Sometimes I wish I could be the rail thin girl who can sit Indian Style at my peg legged dining table and drink Tennessee whiskey from a vintage Collins glass in my Cuban inspired kitchen. Listen to Serge Gainsbourg, smoke cigarettes and write the next “Reservoir Dogs”, then drive over to Culver City in my shiny Benz and hi-five my Rabbi on Shabbas. Wait, that is me. Except, substitute Moët in whiskey’s place and this column for “Reservoir Dogs”. Oh and I’m curvy. Diary of a curvy girl, read on…

This last week I went skydiving for the first time.  Skydiving is where you purposely jump out of a perfectly good airplane with a piece of "rip-stop" nylon that uses "zero porosity", otherwise known as a parachute. A Norwegian friend of mine is having a Scandinavian docu-series filmed about her life here in glossy Hollywood so she asked me to do this segment with her because she said, “You, Aleeza are de craziest uf all uf my friends” so of course in this case I would have to say yes, live up to the expectation and jump out of that perfectly good airplane at 13,000 feet with a guy who looked like one of the original cast members of Point Break strapped to my back. No problem.