Los Angeles
A couple of weeks ago, CJ said she wanted to take a little vacation. I said, Hey, I'm going to LA to start looking for places, wanna go with?
Of such chance questions are legends--and nightmares--born.
We set off this morning around noon. It would have been 9, except my car was in the shop; then it would have been 11, except I had to make a couple of stops at the Walgreens pharmacy, my house, the gas station...the usual.
We made an exciting and important discovery about driving from San Jose to Los Angeles via 101 (other than the fact that while, yes, it's longer, it's a hell of a lot easier on the mind than is Highway 5): every single small town, without exception, has a factory outlet mall.
"There are not that many factories," said CJ.
"Maybe they sell some of those cows we saw back there," said I.
"Factory-second cows...cows with slight imperfections..." said CJ.
To get us into the proper mindset for our long weekend down here, last night we watched Chinatown, the classic film noir-cum-Raymond Chandler flick about water. There ain't a heck of a lot of water in this state. It's amazing that we've been able to get away with 35 million people in the middle of a desert. All the hills were brown during our drive.
All the hills except the ones that had produce growing on them; those were well-watered and quite green.
CJ and I, of course, plan to do our part to conserve the state's water. We're here for the margaritas.
Traffic was horrible but not terrible-at-a-standstill-horrible on the 405 as we drove in. We both listened to traffic reports intently as the traffic reporter rattled off a huge list of accidents and slow-ups on the 405, the 10, the 110, the Century, the Hollywood, the Pasadena.
"I have no idea what he's talking about," said CJ.
I will, and pretty soon at that. I'm finding it really scary.
We checked into the hotel and arrived in our room tired, sweaty, and altogether way too icky after our drive. And neither of us had brought toothpaste.
"There must be somewhere around here to buy toothpaste," CJ said.
"Buy?" I said. I picked up the phone and called Star Service. The little card on the counter in the bathroom said that if we didn't have any toiletries to give Star Service a call, and I took them up on the offer. "Oh hi, do you have toothpaste?"
A few seconds later a man arrived at the door bearing three prepackaged combinations of toothbrushes and tiny little tubes of paste.
"I could get used to this," CJ said.
"Oh, definitely," I said, nodding vigorously as I ripped into one of the packages for the toothpaste.
I have Darin to blame for my hoity-toity taste in hotels. He indulges me. Book anywhere, he says. Order room service. Go ahead, it's okay. Darin has, in just a few short years, managed to produce what my parents never did: a monster. I call myself a Princess, because I'm getting accustomed to being spoiled.
When I go out looking for apartments, I have to remember my base requirements for a place to live: 1) I will wake up alive every morning and 2)air conditioning. That's about it. I don't need fancy amenities and lots of space. I have lots of space elsewhere, and besides which, that's why God invented coffee houses--so you can have someplace to spend time in outside of your apartment.
Just got back from Tiffany's housewarming, and I'm toasted. Too much wine, too little food. Story of my life really.
I got lots and lots of advice about where to live. Tiffany rooted lots for Santa Monica--but she's biased, she wants me to live nearby. I also heard many votes for Pasadena, particularly old Pasadena, "the funky part." No one voted for Burbank or Studio City, the suburbs that I have been considering. Every place sounds like it's going to be several hours of commuting away from USC. I am not used to driving that much. I guess I'll get used to it.
Tiffany's apartment overlooks the ocean. It's a great place. It's got a weird layout--you walk from the living room through the bedroom into the kitchen--but it's a neat apartment, and really, that's what counts around here. I'm learning quickly about LA living.
CJ and I have ordered room service, because while we are sure some place in Santa Monica must be open at this hour, we do not know where that place is. On the walk back from Tiffany's CJ asked me lots of questions about the gossip on a mutual friend of ours. I've had lots to drink, I haven't had that much to drink.
Although, looking at what I've been typing, maybe I have.
Mental note: don't drink so much around CJ.
Last Updated: 28-Jun-96
©1996 Diane Patterson