There is this little retail establishment in WeHo, on Santa Monica Blvd. just east of Crescent Heights, which has, at times, given me the sneaking suspicion that I might really be a drag queen trapped in a woman's body. (BTW, there is no truth to that MySpace rumor that I am a trannie, but it has made for a fun addition to the certain je ne sais quoi that is Veronique CheVALier, The "Weird VAL" of Cabaret, my performance persona).
Anyway, the first time I walked into the gift emporium called Dorothy's Surrender, was to kill time whilst awaiting the first of many a futile blind, (or rather, Internet, ugh!) dates. I was set to meet Bachelor Number I-Lost-Track for lunch at the neighboring French Quarter Market Restaurant. (The two businesses are housed under one roof, along with a number of others, in what can only described as a Disney-esque West Coast approximation of its infamous namesake in New Orleans).
Upon entry, the entire market place practically screams "Tackeeeeeeeee", but in all fairness, the restaurant's grub is bland and comforting enough not to induce nausea, in the event the blind date with Mr. Rumpled-T-Shirt-And-Low-Slung-Baggy-Jeans goes south. There is also a koi pond/fountain combo on the premises, and I always request the table closest to it. In addition to the healthful benefits of the negative ions produced by the running water, the babbling liquid sounds help to muffle any gasps of disillusionment, resulting of yet another rendezvous of revulsion.
So as I was whiling away my time, waiting for Mr. Not-Exactly-Punctual (but this is LA, and traffic delays are just another reality of dating life), I discovered that Dorothy carries some really amazingly useful (little purse-sized sewing and tool kits), as well as, aesthetically pleasing items, demure and lovely enough to tickle even your most prim and proper maiden aunts (hand made, elegantly bound blank journals with gilt-edged pages), along with a plethora of pink triangle and rainbow flagged merch, including some printed matter that would be sure to get a "rise" out of the most militant faeries on your Xmess list.
They also carry a few battery-powered novelties there, although I am not sure if any of them could have saved Larry Craig from his fateful toilet misadventure. (But then again, if he'd had the good sense to live in my recently-adopted, quaint little hometown of WeHo, his little faux pas wouldn't have elicited so much as a raised eyebrow among residents).
In any case, amongst the electronic gizmos on display, I must say I was not expecting to find the scale models of familiar wild birds, whose calls are triggered by a motion detector. I can't wait to go back and score a Cardinal, which is as close to a sports team mascot as I'll ever get. Tweet!
My most coveted acquisition thus far has been the pink anodized aluminum notepad holder with a compact yet ergonomic pen that also serves as the lynch pin to keep the cover closed. (I never fail to get compliments from friends whenever I pull that puppy out, to take down the driver information of whatever Mr. Teeny-You-Know-What, whose obscenely over-sized SUV has plowed into my much more sensible station wagon in one of the many crowded parking lots across our fair metropolis).
Their display windows are the piece de resistance at Dorothy's. You have not lived if you have not witnessed their artfully arranged tableau of "Desperate Housewives" action figures. I've only seen that abominable show once, quite by accident, at a friend's place (I don't own a TV), but I think that the shop's merchandiser captured the high camp of the series perfectly by arraying one of the wife figures from a noose (which rotates fetchingly, via some sort of mechanized contraption in the ceiling), a little scale model chair perfectly pitched over on its little side under her, and a petite shoe dangling precariously from the end of one of her teensy feet.
Oh, and also worth special mention, the shopping baskets of assorted hue, stacked right outside the entrance, which are meticulously ordered by color of the rainbow. I just love the way the minds of gay men tend to such minutiae so effortlessly! If only they, (or their closely related sub-species Metrosexuals), were romantically attracted to, and dated women, then my days of ill-fated online dates with post modern Oscar Madisons would be a thing of the past.
Oh well. In my dreams. But at least, as I continue to hold my breath and turn blue, waiting for Mr. Somewhat-Punctual, I can stock up on lots of blank greeting cards featuring naked pix of guys with hot bods to give to my other single girlfriends. Who cares what orientation those hunky models are? Then again, maybe it IS possible that my friends and I are all really homosexual men trapped in women's bodies...
WORLD - CITY LIVING
Copyright © 2010 VeroniqueChevalier
Giving It Up At Dorothy's Surrender
Copyright © 2010 VeroniqueChevalier
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