A Perfect Day in L.A.Part of: LA
[Happy Birthday Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.! You were in my thoughts all day long.]
I was wearing the best sweater in my dream last night. It was very modern/retro with large buttons on the side and had a cool neckline. The dream’s tone, in general, was one of anxiety—at one point, some serial killer guy was chasing me or something. Sometimes I wish I could capitalize on these dreams. I’ve had dreams of really cool houses with amazing interior design. The thing that sucks, is that there is no way my real life interior design skills are comparable to my dream ones. That makes no sense. My fashion design skills could be equal.
Yesterday was a perfect Southern California day with temperatures between 70 and 74. I even wore a sleeveless shirt on my fast walk. I walked at lunchtime in Santa Monica, so I got to see all the people in their stuffy business clothes out and about. Sometimes I have nightmares about having a 9-5 office job again. The only wardrobe I’ve ever needed for a job was a business casual one, but then those clothes would be tainted. (No one wants to wear their work clothes for pleasure, no matter how cool they are.)
I did a few errands on my walk and walked through part of farmer’s market. Some vendors were complaining in a nice manner about the lack of people, “Maybe they’re all at the beach,” one of the older women lazily said. The market looked pretty crowded to me. Earlier I had gone by my local coffeehouse and noticed that no one was there. Where do the usual writers go when it’s nice out? That’s what I want to know. I don’t think they go to the beach or hiking. I can’t really picture that.
After my walk, I went to one of my favorite French cafés, Le Marmiton on Montana Ave. People watching on Montana is always fun. I like to go there around 2 or 3 PM when people don’t eat.
Ugh, there were many homeless people out yesterday. A woman came up and asked me for change. I get irritated after a certain amount of homeless folks ask me for money in one outing. Folks, I have no money, and that’s not a lie. Then there’s a woman (53ish) with her young daughter (10ish), and they were both wearing impossibly short miniskirts. The daughter had on Ugg boots. That fad is so played, that it’s surpassed being annoying.
There was also a French couple, smoking while sipping espresso. I don’t think it’ll ever sink in that some people sit outside to smoke. I always frown at the smoke, like it's in the wrong.
I had the waiter who always loudly asked, “Do you want tap water with ice?” whenever I specified I’d like some *regular* water.
At the table across from me, there was a typical Montana Ave. divorcee. Well, she looked more Beverly Hills or Encino. She must have a good plastic surgeon and trainer, because she was in her late 40’s/early 50’s and looked amazing. I’m talking about the kind of amazing you only achieve by having a lot of money. (Think Demi Moore) I think she could compete with a twenty something. Her hair was super-long--that’s the only thing I’d change. My first thought was: gross—another LA cliché. I’m always suspicious of women who are in this category. However, I overheard some of her conversation with her younger boyfriend or Boy toy, and she seemed really cool.
Malibu Barbie spoke sweetly to her nanny when she called. Oh, this woman sounded like she lived in Malibu, because she was talking about meeting someone at Granita.
It’s cool that Malibu Barbie and Boy toy ordered a bottle of white wine in the middle of the day. It went well with their salads. I wished I could’ve had a glass, but didn’t want to be sleepy midday.
At first, I couldn’t figure out Malibu Barbie’s relationship with Boy toy. I knew they were either friends or lovers. Boy toy was around ten years younger.
After lunch they hugged in the middle of the sidewalk and walked with their arms around each other. I admired Malibu Barbie’s really cool smallish patent leather Prada bag and she was wearing a cool outfit. Malibu Barbie was wearing Miss Sixty jeans and a very light pink tank top, which showed off her prefect (fake?) breasts that were not obnoxiously big. She had a hot pink cast on her right arm, with evidence that she broke a finger. In fact, I thought she’d probably make a fun friend. I don’t know why I found all of this charming, but I liked her vibe.
I was happy that the traffic had finally calmed down. The last couple of days, being around crowded places has really irritated me. I drove out of both Trader Joe’s and Ralphs parking lots last night without going in, because there were too many cars. I don’t remember the last time I did that. I didn’t want to wait in line forever for the few items I needed. Then I didn’t have the energy left to go to Whole Foods, which was probably busy, but there’s always parking and a very short wait in line.
I watched part of “The Apprentice” last night. Those apprentice people were practically all tools. While *trying* to sell lemonade, one of the guys even chased a guy on a bicycle, blocking him with a sign for the lemonade. He almost made the guy wipe out. But, then again, anyone who gets an MD and a MBA has to be a little nuts. Another guy on the show should be selling used cars, because he is so over-the-top in his sales technique. The women weren’t much better. The most annoying one so far is the black chic who used to work for the President in The White House. She seems to think she is way above everyone else and maybe she is—Miss Prissy.
For the second time yesterday, I was relieved I didn’t have to be stuck in offices with boring people like that. It’s so annoying when people get huge egos about where they work or what college they went to. I wanted to yell at some of those people: Get over yourself! There’s always someone smarter and better educated than you are. I could never work for a man with one of the worst comb-overs ever. It would be way too distracting, and I’d be fighting off laughter each time I saw Mr. Trump. However, I do like Mr. Trump’s directness.