apt in NYC. Bought the property for $120,000 not so very long ago. Now it's worth 2 million, conservative estimate.

Or wait -- was worth 2 million before the housing bubble burst.

[nokomisjeff.livejournal.com]

We're not planning on letting the developers have our property. Our neighbors look at us like we're the Clampetts, but as I say, "Big fucking deal."

Aloha,

Jeff

[cat-herder.livejournal.com]

I was wondering how to tell. I was walking along fourth street in Berkeley, and the Four Gods of Wealth walked by. Two couples in their late 50s. Their clothing was so matte black, it sucked in the very sun itself. Their hair was all there and perfectly coiffed silver-white. The women had skin that was luminous and porcelain-like with minimal makeup. I did not see teeth, but yes, teeth. Straight white teeth.

As for the hotel facing Bubba Gumps? They say *luxury*, but you must re-read your Paul Fussell. Luxury is an overused word, like gourmet. *luxury* is going to attract the polyester-clad rubes whose only superlative adjective is "AW-SUM". They will come to your store to buy things with "Ass -Kicking" on the label. They will not use it, mind you. But they will enjoy their sophomoric giggling at the idea of a food label having the word "ass" on it. They will show it to all of their friends in Stockton, Columbus, and Decatur.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Huh. I don't think I've ever read Paul Fussell, but I will try to track him down. That sounds interesting.

[ch.livejournal.com]

I'd like to be a Trophy Wife.

Form what I know, I don't believe it. I think you'd be bored out of your fucking mind.

[mallorys-camera.livejournal.com]

Not me. I'd listen to my iPod while I was spending all that time on my knees! :-)