What a weekend! We launched into the weekend with splendid force on Friday at the coveted Opera Gala in San Francisco. The guest all donned on their finest threads. My silk-satin masterpiece was designed by Colleen Quen Couture. It was a silver two-piece creation with big, satin bows down my back. I did feel like a princess for sure!

Saturday we jetted off to Belvedere and joined a spectator schooner, where we watched the Leukemia Cup Regatta. The afternoon was spent sailing, sipping cocktails, and swaying to reggae at the San Francisco Yacht Club. They raised over $100,000 to fight blood cancer in one day!

Sunday was family day. I drove up to Sacramento to celebrate my aunt’s birthday. I come from a fabulously crazy Mexican family who loves to eat and party. One of my cousins has an Impala that he  transformed into a true low rider – with shocks, springs, boom box, and chrome! He took me cruisin’ while we listened to hip hop.

I went from Opera princess, sailing diva, to "gang banger" in a matter of hours – pretty cool!

So, that was my weekend, what did you do?

One of my favorite discoveries in the San Francicso art scene several years ago was Justine Formentelli. She has been in London for three years now. Looks like she is working on landscapes now- but I was first captivated by her paintings of women. Examples of her previous work is on her website.

Jusitne opens a new show in the Isle of Man, UK this Thursday, September 14th. Add time for the gallery show to your travel agenda. Most likely open 30 days.

LEAF CONTEMPORARY ART & Design, 35 North Quay Douglas.

And let me know if you made it there, and if you liked her work! 

Making the choice to move to Italy from San Francisco was not an easy one, but I knew the second I pulled my suitcase out of the closet that I was making the right decision. My empty luggage was hibernating patiently in the dark, but like a toothache it was a constant, dull and throbbing reminder I had been in one place for far too long. It was an insistent relic of where I’d been, and where I still wanted to go. I was accepted to a two-year Masters program, the initial portion located in northern Italy, and knew it was time to scratch the powerful itch to move, to see, to travel. So I packed my grey suitcase beyond the point of legal weight limits, lugged it across the ocean via Air France (which has touch screen on-demand movies… how far we’ve come), and landed in Bologna about a week ago.

Bologna, like any beloved city, has a few nicknames. It is sometimes called Bologna the Red, for its fiery rooftops and deep-seeded Communist tradition. With Europe’s oldest university, the city has also earned the prestigious Bologna the Learned- I’ve heard the city bristles with students from the fall through the summer. As of now, it’s still waking up from sleepy August, during which almost all store windows stay shuttered and residents escape to sea or mountain. It is also called Bologna the Fat, for its treasured salted meats, tortellini and general adoration of all things stuffed with meat and doused in heavy cream. (Gelato no doubt figures into this nickname:  I have discovered a new flavor, which involves Nutella-covered doughnuts within a chocolate ice cream base. And I thought Americans had the monopoly on reckless gluttony…)

All these pet names are still just lip service to me, having been here less than a week. But I trust that over the course of the next nine months that I will be legal resident here (with finger prints at the local police station to prove it), it will become something entirely more personal. Here, at the beginning of my journey, I can only speculate how Bologna will be defined in my mind when I leave next summer: Bologna the Arduous? Bologna the Lonely? Bologna the Life-Altering? Whatever it will come to represent, I’ve made the crucial step. I heeded the quiet beckoning of an empty suitcase and followed it to my favorite boot-shaped nation. To quote from the lyrics of a song recently sent to me by a mentor and friend: the rest is still unwritten.

There are tricks to traveling with a gaggle of girlfriends. How do you divide up the research? Who puts deposits on their credit card? Do you settle up before or after the trip? Do you stay together the whole time, or do you go off and do your own things? And how can you tell who’s a pain in the ass before take-off?

The art of travel is a fabulously technical one, at once fantasy and logistics, dream and reality, and nothing complicates a forray into the unknown like planning a group trip. Now, not only are you worried about culture shock but personality shock as well. Sure, you and Peg hang out every night at the local bar trolling for men, but that doesn’t mean diddly about how cool she is to travel with.

You might discover that the best thing about fun-time Peg was that she blessedly returned to her own home at the end of the night! You’ll learn this too late, screaming at her drunk ass at five in the morning to get Guiseppe and his brothers the hell out of your hotel room. 

I’m going to be traveling over the next ten days with five girlfriends, and there’s already tons of drama! First there was Courtney who suddenly reconciled with her husband and wanted to bring him along. On a girls’ trip? Hell no! That’s what we told her. She was pissed.

Then Erica got fired and suddenly needed to charge the trip. So we worked out a deal where we’d write her checks and she’d put everything on plastic as we went along. That meant scrambling to throw checks in the mail.

Next Olivia (of course I’m changing the names to protect the innocent!) made the mistake of calling Erica on the day she got fired to ask her why she hadn’t come through with her part of the research. Who could have known it was because security was escorting her away from her desk, the one with the computer that held the files with all her research? 

Erica and Olivia had a nasty exchange, and they both called me two nights ago freaking out about each other. What was said wasn’t nice. They met through me, and now each of them are convinced that the other might be the antichrist. So much for smooth sailing. Literally. (We’ll be looking for boys with boats on the Amalfi Coast.)

That brings us to Joan, who’s having a hard time with the actual costs of things. Now I know we’re not all zillionaires, but the restrictions she’s placing on our not-lira-but-euro, high season jaunt to Italia are totally ridiculous. At first, she swore she wouldn’t pay more than sixty dollars a night for her share of a room. That wouldn’t even buy her a slice of panini! Oh, my darling, no!

We have taken turns trying to explain things to her, and even though she doesn’t agree, she still wants to travel with us (and we are not the pensione set, dear readers), so she unfortunately has to suffer her minority opinion.

Finally, Katherine. It will be her first trip out of the country. I am so proud of her! She is newly divorced and has just gotten her first passport. She’s nervous enough as it is, and the drama is not helping matters. 

Will women ever be able to just get along? Was I a fool for believing that a girls trip could go off without a bitch, I mean a hitch? I will keep you abreast of all the catfights and disasters, the makeouts and makeovers… Goddess help me!

Divas, do you love to write? Do you have a piece to polish or prose to pen? Do you wish you had a writing group? Then this is the perfect time to attend Stephanies writing workshop at our Tango Diva Red Mountain Spa retreat. In between massages and yoga classes set amidst the pink wilds of Utah, we’ll wax seriously poetic and kidnap a Muse or two.

Consider it boot camp for both mind and body! Not only will you be ready for the holiday cocktail dress season and relaxed beyond reason, but you’ll also leave Red Mountain more inspired than ever to write. Be fruitful and verbify after I, along with fellow Divas in our class, gently but thoroughly workshop your original work

. Yes! I’d like to edit both my story and my buns…

What a night! Champagne poured freely and the guests mingled as we all waited for DEVO, yes, that fabulous band from the eighties, made their appearance at hotel DIVA.

DEVO was in San Francisco to immortalize themselves in the wet concrete right in front of the hotel. They band showed up in a red fire truck and the crowd went wild.

After the ceremony and a city proclamation, the few VIP guests join the band for a quiet glass of champagne and conversation.

What a fun night! Our next DIVA NATION contest will include a FREE 4-night stay at this Diva-worthy hotel just blocks from San Francisco’s shopping mecca. Stay tuned, the contest starts in October.

For more information about  hotel DIVA, check out: HOTEL DIVA