GET READY TO ROCK SPRING'S HOTTEST TRENDS!

Spring has sprung and though there may still be snow in some spots (hear my tiny violin playing?) it's time to start thinking about bikinis, boys, and beach blanket BLING-O! (Okay, maybe not in that order.) IMO, lounging poolside drenched in gallons of glitz is the shizz ... especially with a bevy of buff man-candies catering to my every whim. See how that's done? Bikinis, boys, bling -- boom, all in one shot.

Now for the finer points. (Listen up chicas, this is key.) Real bikini bliss means the teenier the better. (I can't believe I just said that.) Burn those bandeaus, maillots, and tank suits. Why? Because they make me shudder? No sillies, smaller gets you bigger, and I ain't talkin' gherkins. Big as in rocks -- the sparkly kind. This concept's easy, but hopefully you're not. (Make'em work for it, love muffins.)

Speaking of bling, break out the big baubles because itsy-bitsy bikinis alone just won't cut it. Who needs SPF 20 when there's 22K? Think blinding brilliance. Think strappy heels and spray tans. Think diamond-encrusted toe thongs. Okay, maybe that's way too much thinking for you, but damn girl, women exist to be memorable. Haven't the "Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" taught you anything?

For those plebeian times when we venture away from the cabana and don actual clothing (ugh, must we?), I've comprised a checklist of spring 2014's top fashion trends. Word of caution -- I'm showing you the BEST (designer duds) examples right off the runways. It's up to YOU to figure out if you even come close. There's a finely stitched line between true style and white trash wonderland. What's a geishanista to do? Besides running back to the pool? MAKE IT WORK PEOPLE!

He masters making it work.

1. Crop Tops
Every muffin top's nightmare is that mofo crop top. (Unless you're Kate Moss or the people of Walmart.) Here's a crazy question ... WHO makes these freakin' decisions? Is it kinda like a Seventh Avenue Illuminati plot to eliminate weaker, fashion faux pas-wearing fools? Tread wisely.

Diane von Furstenberg ... cropped to perfection.

2. Fringe
Is this the wild, wild vest? Don't get me wrong -- I keep up with trends just like any other gold-blooded geishanista. But when said trends take a nosedive into making me look like a bad 70's sitcom or, more specifically, that little ginger kid in "The Partridge Family," then I rest my case. Just stop it. Please.

Roberto Cavalli is a fringed god.

3. Holographic Clothing
Beam me up, bitches! Perhaps if you're Captain Kirk this Klingon-inspired garb could be cool, but any trend that remotely intrigues Trekkies or suits William Shatner (at any age) does not suit me. Period.

Jonathan Saunders is outta this world.

4. Sheer
Call it a heyday for pervs, but I say see-through's been done. Relentlessly. The only ones falling for it (yet again) are those who really shouldn't ... and it ain't pretty. Sigh. Fashion repeats itself, but let's put this one out of its misery.

J. Mendel shows how to shine in sheer. 

5. Trench
Wanna buy a watch? Again, perv city. That is all.

Michael Kors does trench right.

6. Mesh
Everybody spread the word, we're gonna have a cel-e-bra-tion! Oh, wait, what? Now that was a tangent. Madonna called and wants her fingerless gloves back. Enough said.

Vera Wang makes mesh magic.

7. Tribal Trippin'
I'm all for marching to the beat of a global drum, but do the fashion powers-that-be make a pact to puke up the most unrelated concepts possible, deem them as trends, and see who's suckered into it just to amuse themselves? I'm guessing "Yes."

Givenchy makes tribal tres glam.

8. Athletic Looks
If Varsity wasn't my thing in middle school, what makes anyone think I'd go for it now? Let's leave gym clothes in, um, the gym, thank you. Plus, this creates a cross-trending travesty when mesh is added to the mix -- like the athlete's foot fungus of the fashion world. I rest my case.

RA-RA-SIS-BOOM-VICTORIA! Beckham, that is.

9. Bright Colors
Is New Wave making a resurgence? Must I break out the mohawk? I bet Andre Leon Talley's laughing his Cavallis off at anyone making this Flock-of-Seagulls flub.

Orange is the new black at Hermes.

10. Culottes
Fugly then, fuglier now. Done and done.

Uber-cool leather culottes from Mulberry.

NOTE:
I actually invented the word "fugly" (don't play dumb) back in the 1980s and have witnesses ... kind of like MY original joke, "Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?" Answer: "Because it was dead." I made that up one night at a bar while walking around telling twisted jokes. I didn't really have answers to any of the random questions I asked complete strangers, which is why "Because it was dead" became my go-to fave. Years later, a comedy club promoter told me that my first attempt at standup (hey, I was walking around!) was one of the biggest jokes on the party circuit. Imagine that. Who knew vodka and cranberry could unleash comedic genius?

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CELEBRATING MARVIN GAYE!

I grew up loving and listening to the ultimate Prince of Soul, Marvin Gaye. In the 1950's (waaaaay before my time, bitches), the R&B legend joined a group called The New Moonglows, where his three-octave vocal range garnered the attention of Motown's Berry Gordy ... and the rest is history.

Marvin's Moonglow Days

FUN FACT: Marvin actually began his Motown career behind-the-scenes as a drummer for The Supremes, Stevie Wonder, The Marvellettes, and Martha and the Vandellas. It wasn't until 1962 (still before my time) that he produced his first solo hit, "Hitch Hike." In addition to vocals and drums, Marvin was a keyboard, percussion, and synthesizer whiz.

EVEN FUNNIER FACT: I began my career behind-the-scenes as a writer for one of the major Hollywood studios' online divisions. (Yawn.) Red carpet interviews and tentpole articles weren't the yin to my yang ... so I started writing wacky songs.  It wasn't until 2013 that I produced my very first solo hit (I'll let you be the judge), "GEISHA-MANIA!" In addition to my signature scream-laugh, I'm a shoe, bling, and high-style whiz. The rest is also history.

Marvin and Little Stevie Wonder

"I Heard It Through the Grapevine," "How Sweet It Is," and "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" had me hooked on soul. As a young geishanista, I'd dance around my tiny bedroom, hair brush in hand, singing my off-key little heart out in front of the mirror. Marvin famously partnered with Diana Ross and Tammi Terrell -- Marvin and Tammi ruled as the Royal Couple of R&B. When she died of a brain tumor in 1970, Marvin almost abandoned music altogether. I think I can safely speak for the entire world -- we're so lucky he didn't.

Marvin called Tammi his "perfect [musical] partner."

"Sexual Healing" was practically my rite of passage -- it was totally ON. Talk about geisha on a hot Bronx roof. I'd play it over and over and over again while gyrating around with my eyes closed. Scary, right? Marvin helped shape the sound of Motown and fueled this pasty white girl's lifelong lust for love muffins. Needless to say, I was -- and still am -- obsessed.

Today would have been Marvin's 75th birthday. Seems like only yesterday I'd turn on the radio and hear his sultry voice. Let's celebrate Marvin's legacy... he left us way too soon, but his genius lives on forever. xo

Happy Birthday Mr. Marvin Gaye ... RIP. xo

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GET IN TOUCH WITH YOUR INNER GEISHANISTA!

Dreaming of a personal style so over the top that even 122 carats won't cut it? Do your demands fall flat and keep you from seeing the light of Harry Winston? Is Sears your couturier of choice? (It seriously hurts to write those words, much less read them. Make it stop.) Fabulosity may come from the inside out, but it's the outside everyone judges (particularly other women). It's merely a matter of money.

Don't kid yourselves, head-to-toe beauty can be bought -- many Hollywood A-listers were beyond blah before making bank. Point is, enviable status is there for the taking if you're savvy enough to grab it. How can an average girl amp up her game? Being cutesy, loving, and evolved won't get you anywhere, especially private fitting rooms and a bevy of ass-kissers at Bergdorf's. Cast aside all that wholesome, white bread goodness crap, put on your Big Bitch panties, and listen up.

I've compiled a list of invaluable tips to help you get in touch with your inner "geishanista" because it's all about attitude more than anything else. We understand the importance of first impressions, so why not make each one utterly glam-tastic?

1. Start with the basics and learn your A, B, C, D's -- Atelier Versace, Balmain, Christian Dior, Dolce Gabbana, and so on. Say them out loud as if you gauged someone's eyes out for a front row seat at fashion week. Brush up on Couture 101, mein liebchens. You don't want a pop quiz taking you by surprise while looking like the people of Walmart, do you? (FYI, the answer is "NO.")

2. Eliminate the word "cheap" from your vocabulary. Even if your entire wardrobe comes from the bargain bin, you MUST pretend otherwise. (Cheap NEVER looks luxe, and that's the entire point of this article.) So until you've burned every last half-off schmatta, work on perfecting the facade. It's easy -- everyone in L.A. does. Buy one pricey piece and make it the focus of every single conversation so others start believing (if only because you've painfully shoved it down their throats) that you're an honest-to-goodness, real-life label whore.

3. Laugh out loud at every garish fashion faux pas -- as they pass by on the street. (Did I mention loudly? It's way too much fun ... pointing works too.) This will thwart your chances of becoming the wear-every-wacky-tacky-fad-at-once fashion victim and having others laugh at YOU.

4. Obsess over shoes ... especially when window shopping with promises of woo-woo in the air. This is a biggie. (Read "Foot Fetish ... Moi?") Anything bearing the Choo, Prada, or Louboutin label is a must-have, so just remember to playfully squeeze his hand and say, "Oooo, I have garters that match those perfectly!" Follow it with a wistful sigh and, "Oh well, wish I didn't love playing dress-up so much." BTW, here's a new mantra for all my sneaker-loving ladies -- the higher the heels, the closer to Gucci. (Which, in my case, is a deity.)

5. Always smell good ... and by good, I really mean anything that's a step up from dime store cologne. Think expensive and he'll treat you that way. Not that Hermes or Clive Christian tops your list, but splurging on something a bit more extravagant prevents you from reeking like an 80-year-old who got frisky with air freshener. Believe me, a memorable scent enhances your intrigue which, in turn, enhances your offshore account. Spritz away!

6. It don't mean a thing if he won't bring the bling. It's true. Plus, a diamond or two adds sufficient sparkle to anyone's day. Subtly let him know which jewelry was gifted from a hunky ex-boyfriend and watch him scurry off to Tiffany's to prove his rocks are bigger. Reward and repeat. (Perhaps I've stumbled onto the true meaning of the term "getting your rocks off"?)

7. While we're on the topic ... all that glitters BETTER BE REAL. Yup, diamonds are only a girl's best friend (and hence, you his) if they're not cubic zirconias in disguise. Go on, get that appraisal pronto. It will confirm your value in his eyes so you can ...

8. Date LOTS of daddies! A true geishanista can never have enough (you should see my closets), and sometimes that means double or even triple-dippin' on the joysticks. Just make sure Sugar Papi abides by the rules -- without his bank, you can't dress up. It's all about Saks an' sake bombs, bitches.

9. Introduce caviar, truffles, and other ridiculously pricey foods into your diet. Do your homework on the seductive powers of Foie Gras and give Mr. Big bonus points for feeding it to you while on a romantic weekend getaway in gay Paris (or Belize).

10. Brush your teeth with Dom, as in Perignon. Not only will folks think you're batshit cray-cray, but you'll be doing your part in helping with the drought, you little eco-friendly boo. Champagne baths border on badass as well -- throw in a few floating fruits, like strawberries, and you and your twisted mister are good to go.

11. Be the party girl. Ditch anything even remotely reminiscent of a Velma turtleneck, don some come-f*ck-me pumps, and hooch it up. Of course there's a reason for this temporary insanity, silly muffin -- you want him to want every other man to wish THEY could hit it. Talk about stroking egos. Eye candy's dandy, but payback like this is priceless. (Ok, it's akin to skyrocketing stock.) Re-read tips four through eight please. I size 0 ... in case you want to get me thank-you gift. (Size 2 simply sounded better in the song.)

12. Speaking of dressing up, DO IT -- even when you're home with the flu (or just your cat.) You never know who'll drop by with gourmet chicken soup from Dean & DeLuca and, perhaps, a shiny new bauble to make baby feel better. There, there, suck it up and spackle concealer under your nose. You gotta look damn glam blowing your honker.

13. Swinging-from-the-chandeliers sex hooks'em every time. Especially the shy, short, quiet, insecure, balding, and overweight ones. They've never had it so good, so anything even remotely Dita von Teese-ish will work. Let all hell break loose in a leather bustier and you might even give him a coronary (j/k), which translates into anything your devious little heart desires.

14. It is most definitely all about size -- size of his bank account, size of the diamonds, size of the square footage in your new Holmby Hills pad. Forget motion of the ocean and think weekly bank transfers in your name so you can live in the manner to which I'm helping you create. Jeez, aren't you lucky to have me around? (FYI, the answer is "YES.")

As Madonna once said, "People are afraid to say what they want. That's why they don't get what they want." Snap out of it and start flapping those yap holes. You'll thank bouzhee little me faster than you can sing, "Everybody's doin' it, everybody's doin' it!" xo

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LUCK O' THE GEISHA!

Kiss me I'm ... having grown up in New York City, home of St. Patrick's Cathedral, this o'geishanista knows firsthand about celebrating St. Patty's Day on a grand scale. (Did I mention McSorley's Ale House?) From the wee hours of the morn' till the wee hours of the next morn', every man, woman, and pub in town lets loose in full-blown party mode -- and it has nothing to do with strangers sucking face or being Irish at all. 

Who doesn't love men rockin' kilts?

Some pretty kick-ass parades kick off the libation-loving festivities, then hords spend the day (or weekend, in this year's case) wearing, eating, an' drinking green -- as in beer, bagels, eggs, ham, shamrock shakes, cocktails, corned beef, you name it. Chug a few mugs of the magical brew and it's like a mini Mardi Gras ... minus the booby beads and King Cake. Talk about "Erin Go Bragh-less." It's literally a day of toasting till you're toasted. 

Back in the old country it's all about the Guinness, but my personal fave has to be the emeralds -- rings, earrings, necklaces, you name it. Isn't that the reason they call it the "Emerald Isle"? Surprise me with Harry O'Winston and you'll be the lucky little leprechaun kissing my blarney stone. Think magically delicious. (FACT: I've been called that. Throw in matching Louboutins and I'll prove it. Oh yeah.)

HINT: this emerald-cut emerald will rock my world. (And yours.)

BTW, here's a little-known tidbit: St. Patrick was actually born in Scotland! Didn't see that coming, did you? He arrived in Ireland after being kidnapped by slave traders, and eventually brought Christianity to the Land of Saints and Scholars. The first Irish immigrants, selfless souls that they are, eventually brought the party here to celebrate their luck. Now who are the lucky ones? Exactly. I'm dancing a jig as we speak.

Speaking of jig (or gig in this case), one of my ever-so-lovely GEISHA-MANIA! gal pals is infamous for his leprechaun act in films, television commercials, and video games. In fact, he was looking devilishly dapper decked out in a green plaid suit, top hat, spats, cane, ginger mutton chops, and a huge handlebar mustache when we first met at a party two years ago. (He kind of freaked me out.) Little did either of us know he'd be donning a kimono and Spanx to join my silly, sexy sideshow. It really does pay to be Irish ... or just play one on TV.

Who's a pretty Irish lad turned lassie?

Enough drivel, let's move on to the fun stuff. It's high time to start thinkin' 'bout drinkin' ... and this is certainly the day to do it. Of all the specialty cocktails (one can never ingest enough food coloring), Green Margaritas are me beverage of choice. Any drink with its own national holiday sends me flying over the rainbow, but there are some delish St. Paddy's Day drink recipes that'll surely get your Irish up. 

This TIPSY LEPRECHAUN looks divine!

Searching for that perfect pot of gold? Wish upon a four-leaf clover, download the Uber app (don't drink and drive), and go paint the town green. Here are some places in L.A. to find Irish eats and throw down a few Dublin Donkeys ... cheers! xo

Molly Malone's Irish Pub
575 S. Fairfax Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90036
(323) 935-1577

Tam o' Shanter
2980 Los Feliz Boulevard
Los Angeles, CA 90039
(323) 664-0228

Tom Bergin's Tavern
840 S. Fairfax Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90036
(323) 936-7151

Rock and Reilly's Irish Pub
8911 Sunset Boulevard
West Hollywood, CA 90069
(310) 360-1400

Ladyface Alehouse & Brasserie
29281 Agoura Road
Agoura Hills, CA 91301
(818) 477-4566

Casey's Irish Pub
613 S. Grand Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90017
(213) 629-2353

FOOT FETISH ... MOI?!

Since it's my beloved "TGI Foot Fetish Friday," I have a filthy little secret to confess. (I'm really a pasty white girl and not Asian at all? Why screw with your bewilderment? It's waaay too much fun.)

Here goes. I'm head over heels over ... heels. Like kryptonite. Yes, you heard correctly and it's totally true — shoes are my crack, smack, and whack all in one. (Is whack even slang for a drug? No matter, falling in love with a new Italian designer is like someone whacking me upside the head. Same thing.) Talk about a contact high. The second those puppies hit my puppies, a euphoria rushes over my body like none other. Move over Mary Jane, there's a new Mary Jane in town.

Wait, there's more. Hard as it is for me to divulge, I actually, hear me out, quiver at the mere sight of come-f'ck-me black patent ... and don't even get me started on kid suede. Two words: multiple glam-gasms. (For days). Oh my. So it makes perfect sense why I'm totally hooked on men hooked on my feet — especially when clad in strappy little numbers that reveal a sufficiently sexy amount of toe cleavage. Trust me love muffins, they're ALL into my feet. (And my rockstar pedicure.) Ancient Chinese secret or TMI from pasty white? Nope, just merely stating the facts. Whoever invented the term "shoe porn" was the Einstein of what really renders a woman powerless. Is there a Nobel Prize for that kind of brilliance? ('Cuz he/she earned it. In spades. Make that Kate Spades.)

This delicious level of dependence can't be rehabilitated through hypnosis, shock treatment (OMFG, they don't have my size!), or even the most rigorous 12-step program. Imagine standing before a group of poor souls struggling to banish their demons and admitting my insatiable desire for D'Orsay? Thanks but no thanks. Am I worried about spiraling into the depths of overdose-dom? Hell to the no. You can keep your clean living, bitches. As long as I'm sporting the latest Louboutins, I'll be the happiest (and most fashion-forward) junkie to ever buckle up a T-strap. Just watch me.

Since I was a just wee geishanista back in the Bronx, every pump, platform, boot, shootie, flat, flip-flop, slingback, stiletto, wedge or Wellie has held me spellbound. (Even though I despise rain, we must look smashing in it.) My aunties' closets were the absolute Holy Grail — all filled with fabulous shoe collections just waiting for my child-sized feet to explore. I'd be transfixed for hours, parading around in ankle straps, kitten heels, and a motherload of mules. It was endless. Dinner came and went and I never knew. Ferragamos were my food of choice.

In fact, I've been known to lay down a nice chunk o' change on a plethora of peep toes all in one sitting rather than go grocery shopping. (The sales peeps know me by name ... how sweet is that?) I mean, what better ambrosia than a bejeweled Badgley Mischka? What tortellini's more tantalizing than a super-sized serving of Stella McCartney thigh highs? Bring it on. So don't hate me 'cuz I'm skinny ... just blame my love for leather.

During pre-production for GEISHA-MANIA, I was seriously out of control — rows of Roberto Cavallis called my name. Stacks of Giuseppe Zanotti boxes started piling up. At one point there were 30 pairs of shoes — just for a damn three-minute video (not counting my own massive collection, of course). I'd hit rock bottom and my poor stylist was forced to stage an intervention. She failed. I kept buying. It was absolutely glorious.

Problem is, after the final cut was finished, you can't even see the shoes! My darling babies were pretty much pushed clear out of frame and banished into oblivion. I say conspiracy, but director Luciano Fontana claims artistic integrity. I'm sure I'm right, but you know how Sicilians get. I'll give him this round, cause there's always GEISHANISTA GO-GO, my upcoming music video. Wait till you see the kooky kaleidoscope of bling, fashion, fun, and wacky rap. And all-important shoes. So, Mr. Director, we shall see who wins this next battle ... you or the shoes? My money's on the Manolos ... they totally kick ass. xo

See what I mean?

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HAPPY NATIONAL MARGARITA DAY!

Upon awakening on the most hallowed of holidays--National Margarita Day--let's take a moment to honor the true meaning of this auspicious occasion. Hmmm. Actually, there's not much history to honor, according to the Huff Post -- and if they can't find a story explaining how the holiday came to be, I won't waste time trying to dig something up. There's just too damn much drinking to do ... and it's only noon.

FACT: we do know that both the U.S. and Mexico claim dibs on designing the luscious libation -- even though tequila is definitely a Mexican liquor invented after the Spanish conquest. In Mexico. Just sayin'. Here's what I think -- who gives a flying lime where it came from? As long as there are numerous salt-rimmed glasses in sight, I can deal. (See pic below.)

What's in the concoction everyone's clamoring to claim their own? Simple recipes include tequila, lime juice, grenadine, creme de cassis, ice and soda, but there are as many iterations as there are flavors. There are so many cool recipes to try, but personally, I haven't had one I didn't love--classic, mango, strawberry, watermelon--though a Caliente Kiss is next on the list. 

My fave? Well, they're kinda like children -- all totally sweet, fun to be around, and enrich the quality of your life without even knowing. So, so, so hard to pick one over the other. Just keep'em coming. (Preferably on the beach, served by a shirtless buff cabana boy. Double yum.) 

As people all over Los Angeles, and the entire country, start slurping away like there's no such thing as a weekly Margarita Monday (there is), I pose just one question: who's bitchin' enough to dream up the perfect Lady Geisha margarita? It has to be sweet (like me), sparkly (like me), and have a quirky twist (def like me). Talk amongst yourselves, rev those blenders, and invite me to come try it! I just may include you and your tres fab recipe in one of my upcoming books. (Probably yes. Wink, wink.)

So whether you enjoy'em classic, slushy, or via ice pop form, make sure to imbibe wholeheartedly -- and often. All day long. We're not only celebrating National Margarita Day, but America as a whole. I mean, what other country is fickle enough to deem an alcoholic drink worthy of national recognition after enforcing prohibition? Seems like we should really be gearing up for National 420 Day, no? xo

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