After a while, the traffic seems normal. It’s just part of getting to where you need to go. Though I try my damnedest to not go very far unless absolutely necessary, I ended up in Santa Monica and Venice yesterday to make a friend, an Italian friend at that, and celebrate being in L.A. one year. (Wow. I get why people slam the valley. The weather’s amazing there.) I drank no alcohol to celebrate, simply coffee. Soberly stumbling onto Urth Cafe, a trendy breakfast place with way too long of line, I ordered my usual - coffee and steamed soy. With pinky up, I sipped the beverage long after it was already gone. A walk along the crowded beach chatting with friends was enough to invigorate me, but the coffee added buzz to my canter. Men with trunks and women with faux bosom proved nothing and everything goes in Lost Angeles. Wear what you like. Wear what you don’t like. Don’t wear anything at all. Well, wrong country, but you get you my
I had someones hand to hold on top of that. I mean, I didn’t hold it, but I could’ve if I wanted to, and that’s nice. Parking Montage: Is it OK to park here? Do I need to pay to park here? Is it street cleaning day? How many hours can I park here? Do I need to feed the meter if it’s Sunday? End Montage. (This parking scare doesn’t happen in the valley, by the way!)
Eating our fancy salad-like dishes and sipping our lemonade, we talked of forming our own team and setting out into the world. I swear our lemonade was not spiked! I really enjoyed the energy of the day and the energy of my friends.
And then I pinched myself and it sorta hurt. It’s just that surreal sometimes. Life…
I experienced one of those distinguishing moments yesterday in Los Feliz Village, one of those moments where I feel adamantly surreal about being in L.A.. *Pinching Myself* Being outside of my usual backdrop of suburban Studio City pomp accelerated my sensory appetite that eclectic Los Feliz fed into with utmost vibe and trend.
I was getting my hair cut before my play date with a favorite 2 year old boy, the weather more crisp than any summer I’ve ever experienced. My freshly cut locks bounced in a “just stepped out of the salon” way that one could never reproduce at home. I meandered (ahem: strutted) to a coffee shop to grab a quick Bru pick me up, but really there is nothing quick about a pour over, so its popularity amuses. I eyed the hipsters and the non-hipsters alike - non-discriminating with my people watching skills - and shook my hair a little for those curious about me. After all, we are in the Entertainment Industry and I just paid middle dollar for my keratin and dead cells to be trimmed.
Navigating to the door with my fancy named Guatemalan brew, I dodged peddlers, beggars and bystanders in the most waspy manner I could muster to finally make it to Vermont Ave. This is equivalent to a video game’s level up, by the way. Pride intact, I felt ready to take on the world, or at least a two year old.
Hair. Check. Coffee. Check. Now, cue the music please. And just like that, Shuggie Otis was streaming from a restaurant somewhere nearby, my spirit wildly alive with Angeleno zest.