LA List, and other things..

Excuse me, but I just had the most delicious realization. After several months of travels and half living out of my red carry-on bag and half in my Brentwood apartment (and the piles of clothes and books and ski gear, still not packed away, and the heels strewn near the bed, and gym bag in the corner…) my restlessness is starting to diminish! Although it will never completely fade because—let’s just face it, that’s who I am—I am reveling in the fact that I am at home in Los Angeles and I am enjoying it for face value, living in the present, appreciating what I have here. (My life is good, I am blessed….).

I am back to my motivations of squarely crossing off explorations and discoveries jotted down on my LA To-Do List (yup, such a list exists). Since I’ve been home I’ve gone on a bike ride with Roomie where we accidentally got tangled with a parade of other bikers, these bikers much more serious than us on our silly beach cruisers, who were biking for AIDS research. This past Friday night I went where no white chick from Scottsdale has ever gone before: to this ghetto fab roller skating rink (old school style) in a shitty part of LA for a retro birthday bash. We passed by the legendary Roscoe’s Fried Chicken and Waffles on the way, and we skated the rink to the tunes of “Baby Got Back” and, ironically, a song called, “White Girl.” On Saturday I melted with the crowds in the heat and humidity of the Dodgers game, high in the hills of Los Angeles and overlooking the city, we moaned and wiped away the sweat as we drank cool beers in the shades of the stadium, not once looking at the score or checking out the game. But how ‘bout those Dodger Dogs!? And last night, I cruised to the Sunset Strip with the Maryland Kids and Grant, ducked into the Foundation Room at House of Blues where the incense smells stronger and better than the food, and the drinks ain’t cheap, and we saw a great music show with other East Coast Transplants who came there to worship their band.

The guy at the door to the Foundation Room asked me where I am from and I said, “Oh no, I live here!” And he smiled, put a wrist band on me, and said, “Ah, a native!” I paused a quick minute and mumbled, in a half-confused voice, “No, but I’ve only lived here a year, I’m still new, I….” but he had already moved on to another person in line and the moment was lost.

And so it goes. I’ll always be restless but it’s not fun if you don’t stop to appreciate the smog and city lights from time to time. (Anyone want to go to Peru with me next year? I’m in discussions!)

Plus, rumor has it, there’s wine in these California hills…Wine, people!