I have been searching for a new (and not-so-humble) abode for nearly five years. Seems impossible but it’s all truth. This quest has taken me high into the hills of Hollywood, deep into the canyons of Santa Monica; estates in, like, gated communities, you know, like, in the Valley; beachfront bungalows along the Pacific coast.  Even as far as NYC, where I was whisked about in a black Lincoln town car, flitting between fabulous high rises, each with jaw-dropping views and five-star resort amenities. (Um, maid service, daily continental breakfasts, Friday night cocktail parties for residents all at no charge, anyone?)

But for the past 16 months, I have been pretty particular about one in particular. Then this week, after months of negotiations and culminations, walk-throughs and drivebys, buildups and letdowns, we decided to walk away. To be sure, this was not the expected turn of events, but even more surprising has been my reaction. I’m not disappointed. Not depressed. But actually, relieved. Yup, relief.

For so long, it was like trying to force a square peg in a round hole. All these problems, big and small, tripping up what should have been my joyous Jimmy Choo stride into the flyest house on the block.  And finally – FINALLY – I stopped. And that brings me to what just might be the most revelatory covetworthy idea yet. Covetworthy Tip #84: Don’t force it.

Incidentally, this truism is worth applying to many facets of a covetworthy girl’s life: be it shoes, relationships, high-waisted pants or the biggest financial decision you’ll make in your entire life. You know, when you’re working too hard to make it work? Yeah, don’t.

And as if I needed any more proof, there’s also this: since Monday, I’ve thrice been complimented by strangers on my makeup (when all I was wearing was moisturizer, Great Lash, eyeliner and Smashbox gloss.) Then two people stopped me in Beverly Hills and asked if they’ve seen me on television.

Coincidence? I think not.  Just goes to show that a clear head trumps clear skin anyday.

You have to be taught to be second class; you’re not born that way. -Lena Horne

I pay homage to a true original, Lena Horne, who died today at the age of 92. Coco Chanel once said that a woman needs to be only two things: classy and fabulous. Throw in talented, fiery, original, beautiful and you have Ms. Lena.

When I think of the women of her era, I am amazed at what she endured, what she sacrificed, what she learned to smile and bear to pursue her dreams. The little deaths, the indignities large and small. Singing her heart out to a packed house but not able to order a drink at the same bar.  In what should have the height of her career, she decided to speak her mind and stand her ground, nevermind the impact on her career and her reputation.

I love that she was wholly and undeniably Lena. One of her critics wrote that she was “ageless … tempered like steel, baked like clay, annealed like glass; life has chiseled, burnished, refined her.”

What a wonderful lesson for the rest of us covetworthy ladies in waiting, seeking our own place in history. Today, I honor you, Ms. Horne. You made it okay to play it out on your own terms. Thank you.

For years, I have been pining for a Proper Home Library. (By “Proper Home Library,” I am not referring to the two shelves in my dank cave home office where the esteemed works of Emily Bronte, Maya Angelou and Steve Harvey Malcolm Gladwell live.  I mean a wall stocked neatly with books of beautiful prose and thought-provoking tomes, and a beautiful upholstered reading chair befitting a smartypants glamourpuss like me.)  Whenever I visit someone’s house and their books are displayed fashionably, orderly, prominently, proudly, I get a real bad case of the envies.

I have no space for a PHL of my own right now. The sexy hilltop lovenest we bought seven years ago now has exactly 100% more humans and approximately 300% more noise-making plastic things that must go…somewhere. So imagine my surprise when, surfing for beautiful things to write about on this blog, I came across this.

How gorgeous is THIS?!? I am enthralled by this and it just proves my point. Covetworthy Tip #938:  Open your eyes. Covetworthy is everywhere. This is elevated beyond a library: it’s an art piece, a conversation starter, and yes, the mother of all geek chic projects. I mean, who organizes their books according to jacket color? Are we in agreement that this will make it impossible to find a specific book? But aren’t we also in agreement that we don’t give a rat’s ass if the results are this good?

This photo has inspired me to create beauty around me and to find luxury in the little things, the mundane, the everyday. So today I’m starting with my bookcase.

What are you inspired to make more beautiful?

Since everyone and their waitress/porn star/white supremacist lover is claiming an addiction these days, I feel safe sharing mine. I’m a Dress Addict. No rehabilitation on the horizon. I just can not get enough. And though I loved that denim phase (as in, Cute Top + J Brands + Killer  Heels. Repeat.),  I am beyond thrilled about the latest fashion fixation to rebound around: Dresses, The Sequel. Yahoo.

But a dress, no matter how great, is just a dress if I merely put it on.  The real challenge – and all the fun – comes in completing the look. I believe that, if life is theater, dressing the part is only half the show. I’m about owning the outfit and the attitude. Which brings me to today’s tip.

Covetworthy Tip #543. A little roleplay never hurt a thing.

Her iPhone? Orphaned on the Starbucks counter in a sea of discarded Splendas.  Directions to the restaurant where you’re having your much-ballyhooed girls’ night? Still sitting in her printer. Remembering that girls’ night is tonight?  Only after your two emails and urgent voicemail.

You’re the Friend of a Forgetter. You’re always there to remind, remember and even rescue, depending on the circumstances. Krazy Glue couldn’t make vital information stick to her. This is a tried and true friend, who absolutely would be there for you in your time of need if she could only recall what you needed. Plus she’s sweet as pie, which makes your secret desire to kill her all the more tragic.

So the next time you have to buy her something, forgo the journals and the Franklin Coveys and the electronic organizers – all blatant hints to curb her scattiness – and give her something she’ll want to remember like the Forget Me Knot ring by Kiel Mead.  It’s a simple and subtle gesture that lets her know you know her well and love her anyway.

Sentimentality + practicality = perfection at gift time. I can’t promise that she’ll never forget your birthday again, but at least she’ll remember why she owes you big time.