Posted in books, Reviews, Uncategorized

A Book Review: Once Upon a Star


Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy…

I finished another memoir last night.  Once Upon a Star, by Peggy Trentini.  If you’ve ever flipped through a lingere catalog and wondered, “What is it like to be a lingere model?” or, more specifically, “What would it have been like to be a lingere model in the late 80s, early 90s?” this is the book for you.

Peggy, a former member of the Swedish Bikini Team, Frederick’s of Hollywood model, and Token T&A actress (you know how in the 80s, there was always at least one gratuitous boobie shot in any movie? that), and lover/mistress of Sylvester Stallone, Vince Neil, Billy Idol, Mick Jagger, Bret Michaels, Johnny Depp, Mark Messier, and Kevin Costner, and possibly the one willing woman in LA that Sean Penn did not sleep with, has written an entertaining little book about what it was like to go to bed with half of Hollywood’s A-list either on, or before the first date.  (And you know it was the 80s because the only mention of condoms is in her having seen some on someone’s bathroom counter.)  I wouldn’t call it a good book.  That would be too far of a stretch, but Trentini comes across as someone I might like to have over for a girls night.  She’d have some great stories, for sure!

What stood out to me:

  • Billy Idol liked to do it on top of a mink bedspread.  I was very worried about a) how sanitary this was, as it is very difficult to clean fur, b) how many different mink bedspreads Billy Idol might have had in order to manage the difficulty of keeping them clean, and c) whether or not the fur would shed?
  • Whether Trentini ever found out why Bret Michaels never takes off his bandana–and I mean never–because she did mention it.
  • How all these men seem to have the stamina of Danielle Steele heroes, after drinking ship-sinking vats of liquor.
  • Life before cell phones was much more private.
  • So THAT is how the Sandra Bullock lesbian rumor got started!
  • I was really worried about that mink bedspread.  Especially, after she mentioned how frequently they got it dirty.

The long and short of it is this:  Sly, Vince, Billy, Mick, Bret, Johnny, Kevin, and Mark were all superior lovers with no flaws, save that they weren’t monogamous.  Trentini had her success in LA, and lived to tell about it.

The book is part adorable, part ridiculous, part salacious, and entirely unbelievable.  If you’ve got a late summer vacation planned, and you need something to read by the pool, give it a whirl.  If only to live vicariously through someone who got to live out Rebel Yell.

3 out of 5 stars for sheer entertainment value

Posted in Uncategorized

The Only Time the Words “SAG” and “BUTT” Are Acceptable in the Same Blog


Because I have lovely friends who are affiliated with the Screen Actors Guild, I got to attend the local SAG Awards party (and won some awesome SAG Swag.)  They trust me not to scare off the talent, so I also got to work the box office with my former colleague (and still friend) Sheila.  Thank goodness she was with me because I am terrible with celebrities.

Isn’t that crazy?  I know all the gossip-worthy ones, and the ones who are on the few shows I watch, but outside of that…  Listen, I’ve confused Spike Jonze for Spike Lee, and Terrence Malik with Terrence Howard.  That’s unforgivable.  Terrence Malik is a screenwriter and producer.  Terrence Howard is a spokesman for baby wipes.  I also have a really hard time with Guy Pearce and Christian Bale, Leighton Meester and Rachel Bilson, and–okay, ask my husband, I confuse everyone.  I’m excited when I get one right.  Like when Trinity from The Matrix showed up on Chuck and I knew it was Trinity, and didn’t think she was Xena, because yes, I have confused Trinity for Xena.

One gentleman came through and Sheila said, “Lane!  That’s [famous actor]!”

I said, “Who?”

“[Famous Actor]!”

“Don’t know him,” I shrugged.

She helpfully supplied a quick list of hits and I squinted and tilted my head.  He looked sort of familiar, but he was no Johnny Depp, you know?  However, THIS GUY, was Johnny Depp.

Fauxny Depp came in dressed in the distressed fedora and Buddy Holly rims we’re so used to seeing on Johnny, but unlike the swirling cloud of rumor that Johnny accessorizes with a body scarf of stink, Fauxny had no discernible odor at all.  That was my first clue that he was a celebrity lookalike.

Seriously, I thought to myself, “That guy looks a bloody lot like Johnny Depp.  I wonder if that is Johnny Depp.  I’m gonna play it cool.  Hmm.  Doesn’t smell.  That’s not Johnny Depp.  Why would Johnny Depp be at this party and not the one in LA?”  That was my second clue.  The third was when Alex Mazieri introduced himself as…Alex Mazieri.  Can’t fool me.

Glad I played it cool.

The other highlight of my evening was having a Butt Sketch made.

I’ve heard of these before and always avoided them.  I thought they were caricature style sketches of backsides, and the last thing I want to see is my tuckus in the fisheye lense of the caricature artist.  I walked up on the artist, Rhett, as he was sketching the backside of a zaftig woman in a fur.  It was actually lovely and I determined that I should have a portrait made of my own posterior.

Here it is.  As Dana Carvey-as-George Michael might say, “Look at my butt!  The worst thing you can do is try to ignore it.”

If you should ever have a Butt Sketch drawn, do not choose this pose. You will end up feeling like a swaybacked mule. Get comfy.

 

The front of me looked like this:

Alas, I have no career as a celebrity lookalike in front of me. You know I would.

It was good times all around.