Shame Dripped in Shame

While driving through BH yesterday, my sister and I passed a movie theatre known for great indie flicks. Oh. But, not on this day, children. On this day, they were playing Beverly Hills Chihuahua. The line of two-legged and Chihuahua patrons wrapped around the corner. I have never seen dogs so gussied up for an event in my life. It was so red carpet, I almost felt bad for the dogs having to meander on cement. Some were in ball gowns, others wore skirts and midriffs. A few had themed ensembles, military and Barbie. My fave were the Juicy dogs. The shame of it. The majority of the mini-hellnines were on leashes, while others were in strollers. Strollers?

I shouldn't judge, I know. Beverly Hills was a caricature of itself today, though, it was all just too much and too funny.

Another very LAzee mo was when my sister was telling me about a conversation she had the other day with an acquaintance. The acquaintance mentioned that her mother's friend married an insanely wealthy man and whipped out her iphone to share a photo montage of their too-much-time-and-too-much-money wedding. The first thing my sister asked in the quippiest of tones was, "Which came first, the face lift or the ring?" "The face lift", said the acquaintance in a serious-duh-Ker-are-you-stupid way.

Oy to the vey. That's all I'm sayin'.