Out back West.
Somehow surrounded by the sunny skies and golden warmth of Los Angeles once again. It’s transitory this time – check things out, take a look around, see what’s changed, what’s stayed the same. Check in with old friends, meet a few new ones, be a visitor, a tourist; have a small piece of limited time in an expanse that was once called home. Realize how great and unique each one of your dear friends are.
A cute boy smiles at you, and you forget about everything else for a moment. Nice to know that it’s still possible.
On a somewhat unrelated note, why is it that I’ve had more celeb sightings in a short stint as a visitor than during the five years when I was a resident?! Really?!
Seeing old friends after a considerable amount of time can be a a weird experience. I mean, awkwardness abounds. No, wait – not awkwardness, exactly – okay, so this was meant to be a trip just for fun and hanging out with friends – but I honestly haven’t felt this exhausted or been this social in a long time – introversion affirmed. Not since Spain – or the Indonesia trip – I was so tired one night in West Java that my nose started bleeding.
In all honesty, it was a vacation from my parents, the East Coast humidity and relentless rain; a temporary break from perpetual job hunting and restlessness at home about said job hunting; a chance to visit old friends and do one last fun trip before all of my savings went dry (thank goodness for airline miles); eat good food and hit the beach.
Conclusions? I still love LA escapes – those spots tucked away from the sounds of the freeway and the interiors of which make you forget what the parking lot looks like outside.
Lately I’ve been obsessed with listening. Hearing better – nay, reverting back to something more basic. The fundamentals of communication – listening. When you meet with old friends, you want to know about everything you’ve missed since you’ve been apart. Can’t assume this person is the same as when you parted ways; naturally, all parties involved are not the same as months or years or even days earlier – easily forgotten with the flash of a familiar face.
However – nice to know that some things haven’t changed – a single word, or a signature adage which continues its eponymous title with all the resounding comfort and familiarity of a good friend.
And today, I miss Barcelona.
Day after trekking the city in heels…feet are hung over. Unfortunately, I had made the poor decision of rocking around the mean streets in 4 inch wedges. Very cute and sexy, right? Epic fail. Blister=pain=never again wearing heels in this town. Ended up buying a pair of Chucks on an emergency shoe shopping outing with bcn friend 20 minutes before Filene’s closed. Managed to score.
Sooo tired. Too old to party this hard anymore.
Observations About NYC.
Weekdays are for recovering from the weekend.
Dirty old men will call out crude comments to attractive women walking by on the streets.
Fashion in nyc is its own art of people-watching.
You can get food at any hour of the day. Big Plus.
The Big Apple also houses Big Rats.
Random droplets splashing on your body=air conditioner unit condensation falling from the sky.
Public groping happens everywhere in the world, nyc included. (As well as in Italian churches on Christmas Day.)
Hotel bars are livelier than previously imagined. Also, am carving out a new appreciation for these joints since they seem to be classier and, the dealbreaker diamond: no groping happened here. Clubs will see me no longer. I’ll be at the hotel bar, staking claim on the couch, having a drink.
Bright lights, big city. Maybe I should move here. I’m sure that’s what many women of grandma-disposition do.
My feet are still recovering from 48 hours of weekend life in nyc. Late nights. Multiple destination nightlife crawl. More like ambitious gallivanting, all spontaneously decided. Basically awesome.