Wednesday: brown suede Jimmy Choo boots

One good thing about being stuck in L.A. was that I had some free time to do some shopping. And because the weather was so balmy, I was actually in the mood to think about my spring wardrobe. The bad thing (or maybe good, depending on your point of view — whether you are my accountant or not) was that I had no room in my luggage for any purchases!

Okay, there was room for a pair of Prada sunglasses — but nothing more!

Instead I came home with a shopping list.

1. The Pochette Onatah bag from Louis Vuitton’s new perforated suede line (it’s in the new arrivals section of vuitton.com), in the chocolatey cacao color — though there’s something yummy (in a creamsicle kind of way) about the orange color that makes me want to go against my better judgment and buy it… The whole can’t-spray-it, can’t-get-it-wet thing is bad enough, certainly in the post-blizzard slushy gray mess that is New York right now. (The streets look like they’re flowing with a cement-flavored Slurpee or something.) I have to go inspect it again back on my home turf — but could it be that there’s finally a Vuitton bag that’s perfect for me?

2. A fabulous pair of crocodile skin wedge slides from Prada — like these but in croc. They came in red or black at the Beverly Hills Neimans but I haven’t seen them on this coast yet. Good thing I’ve got a salesperson in every port.

3. A floral Catherine Malandrino dress that’s just begging for a garden party. Easy enough to imagine when it was 85 degrees out in L.A. yesterday.

4. Yeah, I’m late on the Vera Wang bandwagon — CFDA designer of the year and all — but how gorgeous is this coat?

And then I get back to the frozen tundra of New York and shoppers are just gearing up to scrounge for winter bargains at the Barneys Warehouse Sale starting this week. Not me, no way. I’m saving for spring!

Monday: Prada seahorse thongs

When I was a kid, I used to force myself to imagine the worst-case scenario in everything, with the logic that if I envisioned something it couldn’t happen — you know, since I’m not psychic.

Well, I wasn’t even trying that brilliant strategy when I spent most of Saturday thinking that the worst would happen: that my flight wouldn’t get cancelled before Sunday morning, that I would have to wake up at 4:30 a.m. and head to the airport, that I would spend hours there before all flights would be cancelled, and I’d be stuck here in L.A. for another day.

Okay, so I was only at the airport for three hours. Unfortunately it was 5:30 to 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday.

And, it turns out, I can’t fly back till Monday night, so I got an extra 36 hours on the west coast. I suppose there are worse things that could happen than getting snowed out of New York. But the truth is I love snow. (Hey, I grew up in Texas, where a single flurry would mean one thing: snow day! Actually two things, the other being massive pileups on the roads because no one could drive in such weather.) I love being curled up in my coziest cashmeres — indoors — while the fat, fluffly flakes fall outside. Throw in a fireplace, hot chocolate and a Laguna Beach marathon on TV and I’m all set.

Since I’m missing out, I’m going to recreate the blizzard in L.A. (a Southwester, perhaps?) by cranking up the A/C in my hotel room and getting under the covers with my trusty Lainey cashmere throw (I never travel without it, no matter how warm my destination may be). Hmm…. wonder if the room service here has S’mores….

Friday: black Gucci snakeskin peeptoes

I’ve never been an L.A. kind of girl. In an east coast/west coast battle I always knew which side I’d be on. Maybe it’s that New Yorkers have what a friend of mine calls “edge” — we’d take that to mean we’re cool, though I think others would interpret it to mean we’re too wound up. It’s easy to be happy all the time when you live in 80 degree, sunny weather all year round. It’s not unreasonable to be cranky when the winters are frigid and the summers are humid. And I’m not even talking about Seasonal Affective Disorder. Hey, between the footwear ruined by snow and the frizzy hair in August, we’ve got a lot to complain about.

Of course, every time I go to L.A. during the winter, my resolve wavers just a little bit. I mean, wearing sandals in February will do that to you. There was something about walking around in the sun (and yes, I know, that makes me a freak to be walking around in L.A.) that made me feel like I just might not be so doughy from a couple of months of not enough sleep or exercise but way too much comfort food. It was nice to feel the need to get a pedicure. No heavy coats, no hat head! Could it be true? Do I really… could I really… could it be that I love L.A.?

Then again, can you imagine how stressful it would be to have to be in swimsuit shape all year round?

Bah, L.A. is so overrated.

Wednesday: black Prada slides

If you’re reading this in the morning then I’m currently at 35,000 feet and hopefully sleeping. Because yesterday I got this crazy stupid idea in my head that I was going to pull an all-nighter. Okay, I didn’t even do that in college — well, maybe once, but I was irresponsible then — what was I thinking?

In truth I probably wouldn’t have slept all that well anyway, because I have these travel phobias. First there’s this fear of missing flights. It’s probably not an irrational one, since I’ve had many a scare — wishing, praying, swearing my way to the airport in a cab that’s stuck in unexpected traffic. And then there were all the times I’d just barely make it to Gare du Nord to get on the Eurostar… And they don’t even have a 30-minute rule for checking in.

It’s now 3:30 a.m. and and the car’s coming in 105 minutes. My head’s hurting… my eyelids are getting heavy… I’ve just about run out of things to watch on my DVR. I don’t know how I can stay awake. I might just have to re-pack my shoes. I’ve allotted five pairs for four days, and no, I don’t think that’s excessive. (Actually my frazzled brain is starting to think that’s not really enough…) But the real issue is how I will fit all those shoes in my carry-on because even greater than my fear of missing my flight is my deathlyfear of losing my luggage. I’m seriously considering putting my laptop in my checked luggage so I can fit all my shoes in my carry-on.

Seriously, this is not my delirium speaking. It’s the wisdom of experience! Last year I made the stupid mistake (again, it was a really early flight) of putting my Grammy outfit in the checked bag, handing it over to United, walking through security… and then realizing the agent had checked me into a flight to San Francisco. I rushed back to the counter, but my bag was gone. My heart was squarely in my throat. The agent promised to chase down my bag and put the correct tags on it, but I couldn’t wait for him to get back; I had to run to board my flight. So because I didn’t see him retagging it with my own eyes I spent the whole six-hour flight wondering if I’d ever see my things again. Now that’s what I call flight turbulence!

Monday: brown Gucci guccissima boots

I’ve known for a long time now that I’m going to the Grammys, but for some reason (oh, I don’t know, that little thing called work) I just haven’t gotten my act together finding something to wear. Now the event’s two days away, I’m chained to my desk all day and night and I have no idea what I’m wearing. And did I mention that my flight leaves at 7 a.m. the day of, and I get in to L.A. a mere five hours before I have to leave for the show? Sure, I’m staying in Beverly Hills, but that barely leaves time for a mani-pedi. Yeah, I’m good — but I’m not sure even I am that good.

It’s not that I haven’t been shopping the last few weeks (erm, let’s just say I’m BFF with a couple of Prada saleswomen…). I just keep thinking that I’ve bought tons and tons of evening wear and cocktail dresses over the course of the past year (okay, past decade) that I take directly from the store to my closet, in the garment bag, never to be seen again. Then when I have an event to go to, I think I have nothing to wear because I never remember what I have. And when I go shopping, I forget what I already have and buy more for the black hole that is my closet… It’s a vicious cycle.

It happened just last November when I went to a friend’s wedding and I confess I didn’t love my outfit. So this time I’m really tempting fate. I’m going to have to do some power packing tomorrow night. Now I just know I have something black and designer in that closet of mine…