There and Back Again, Illustrated

It certainly doesn't take long to get reacclimated to the hustle and bustle and sturm and drang and heightened security alerts of life in New York City, does it?

Had I written this entry thirty-six hours ago, whilst we were still nestled safely within the cool confines of our Designer Imposters hotel, I might have gone on and on about how all the bitching and moaning I've done about Los Angeles during my discussions about it with M. - usually something along the lines of, "Sure, move back to L.A., have fun, let me know how it is" - came to naught, as I found myself actually enjoying myself there.

The temperature, the cute houses, the relatively large expanses of sky, the slightly lower cost of living....I've still got my clawed feet planted firmly on the edge of reason, aided in equal parts by the distance, the smog and the attitude, but I did feel my grip loosening at least a few times.

Let's make it an even ten:

1. During our first full day, we took a drive to El Matador beach, and whom should I spy within two minutes of hitting the sand but Joely Richardson and John Hensley, making out...! This will only interest those who know who Joely Richardson and John Hensley are, and that they star on Nip/Tuck...as mother and son. This caused me great excitement as I have just recently started Netflixxing their show. And because I saw them first, because M.'s usually-uncanny celebrity sensor was compromised by our transcontinental flight. And, 'cuz we're creepy, we captured it on digital.

2. This sighting was followed, over the course of the following five days, and in no particular order, by Sinead O'Connor (staying at our crappy hotel with her Reggae band, looking a bit pasty in a pink kerchief, leading M. to query, "I guess she's still a nun?"), Kato Kaelin (orange, yet flawless, skin), Jay (of Jay and Silent Bob, looking girly), Scott Speedman (looked hot, bad hair, also looked high and/or drunk and/or schizophrenic), Jay Alexander (as in "Miss", as in America's Next Top Model, as in nappy head o' hair), James Denton (Desperate Housewives; we were soon redistracted by our delicious Margaritas), and Balthazar Getty (didn't actually see him, M. did, wouldn't have even mentioned him except that now I've come to find out he's now starring on Alias, which in retrospect makes him a bigger sighting than I thought). Mainly C- and D-listers, but enough to make me feel as though I were inside the pages of In Touch Weekly, or at the very least Life & Style. Maybe Star. Oh, and also, we were THISCLOSE to seeing Lindsay Lohan crash her car in front of the Ivy. Like, one hour too early. That could have been us in the pages of In Touch Weekly, being carted onto the ambulance. I'll bet that poor Mexican man didn't even know what a coup he'd pulled off.


Groomzilla, trapped, high tide.


The photos that could have netted me at least $25.00.


The Ivy Drive-by: Lost Opportunities.

3. After five days of begging and reminding, M. took me to House of Pies on our last night in town. Regular readers of ITW will recognize this as the place oft-sited as responsible for Kirstie Alley's incredible weight gain. I had lemon meringue pie, which I am fairly certian is not what Kirstie was eating, but I needed something fruity to wash down the In 'n Out burger I'd consumed two minutes earlier.


At last.


What Would Kirstie Eat?



4. The gay bars in L.A., while overall leaning slightly to the left of cheese, have cool things like 10:30pm happy hours and strippers that stand around naked in bathtubs.

5. One of L.A.'s main food groups would appear to be fast food, except they somehow manage to package it in the guise of healthy-food-on-the-go. We went to In 'n Out Burger (twice) (they slice their potatoes fresh...before they deep fry them), Baja Fresh (grilled fish tacos...with double-deep-fried chips) and Coo Coo Roo (BBQ chicken sandwich...with a side of butternut squash).

6. When M. had a work meeting on our second-to-last day, he dropped me off at Crate & Barrel to play the fun scanner-gun wedding registry game. Not as much fun as I'd imagined doing it alone, but I simply adopted the stoic face of a high-class registry widow, avoided the quizzical and/or reproachful stares, and let my fingers do the scanning. Other than an over-abundance of Melamine, a few too many high-ball glasses and two toasters, I was creative yet restrained. (Point of interest: we have decided to cancel our Williams Sonoma registry in favor of Crate&Barrel and Bed,Bath&Beyond, which will deprive us of gold-plated muffin tins but should provide adequate consumer savings to nab us bonus points with our generous guests).

7. Did I mention In 'n Out Burger?



8. At the suggestion of a friend of a friend who said we Simply Had To Do It, M. and I donned our cute clothes and headed over the Roosevelt Hotel on Monday night to hang out with Paris and Nicole and Lindsay. And got to the velvet (black leather, actually) rope. And were summarily dismissed. And (me, anyways) felt like we were back in fifth grade, not getting picked for dodgeball. Or being picked off by a dodgeball. At least the bouncer was nice enough to lie and tell us it was a private party. This one belongs in the bottom ten, but I need to include it as part of my personal psychotherapeutic journey towards getting over the fifth grade. I feel better. In a still-crying sort of way.

9. T-shirts during the day, long sleeves at night. Less than ten really tall buildings. Relative silence. I could clearly hear my own thoughts for the first time in a long, long time, and realized they weren't screaming in delusional pain and agony so much as screaming to get a little attention. And also to tell me how unruly my unibrow had grown. This silence was aided by our lack of readily accessible cable and internet. Is it a bad sign when Los Angeles, CA, starts to feel like Lancaster, PA?

10. I could say something sappy about finally having some quality time with M., and how nice it was to finally be able to just lay in bed and talk with him without hearing sirens and screams and horns outside, or how it was really nicely rejuvenating to just hang out with him and his nice friends and his old haunts and not be distracted by computer porn or the growing list of unwatched shows on our DVR or the fact that we are living beyond in our means in a city built for the exceedingly wealthy, or how I maybe re-remembered why I am marrying him in the first place.

I could say those things. Or I could say that the first person to buy us the 6-Piece Melamine Bowl Set and the Kitchen-Aid Mixer in Pistachio gets first dibs on our enormous House of Pies(TM) banana cream wedding pie. On your marks....


The art of the self portrait, continued.


OK, enough, someone please shoot us.


No, with a camera, silly!


Seriously, though, how's my hair? I think M.'s in my light.