Beach Bound

I've been living in L.A. for nearly 7 weeks and have yet to go to the beach. Even though I have lived here before, the New Yorker in me imagined life in L.A. would include lots of riding my bike by the beach, playing in the sand, watching the sunset over the Pacific. It's not that, at least not now. (I still feel like it could be if I lived in a different neighborhood.) But real life gets in the way. Even here I have to do things like work, shop for groceries, sit in traffic, do laundry and pick up dry cleaning. Still, I'd like to go to the beach.

"Oh, Good God!"

So on my 10-minute lunch break I decided to walk around the block -- literally, out the building and around the parking lot. That's my big outing. Anyway, I see a guy sitting on the sidewalk eating coleslaw out of a plastic container. At first I thought -- because there is nowhere to sit outside -- that he's just a biz dude enjoying the sun, but on closer inspection I see he's homeless. When I get almost to him he yells: "Oh, Good God!" to which I say, "What?" He answers: "You are beautiful!" I laugh and continue walking. Then he adds: "Not only are you beautiful...I just wish I was your man!"

So here's my confession: I love a good catcall. Obviously, I have a self-esteem problem, but a "hey baby, you look good" always makes me smile. In New York, men are constantly yelling at women. I got used to at least weekly affirmation from strangers. So this made me feel right at home.

L.A. Style

I did something I bet a lot of native Angelinos have never done -- I took the Los Angeles City subway. Yeah, baby. That's 'cause I'm an NYC girl.

The funny part, of course, is that I had to drive to the subway.

Should I Go Back to NYC?

My hair needs coloring. And I have to visit an eye doctor. I’d like my hair colored by James at Devachan on Broadway. And would prefer to have Dr. Viola Kanevsky on Columbus Avenue in New York examine my eyes. Could I go back to New York just to visit the doc and colorist? A couple of weeks ago Matt went back. Ok, so he was there to see his mom and sister, but he also got a haircut at his barber on Thompson Street. That made me jealous. How many beauty/medical needs do I need to accumulate to justify a $400 plane ticket? Hmmmm....

Branching Out

Today at work these things happened:
1. Someone stopped by my office to say hello.
2. I had a meeting with three other people
3. There was a going-away lunch for someone, which I actually attended.

It’s a big day at work when I get to talk to people besides on the phone.

I also made plans to have dinner with an old college friend next week. And this weekend, Matt and I are driving to the desert to see my dad. We’re doing our best to have social lives. I wish -- and Matt really wishes -- that he had a pal or two out here. He has vowed to call some of his sister’s L.A. friends, which would be great because they're people he is connected to, instead of people I'm connected to. Matt’s sister mentioned coming out for a visit. Sarah, if you see this, think about coming out soon!

AND
Wacky Things About L.A.
-- Sometimes it strikes me as so weird that everyone drives around at speeds in excess of 40 mph on city streets between these little white lane lines – I mean they are just lines on the ground, not a force field! Besides that line, the only thing between my car and someone else’s car is a few feet of air.

-- Our neighbor Susan is 101 years old. She comes up to my chin, which makes her about 4 feet tall, she's very sprightly and loves to leave us bags of her Meals on Wheels leftovers.

-- Seriously, no one walks here.

A Crack in the Wall

For my entire New York life I hunkered down thinking to myself, “Just get through this.” Whatever it was – jobs I hated, boys not calling, crippling loneliness – there was nothing to do but hang on. I refused to let the city get the better of me. It made me strong. But it covered me a tight protective shell that made breathing difficult. Now that I am home again, it's starting to crack bit by bit.

Last night Matt and I rode our bikes to El Coyote so we could have as many margaritas as we wanted without drinking and driving. When I first suggested it, Matt looked at me like I’d asked him to walk barefoot through the subway. But once we were on the ride, the warm wind on our skin, he seemed to love it. And on the way home, after a dinner of enchiladas, heaps of fresh cooked chips, guacamole and carnitas, I felt alive and free and like I had gotten away with breaking the rules as we pedaled through the dark the three blocks home.

Today, I was late for work and I didn’t care.

This afternoon, after a brief stint at the gym, I lay down on the grass in the sun to stretch and meditate. I didn’t mind that the grass was itchy or that I might have looked silly.

Slow steps toward letting myself breathe through the cracks in the armor, toward living a life not just hunkered down.

What the Hell Time Is It?

I am living double life, if not a triple life. I reside in L.A. now, (which is in the same time zone my parents live in, though I keep forgetting that.) But I basically work in New York. Almost everyone else on "my team” at work is in NYC. When they want to meet at 2 p.m., they mean 11 a.m. for me. When my boss says I am expected to work until 7:30 p.m., he means 4:30 p.m. I am constantly counting forward and backward three hours. And I’m horrible at math. At first it was easy because I was in a New York mindset and, like all New Yorkers, assumed everything revolved around the city. But I’m slowly drifting into Pacific Time. In fact, I’m in “in the middle of the Pacific time” since I just got back from Hawaii. It’s technically three hours behind Calif., but in practice Hawaii operates on “island time,” meaning slow, relaxed, unhurried time. Of all the time zones, island time is by far the best. Being back in the PT zone kind of sucks, even though it’s warm and sunny. I guess I want warm and sunny -- plus snorkeling, sea turtles and Mai Tais.

I Have Left NY

It's been over a month since I left NYC and I feel it. I feel far away. In fact, just yesterday I was really far away - in Hawaii. Here's a picture of it.

Pizza, Wine & A Night Out

The title of this blog post is what I needed to kick back into gear. (Well, those things and for my new co-workers to speak to me, which several did today. Yay!)

Last night Matt and I were feeling low. After work at 5 p.m. we took nap. But then we hauled our asses up, hit the gym and then went to this little hole in the wall place called Andre's for pizza, which rocked because it reminded me of some old New York joint. It was cafeteria-ish with bad lighting, a few crying kids and nothing in the way of ambiance. But the place was packed with regulars who seemed to know the staff, and it smelled delicious. It's $5 for a bowl of spaghetti! While we waited for our pizza, we studied this funny mural painted on the wall of Andre, presumably surrounded by famous Italians -- Sophia Loren, Al Pacino, Frank Sinatra, Robert De Niro -- and the woman behind the counter gave me two tastes of their gelato (roasted banana and chocolate). At home we drank wine, ate the pizza and watched the French Open on Tivo. It did wonders.

Tonight, Matt stayed home to do one of his favorite things - sleep. And I met my friend Tobias to see what the L.A. version of The Moth is like (it's an urban storytelling group that started in NYC.) Let's just say it was not New York. But Tobias and I had a great talk, we left early to have tea down the street, and I blasted the radio and didn't get lost on the way home. All and all, a success.

Catching Up

A lot has happened in the last week. I have gone from kinda liking L.A. to kinda not liking it. I can’t pinpoint an exact reason, but this feeling of not belonging, of not knowing where anything is, of being afraid of getting lost, of always having to find a place to park is getting on my nerves.

Today, Matt and I walked around the entire perimeter of the Beverly Center trying to figure out how to Enter Bed Bath and Beyond. Turns out there is NO entrance from the street. And yesterday, we got way lost on our way to Burbank Airport, which we drove to as practice to make sure we could find it. Well, we can't. It's so frustrating.

After the Burbank debacle, we drove to my college campus, which was my previous L.A. experience. It's quite different than my current life. Oxy is idyllic and quiet, protected and green. It was a good place to learn and read and drink and flirt and be away from home. But it's not L.A. life.

Matt is going back to New York. He's going to see his mum, who is there now but will be leaving soon, and his sister, who is doing very well in her recovery from hip surgery. He misses them a lot. This move to L.A. is not going over well with him suddenly. The out of place feeling I wrote about earlier is even worse for him. But today (Sunday) we played tennis and bought bedside tables and walked to our new brunch place. That was good.

OTHER THINGS:
Last weekend, I went bathing suit shopping. Until a couple of years ago, I never understood why women freaked out about shopping for swimwear. I am petite and didn't used to have much to freak out about body-wise. Maybe that's what made this time was so thoroughly horrifying. Let's just say my entire body sags more than it used to – but the butt is really not a good scene. A bikini is out of the question -- so I have resorted to bathing suit SHORTS, which is humiliating because everyone knows shorts are for hiding butt fat. But it's not as humiliating as having my bum exposed. For the entire day after that shopping experience, I was depressed. (The good news is that the reason I went shopping for a bathing suit is that Matt and I are going to Hawaii!)

Also: I got really sick the other day. Food poisoning (from Whole Foods, I think, since every meal I ate that day was from there!) I spent about 8 hours getting sick. The following day my stomach muscles were so contracted I could not stand up straight.