Los Angeles: Day 2 (Santa Monica)

This is the mall down in Santa Monica. I LOVE this mall. 

Los Angeles is many cities and energies packed into one. Thus it is possible to get the taste of many flavors all in one day. After leaving the morning peace of Venice Beach, we ventured about a mile or two north on Ocean Blvd to Santa Monica to do some shopping at Third Street Promenade.

When I lived here, I recall thinking nothing of traipsing down to this spot to hit up Nordstrom. It was there. I went. Big whoop. Now as a tourist, I marveled at how pristine and convenient it all was. Everything from the parking garage to the brilliance of the sun shining down in the center of the mall to all of the beautiful and extremely fit people. It was so easy to want to spend money and BE there. We were happy darting in and out of stores, snapping pictures, eating up the scenery.

I don't remember this topiary being here before.

It was funny how we could tell who the natives were. They were always well accessorized and somewhat annoyed. Annoyed with what, we did not know. Maybe they were bored with the perfection of the day or maybe they were sick of tourists steadily financing the continued survival of this spectacular mall. Had I been this way? Perpetually discontent with such splendid surroundings. Unsatisfied with my cute face and flat stomach and disposal income? I don't think I was overall, but I probably had my days. I was finding myself. I was trying to have a good time. I was trying not to be lonely or trapped in my own head. I do remember gravitating toward tourists and migrants to L.A. because their wonder with the world and its inhabitants hadn't been savagely beaten and left for dead by their own egos.

Remember that one hippie chick from The Voice? This is her.

After having a wonderful encounter with an androgynous salesperson named Pat at Barnes and Nobles (Yes, I'm so not kidding. I have no idea what gender that person was but he/she was very kind to let me use the employee bathroom.) and eating lunch, we drove down  Santa Monica Blvd to Wilshire. We rode past Rodeo Drive then up La Cienega to Sunset then all the way down the winding ride of Sunset to Pacific Coast Highway where we watched the surfers try to catch a wave. These had been all of my favorite sights to see and roads to drive as a resident. Where I'd think and search for answers within myself. Where I was free to dream in waking solace. I probably looked like a zombie.

We then returned to Venice Beach and walked to Whole Foods before settling in for the night. Memories collided with the present. Some good. Some bad. Mostly funny. It's amazing and fortunate how I've grown and how I haven't changed a bit. Just like California.

Los Angeles: Day 2 (Venice Beach)

The pad on Dudley was pretty sweet.

While in Los Angeles, it is easy to get caught up in the "fuck you, pay me" mentality required to survive in style (with money) here, but I dare say that is even more enticing to make one's acquaintance with the softer, sweeter side of Golden Statery.  There is a coolness here that people have. A vibe which proclaims that life is more than a rat race. Life is about stopping and smelling the poppies. Catching the perfect wave at the beach. Skating down the sidewalk instead of walking. Creating art on a spoon.

For the Southern Californian beach dweller, the day seems to pass by at a slower rate of speed. Or maybe, it's just that the day starts sooner. I know I was up at sunrise itching to go out to the coast. From our bungalow, it was a two minute stroll. The sand, still cool from the previous night, was bespeckled with meandering gull prints. Joggers, young and old, made their way along the foam of the tide's edge.

The water just seems to goes on forever.

"I don't know a more terrible way to spend a morning, " one jogger commented as he passed us. "I'd much rather be getting a root canal." Good old wry Californian wit.

Standing on the sand looking out at that big blue, there is no other matter because nothing else matters.  There is just now and peace and serenity and whatever notion that pops into one's head. I forgot why the hell I moved away from this place. Why the hell did I move away from this place? This feeling? This now? Back in the day, I was so consumed with finishing school and getting the right job and going to as many places in the country that I could before it was too late. I never did find out what time "too late" was. I'm still trying to figure it out.  Currently, I don't think it exists.

I could totally live here with Hubby.

So after the hubby and I did some katas and stuck our feet in the water and marveled aloud at how great we were feeling, I made a promise to sell as many novels as necessary to finance our relocation to this place. I told my husband that I would convert him into a kept man and we would live together in one of these beach rentals. We would spend our mornings and evenings out on the sand and the time in the middle would be filled with writing and creating and baby-making. We would be inspired by the characters of Venice Beach to write my second award-winning novel which would finance our relocation to our next paradise.

Los Angeles: Day 1

Flying into Los Angeles, the city seems to go on forever.

Whenever I return to Los Angeles, I remember the times I spent sitting in traffic singing at the top of my lungs to keep from losing my mind. I remember meeting a random guy at a gas station who later stole discounted toilet paper from a super market and split the proceeds with me. I remember juggling college and full time work and extra work and volunteering and dating. (Where did all that energy go?) Now, upon my return to L.A. for a week long visit with my husband, we are most excited not about sights like beaches or tar pits or walks of fame but rather honey walnut prawns, hot dogs and huge burritos. That's right. We have officially become foodie tourists. Crazy.

After deboarding the plane, we found the rental car shuttle to pick up our reservation. The exchange with the rental guy was a real gem. I was immediately reminded of how L.A. is all about the hard sale. The billboards, the celebrities, the residents, everything all converges to sell you something. The convo went like this.

Venice Beach and the Pacific Ocean beyond.

"Hey are y'all Nigerian? Because my wife and I know Nigerians." How nice. He knew people from another country. I wished I had a cookie to give to him.

"Yes, we do happen to be." I am Nigerian by marriage but I didn't feel like going into detail on that with him.

"Oh wonderful. Nigerians love Louis Vutton bags." Okay, lovely stereotype, Asshole. This was him establishing a "connection" with us and also figuring aloud that we, as a people, like to spend our hard-earned money on unnecessary crap.

"Some of us do." Just like any other population of human beings who may or may not have name brand preferences in bags.

"We'll give you the week-long rental for $75 but it's going to be a real gas guzzler like a Grand Marquis or a Crown Victoria. I can switch you to a more gas efficient car for an additional $10 a day." So, he was going to be doing us a favor. Right. I swear I selected the economy class car when I made the reservation. This fool wanted us to double down to avoid driving something with a V8 (which we had not chosen) to save on gas as if the  V8 technology hasn't improved on fuel efficiency since 1912. I don't scare easy. I wanted the damn $75 deal.

"We'll take our chances with the sales deal, Sir." I used to live here. I know where the cheap gas stations are and how to avoid traffic.

"Okay, well you'll also want to get the basic insurance for $9 a day because blah, blah, blah and if the car comes back with a single scratch then you could be paying $250 a day for repairs blah, blah, blah." A scratch? Oh no! I have no faith in my own driving skills. I'm definitely going to scratch up the car. Let me give this insulting idiot and an additional $63 for fear of a scratch.

"We've got full coverage through our insurance plan. No thanks." Thank you, Geico.

After that whole  rental debacle, we got our hands on some honey
walnut prawns courtesy of Hop Woo in Chinatown.  

"But according to California law blah, blah, blah and the cost of going without this additional coverage will end up hitting you really hard." Dude didn't know he was talking to an attorney and someone who used to work in direct sales. Jerk. He was probably gunning for a sales prize because as I listened to the other rental clerks around me they were all trying to upsell from the threat of the V8 and push the basic insurance coverage. And they were not backing down from first and second refusals. Thank goodness I love saying "no" a lot.

"No, thanks."

We went out to the lot to retrieve our suppposed cop car and the only car available was an Ultima.   We did our own inspection to check for dings and scratches but upon final checkout the attendant revealed that we would only actually be liable for dents. Sigh.

Welcome to Los Angeles. Home of "I will tell you as many lies as I can muster to make a bonus on my check." Yeah, I remember that all too well. This is one of the reasons why I live in Atlanta.