Hi, My Name Is Marla and I Live in L.A.

I'll tell you when you really know you live in Los Angeles: When you brush against Justin Timberlake at a party. Yep, that's what happened to me last night. JT and I walked past each other and slightly bumped arms. He was surrounded by a giant entourage, video cameras and lights, while I was trying unsuccessfully not to look like a drooling star-struck crazy person. Lots of other stars were at this party too. In fact, I very well may inadvertently be on "The Hills," which was filming at the party.

The night before the JT/Hills party, I went to some wedding event where they gave out big goodie bags to engaged women at the Four Seasons. It we weird, with models walking around in $5,000 dresses and tables set up with staggering towers of flowers. But I was there for the goodie bag and free champagne. Afterward, my friend Peggy and I, had wine and appetizers at the Four Seasons bar.

Yep, I live in L.A.

Don't Let the Door Hit You on the Way Out...

On my last hurrah in NYC, the city kicked my lil California ass to the curb. Although it was hot, hot, hot in L.A., it had turned to fall in New York by the time I arrived. I was under-dressed and shivering for five days and ended up catching a fierce cold. Yes, I still ate a chocolate croissant, had my hair colored and saw friends -- I can't be put down that easily -- but by the time it came to closing on my apartment, I was so sick and exhausted I could barely focus. It was sad to say goodbye to my place, but I was almost too tired to care. Fatigue and illness are a great cure for nostalgia. That afternoon, Matt's sister, Sarah, greeted me with a hug when I showed up on her doorstep weepy and sniffling and feeling sorry for myself. Thank god for her warm couch and silly TV shows. The next day I was well enough to ... call in sick and get myself on the earliest standby flight I could catch back to L.A.!

Not Again - Yes, Again

The whole, "I'm Leaving NYC" is in the final stages. Tomorrow I fly out of L.A. -- once again bound for my old homeland of New York. My empty apartment, which has been stripped of all its real estate staging materials, awaits. I am a nostalgia queen, so I'm kind of sad. But mostly I'm relieved. I mean, part of me doesn't even want to go to NYC. It's exhausting all this traveling back and forth, saying goodbye to everything again and again and again. But when my hair salon called and said they could fit me in for highlights on Saturday, I booked the flight. So here it is: I'll make the rounds to see friends, eat croissants, go to work in my old office -- and then really start living in L.A.