I said those words as Matt and I drove home from a night hanging out in the garden restaurant of Chateau Marmont. While we were there, I drank wine and we all laughed and the heat-lamps kept us warm and the setting was private and beautiful. Jason, who was staying there, gave us the grand tour of the old-fashioned homey rooms, the adorable secluded bungalows, the heated pool, the grounds with lush plants and sweet-smelling flowers. We did not spot any celebs (though I'd heard Lindsay Lohan could show up there after being busted for a DUI) but felt like we were hanging with the beautiful people for a night.
On the way home, Beck played over the stereo, the traffic moved quickly, the lights of the city shown brightly and I felt happy to be heading to our little home at the Park La Brea in the heart of Los Angeles.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
"Everything is Different"
Matt said to me yesterday "everything is different about our new life – and even we are different." What's weird about moving to L.A. is that everything is different and everything is the same. In a way it feels totally foreign – yet everyone speaks English and uses American money and drives on the "correct" side of the road. There stores are the same – StarBucks, Gap, Banana, Crate and Barrel. Still, everything feels different – the weather, the quality of light, the people I see every day, the scents in the air, the way I transport myself from place to place. In a way it seems like people should be speaking a foreign language or we should be converting dollars into another currency because then we'd have a real excuse for being so out of sorts.
Random Notes: Tonight we have plans to go to the Chateau Marmont with our friend Victor and his friend, Jason. It's super Hollywood – where lots of celebs hang out. We are sooo, L.A. I can't even believe it. And, last week Matt went to the second to last night of American Idol, which is also so L.A. it cracks me up. And, we saw Sheryl Crow shopping for furniture.
New subject: When I was still in NYC, I found a stash of money I had been saving. It was a huge wad of $1 bills that I'd put away for 2 reasons: First, I had read "Rich Dad, Poor Dad," which suggests putting away $3 a day (I never did this, but sometime put in $2 and for a while was really into putting away $1 a day.) The second reason was Sept. 11. In a disaster, the ATMs might not work and I might need some cash on hand. Thus the wad of $$$. Matt saw it and laughingly suggested that if I brought all those $1 bills to the bank, the teller would think I was a stripper. Later, at the bank the man looked at the pile of money and raised an eyebrow – he totally thought I was a stripper! So I said to him, "It's my terrorism money," which made him look alarmed. "I mean, I had it in case there was another attack," I said. He looked at me like I was crazy, gave me nine $20 bills and was probably so relieved to see me go. (I have no good reason to tell this story, but it's been rattling around in my head, so I figured I'd write it down.)
Random Notes: Tonight we have plans to go to the Chateau Marmont with our friend Victor and his friend, Jason. It's super Hollywood – where lots of celebs hang out. We are sooo, L.A. I can't even believe it. And, last week Matt went to the second to last night of American Idol, which is also so L.A. it cracks me up. And, we saw Sheryl Crow shopping for furniture.
New subject: When I was still in NYC, I found a stash of money I had been saving. It was a huge wad of $1 bills that I'd put away for 2 reasons: First, I had read "Rich Dad, Poor Dad," which suggests putting away $3 a day (I never did this, but sometime put in $2 and for a while was really into putting away $1 a day.) The second reason was Sept. 11. In a disaster, the ATMs might not work and I might need some cash on hand. Thus the wad of $$$. Matt saw it and laughingly suggested that if I brought all those $1 bills to the bank, the teller would think I was a stripper. Later, at the bank the man looked at the pile of money and raised an eyebrow – he totally thought I was a stripper! So I said to him, "It's my terrorism money," which made him look alarmed. "I mean, I had it in case there was another attack," I said. He looked at me like I was crazy, gave me nine $20 bills and was probably so relieved to see me go. (I have no good reason to tell this story, but it's been rattling around in my head, so I figured I'd write it down.)
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Starting From Scratch
The board of my co-op in New York rejected the buyer for my apartment. When I heard the news, my stomach literally dropped like I was on a roller-coaster. I began to cry. I closed the door to my office. What's weird is that I knew this would happen. They were taking too long to decide. I have been sensing it would not work out, but I tried to ignore. Now, it's real.
I am upset. I am angry. I am a money panicker. But I have gotten advice from some wise women. Matt's sister, Sarah, told me that although it doesn't seem like it sometimes, things work out for the best in the end. (Sarah, you can correct me and tell me your exact words.) My mom told me that when she is going through something difficult, she thinks to herself: 'This will all be over in a year, maybe not in a week or a month, but in a year this will be done.' And my co-worker Emily, who was once rejected by a New York co-op, told me my apt. is great and it will sell. So I choose to believe these words.
Tonight, Matt and I are getting together with some good friends, Tobias and Michael, to watch the finale of "Lost" and order pizza. I'm so grateful to have that simple pleasure of friendship.
I am upset. I am angry. I am a money panicker. But I have gotten advice from some wise women. Matt's sister, Sarah, told me that although it doesn't seem like it sometimes, things work out for the best in the end. (Sarah, you can correct me and tell me your exact words.) My mom told me that when she is going through something difficult, she thinks to herself: 'This will all be over in a year, maybe not in a week or a month, but in a year this will be done.' And my co-worker Emily, who was once rejected by a New York co-op, told me my apt. is great and it will sell. So I choose to believe these words.
Tonight, Matt and I are getting together with some good friends, Tobias and Michael, to watch the finale of "Lost" and order pizza. I'm so grateful to have that simple pleasure of friendship.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Let's Call the Whole Thing Off
On Saturday, Matt and I were unpacking. It was sunny and I felt good about finally being able to locate some of my shit. If our life was a movie, this scene would be a montage of opening boxes, folding sweaters, moving furniture and smiles. But it's not. In the afternoon, Matt sat down in his green chair – the beautiful, cushy chair that he had long before he met me – and stared out the window. "Are you ok?" I asked, and rubbed his head. "I need some alone time," he said – curtly.
It scared me. Matt does everything right. He follows directions while making pasta. He shows up to work early and stays late. He drives the speed limit. But I don’t think he likes it, and I'm afraid that one day he will just say, "fuck it," and drop out – of everything. It seemed to me that sitting in the chair and staring at our new lawn, he was about to bolt – from California, from his job, from me.
About 15 minutes later, I walked into the living room and he was still in the chair, this time quietly snoring. Oh, he was just exhausted.
On Monday, he called me sounding like he'd been drinking a lot of coffee and said he was about to get a car. I knew he'd seen a used Volkswagen GTI with low mileage advertised at a dealer, so I asked, "Is it the GTI?" He paused for a while then said, "Yes." To be clear, I asked, "Is it the used one?" "No," he said. Turns out he was about to lease a brand new GTI, even though we had talked about buying a used car. Then I realized that mostly I had talked about that. He'd listened and said nothing.
A few hours later, he drove up in his new car, excited and panic-stricken as we both tend to get after spending large sums of money. (In my case, that is anything over $120.) We sat in the car and he told me that getting it means that we are really going to give Calif. a chance – for at least three years, which is the length of the lease. I told him about how worried I was he was going to up and leave during that alone-time in the green chair. He told me not to worry and not to say that. Then we went inside and ate tamales.
It scared me. Matt does everything right. He follows directions while making pasta. He shows up to work early and stays late. He drives the speed limit. But I don’t think he likes it, and I'm afraid that one day he will just say, "fuck it," and drop out – of everything. It seemed to me that sitting in the chair and staring at our new lawn, he was about to bolt – from California, from his job, from me.
About 15 minutes later, I walked into the living room and he was still in the chair, this time quietly snoring. Oh, he was just exhausted.
On Monday, he called me sounding like he'd been drinking a lot of coffee and said he was about to get a car. I knew he'd seen a used Volkswagen GTI with low mileage advertised at a dealer, so I asked, "Is it the GTI?" He paused for a while then said, "Yes." To be clear, I asked, "Is it the used one?" "No," he said. Turns out he was about to lease a brand new GTI, even though we had talked about buying a used car. Then I realized that mostly I had talked about that. He'd listened and said nothing.
A few hours later, he drove up in his new car, excited and panic-stricken as we both tend to get after spending large sums of money. (In my case, that is anything over $120.) We sat in the car and he told me that getting it means that we are really going to give Calif. a chance – for at least three years, which is the length of the lease. I told him about how worried I was he was going to up and leave during that alone-time in the green chair. He told me not to worry and not to say that. Then we went inside and ate tamales.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Cheesecake Hell
I'd never heard of the Cheesecake Factory until about a year ago when I visited my dad for Christmas and, to my horror, we ate there. I say "to my horror" because as a New Yorker, I am trained to hate all massive, giant-portioned, grossly slick chain restaurants. Now, we live across the street from The Grove -- an amusing, terrifying yet convenient mall -- in which a Cheesecake Factory in housed. Matt and I ate there last night -- at my suggestion. I figured it's close, cheap and easy. But halfway through our meal I was overcome with a nearly uncontrollable urge to run out of the restaurant. A huge family was milling around next to our table, scooping their heaping leftovers into boxes; the air conditioning was set on full blast; my grilled chicken was dry and overcooked. It took every once of willpower I possess not to jump up and run out screaming.
I've actually had this feeling a lot since moving to L.A. I'm not comfortable anywhere. Everywhere I go is too cold, crowded, unfamiliar, loud or whatever. I'm constantly wanting to leave wherever I am to find a place where I feel at home. That might take a while.
After the Cheesecake Factory ordeal -- poor Matt had to talk me down from my freak out -- I cam home and passed out on our mattress with all the lights on and still wearing my glasses.
This morning Matt summed it up best: "We probably shouldn't be eating at places that have the word 'Factory' in the name."
Cheers to that.
I've actually had this feeling a lot since moving to L.A. I'm not comfortable anywhere. Everywhere I go is too cold, crowded, unfamiliar, loud or whatever. I'm constantly wanting to leave wherever I am to find a place where I feel at home. That might take a while.
After the Cheesecake Factory ordeal -- poor Matt had to talk me down from my freak out -- I cam home and passed out on our mattress with all the lights on and still wearing my glasses.
This morning Matt summed it up best: "We probably shouldn't be eating at places that have the word 'Factory' in the name."
Cheers to that.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
It's Cold Here
I have never understood why everyone thinks California has such great weather. Maybe I'll get it in say, October, when it's still 70 degrees here and 50 in New York. But every morning I wake up freezing. And at night, it's frigid. It's MUCH colder than it was in my West Village apartment. I'm walking around here in a fleece and flannel PJs. I know what you are thinking: "sexy."
My dad warned me about something called "June Gloom," which is apparently a weather pattern in Southern California where its cloudy and gloomy in June. Well, it seems to have started early. Plus, this is the most beautiful time of year in NYC. And I miss it.
Also: I had a shitty day at work.
And: Communting sucks.
P.S. We now have a garbage disposal and a dishwasher, which we keep forgetting about. Matt just asked me what could go into a disposal, then decided to just throw everything into the garbage instead. I have been washing all our dishes by hand. It's funny…Yesterday we were walking to our car after shopping at Whole Foods to drive the 2 blocks back to our house, and Matt said. "I'm already used to it here. I'm serious! I'm used to it and I like it." I'm not used to it at all. And I don’t think he is either. He'd had a gin and tonic when he said that.
My dad warned me about something called "June Gloom," which is apparently a weather pattern in Southern California where its cloudy and gloomy in June. Well, it seems to have started early. Plus, this is the most beautiful time of year in NYC. And I miss it.
Also: I had a shitty day at work.
And: Communting sucks.
P.S. We now have a garbage disposal and a dishwasher, which we keep forgetting about. Matt just asked me what could go into a disposal, then decided to just throw everything into the garbage instead. I have been washing all our dishes by hand. It's funny…Yesterday we were walking to our car after shopping at Whole Foods to drive the 2 blocks back to our house, and Matt said. "I'm already used to it here. I'm serious! I'm used to it and I like it." I'm not used to it at all. And I don’t think he is either. He'd had a gin and tonic when he said that.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Jungle Jim and Jane
Matt and I both think of ourselves as kind of nature people. We watch a lot of programs on the Discovery Channel, and Matt has a near-encyclopedic knowledge of animals, insects and undersea creatures. But of course as New Yorkers, we have not had much chance to encounter actual living things other than rats in the subway. During the last three days in the desert, however, we've had all too many run-ins with "nature," which all have wildly challenged our self-image as nature people.
Roaches seem to have chosen my father's home as their summer vacation destination. Matt and I have seen no fewer than six monster-sized roaches, and have had two epic, multi-phase, mulit-weapon battles with them, which include Off, Windex, several shoes and lots of primal screaming. In addition, we have been taking long lovely walks on the walking trail behind Dad's house. It offers beautiful views of the valley, a bit of exercise and, of course, more nature. We have seen roadrunners, quail, a bunny -- and we witnessed one bird of prey kill a mouse and fly off with it. We also spend much of the walk swatting at insects, cowering from bees and generally being fascinated by and frightened of every buzzing, flying, swooping thing that comes near us.
This morning, while we drank coffee outside, a humming bird came to drink the nectar of a plant that hangs directly next to the table where we were sitting. We were a foot away as it flapped its wings madly and used its little tail for balance. We could literally feel the wind from its wings. I've never been so close to a humming bird. The experience turned us back into nature people (though I was bitten by a bug while we sat there!)
Roaches seem to have chosen my father's home as their summer vacation destination. Matt and I have seen no fewer than six monster-sized roaches, and have had two epic, multi-phase, mulit-weapon battles with them, which include Off, Windex, several shoes and lots of primal screaming. In addition, we have been taking long lovely walks on the walking trail behind Dad's house. It offers beautiful views of the valley, a bit of exercise and, of course, more nature. We have seen roadrunners, quail, a bunny -- and we witnessed one bird of prey kill a mouse and fly off with it. We also spend much of the walk swatting at insects, cowering from bees and generally being fascinated by and frightened of every buzzing, flying, swooping thing that comes near us.
This morning, while we drank coffee outside, a humming bird came to drink the nectar of a plant that hangs directly next to the table where we were sitting. We were a foot away as it flapped its wings madly and used its little tail for balance. We could literally feel the wind from its wings. I've never been so close to a humming bird. The experience turned us back into nature people (though I was bitten by a bug while we sat there!)
Sunday, May 13, 2007
L.A. Has No Heart
I got a car today - leased a VW Jetta 2.5. I only vaguely even know what that means, but the car seems sturdy, I like driving it, the cost was decent and our sales guy, Uncle Barry, was raised in the Bronx so we had a New York connection. When you buy a car you are forced to explain yourself a lot: People want to know what your last ride was (the subway) and how many cars you've had before (1 - my dad's) and who your insurance carrier is (what insurance?). When people find out that you have just moved from New York to Los Angeles, they all say things like, "Whoa! That is quite a change." Or "You must be going through some major culture shock." One woman at the car dealership said that she'd always dreamed of going to the city, but is scared now. When I asked why, she said, "Terrorism." That made me sad. The best reaction was from the Geico insurance guy on the phone. When he saw our former address -- which was in the West Village -- he said, "Wow, you were really in tthe heart of New York City. Now you're in L.A. It's so spread out. That city has no heart." And I felt homesick.
Also: My dad is much better and will be out of the hospital, we think, on Tuesday.
Also: My dad is much better and will be out of the hospital, we think, on Tuesday.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
The Unexpected
I thought moving to L.A. would be tough. I did not think that on the day I arrived, my father would be in the intensive care unit with a massive infection in his throat, face and neck. But that is what happened. Matt and I spent one day and night in Los Angeles -- mostly observing the plastic surgery victims who populate The Grove shopping mall -- then we drove to the desert where my dad is hospitalized. And suddenly I am talking to nurses and leaving messages for doctors and helping my dad. This is most unexpected.
When I moved to New York at age 22, I lamented that my parents were not around to help me. If I had been living closer to them, they would have bought me furniture and fed me home-cooked meals sometimes. Instead, I did it all on my own. Now, 13 years later, my parents are the ones who need help. And I am here to do it.
When I moved to New York at age 22, I lamented that my parents were not around to help me. If I had been living closer to them, they would have bought me furniture and fed me home-cooked meals sometimes. Instead, I did it all on my own. Now, 13 years later, my parents are the ones who need help. And I am here to do it.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
This Is It
Today is my last day in NYC. It's beautiful here. I'm wearing a dress - and no jacket - for the first time this year.
My coworkers had a lovely surprise goodbye party for me with champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.
Last night, I went for drinks with all my pals from my old job at Fox. We met at the bar where every single Fox goodbye party is held. Tradition.
This morning I did something very important. I wheeled my very old, rusty flat-tired bike out from behind the other decaying bicycles in my backyard, cleaned it off a bit - then took it over to a funky bike shop near the Hudson River. I left a note on it that read, "I know it doesn’t look like it, but I was once deeply loved. Then my owner let me fall into disrepair. But with a little work, and a new tire, I could make someone happy again. Can you help?"
Maybe that was psychotic, but that bike really helped me explore NYC and I could not just abandon it in the backyard to die. I think it will be taken care of.
There's more to do here, but I have said my goodbyes -- to people, to the city, to my young self -- and there's nothing else I can do to prepare to leave. So, tomorrow I will fly out of here.
My coworkers had a lovely surprise goodbye party for me with champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.
Last night, I went for drinks with all my pals from my old job at Fox. We met at the bar where every single Fox goodbye party is held. Tradition.
This morning I did something very important. I wheeled my very old, rusty flat-tired bike out from behind the other decaying bicycles in my backyard, cleaned it off a bit - then took it over to a funky bike shop near the Hudson River. I left a note on it that read, "I know it doesn’t look like it, but I was once deeply loved. Then my owner let me fall into disrepair. But with a little work, and a new tire, I could make someone happy again. Can you help?"
Maybe that was psychotic, but that bike really helped me explore NYC and I could not just abandon it in the backyard to die. I think it will be taken care of.
There's more to do here, but I have said my goodbyes -- to people, to the city, to my young self -- and there's nothing else I can do to prepare to leave. So, tomorrow I will fly out of here.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Bits and Parts…
The tress are really starting to bloom outside my window.
Today is my 35th birthday.
I finally visited the Frick yesterday. It's beautiful.
At our engagement/going-away/birthday party I cried, but mostly I had a wonderful time. Lots of friends came. The sun was out. We drank crisp white wine. We sat outside in Tribeca. It's a good way to say goodbye.
I'm leaving New York
Today is my 35th birthday.
I finally visited the Frick yesterday. It's beautiful.
At our engagement/going-away/birthday party I cried, but mostly I had a wonderful time. Lots of friends came. The sun was out. We drank crisp white wine. We sat outside in Tribeca. It's a good way to say goodbye.
I'm leaving New York
Friday, May 4, 2007
Saying Goodbye
This morning, Hank, an older guy who has lived in my building for 30 years stopped me on the way down the stairs to wish me luck and give me a hug (not in a creepy way). Also, another guy who lives there and who voluntarily tends to the garden told me he'd look after my plants if I leave them in the backyard for him. It was sweet.
I feel oddly compelled to go around to everyone I vaguely know in my neighborhood to say farewell -- but realize this compunction is probably psychotic. (When I was young and we moved, which was A LOT, I'd go around saying goodbye to every inanimate object in the house!) I'd like to say to my drycleaner, "Thanks for cleaning my clothes all these years, and mostly remembering my name - even though I have no idea what your name is. You seem nice and I'll miss you." And to my laundry person: "You never destroyed any of my clothes and only once did an unidentified pair of men's boxers end up in my laundry bag - Thanks! I'll miss you too."
I did tell Charlie, the ex-Mafia guy who sits on his stoop across from my apartment, that I was leaving. He gave me a 'good luck, kid' kind of farewell -- but that was like 2 weeks ago and I think he's annoyed that I am still here.
People say New York is this big anonymous city, but really every neighborhood has its regular fixtures. I don't know everyone's names, they don't know mine -- but there is a cohesiveness I'll miss.
I feel oddly compelled to go around to everyone I vaguely know in my neighborhood to say farewell -- but realize this compunction is probably psychotic. (When I was young and we moved, which was A LOT, I'd go around saying goodbye to every inanimate object in the house!) I'd like to say to my drycleaner, "Thanks for cleaning my clothes all these years, and mostly remembering my name - even though I have no idea what your name is. You seem nice and I'll miss you." And to my laundry person: "You never destroyed any of my clothes and only once did an unidentified pair of men's boxers end up in my laundry bag - Thanks! I'll miss you too."
I did tell Charlie, the ex-Mafia guy who sits on his stoop across from my apartment, that I was leaving. He gave me a 'good luck, kid' kind of farewell -- but that was like 2 weeks ago and I think he's annoyed that I am still here.
People say New York is this big anonymous city, but really every neighborhood has its regular fixtures. I don't know everyone's names, they don't know mine -- but there is a cohesiveness I'll miss.
6 Days Left...
Freaking out...
Our days now are full of goodbyes. Tomorrow we're having a farewell, engagement birthday party. I hope I can make it through. It's funny: one of the reasons for leaving the city is that because it felt lonely. But of course, now that we are going, I see we are surrounded by friends.
Our days now are full of goodbyes. Tomorrow we're having a farewell, engagement birthday party. I hope I can make it through. It's funny: one of the reasons for leaving the city is that because it felt lonely. But of course, now that we are going, I see we are surrounded by friends.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Crazy Empty - Except the Bathroom
I was only there for the beginning of the move -- and it was actually weirdly fun. There were four guys suddenly in our studio throwing all our belongings into boxes, ripping tape with their teeth, banging pots and pans, shoving pillows in with DVDs. We were listening to the radio -- Michael Jackson and Madonna -- and the sun was shining. It was like, 'Hey, we're moving to California and we're having a party!' Only of course, we didn’t know the guys and we were paying them $2,000.
Matt, who was in charge of hiring the moving co. and whose job it was to oversee the move, was hysterically oblivious to all crazy activity. At one point he turned to me and said, "How's the move going? I don't really have a sense of it." We live in a 400 sq. ft apartment. But he exercised the most amazing focus - on his computer, which was perched on the radiator where he was working. It cracked me up.
I left halfway through the move, when I was satisfied that they'd packed most of our stuff -- and left the things we asked them not to pack. In my infinite wisdom, I put everything that we are keeping with us to bring in our suitcases in the bathroom, so the movers knew that the bathroom stuff was all staying. Later I spoke to Matt when the move was done. He described the apartment as "crazy empty -- except for the bathroom, which is very full."
Matt, who was in charge of hiring the moving co. and whose job it was to oversee the move, was hysterically oblivious to all crazy activity. At one point he turned to me and said, "How's the move going? I don't really have a sense of it." We live in a 400 sq. ft apartment. But he exercised the most amazing focus - on his computer, which was perched on the radiator where he was working. It cracked me up.
I left halfway through the move, when I was satisfied that they'd packed most of our stuff -- and left the things we asked them not to pack. In my infinite wisdom, I put everything that we are keeping with us to bring in our suitcases in the bathroom, so the movers knew that the bathroom stuff was all staying. Later I spoke to Matt when the move was done. He described the apartment as "crazy empty -- except for the bathroom, which is very full."
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