The Left Coast
It's like visiting another planet...
... but with a much shorter flight.
I'm hanging in our fabulous Santa Monica office which, for those of you less familiar with LA that I am, is way west on the water. My secretary was kind enough to secure the glass conference room right off the reception desk, where I can be seen by all to be the slovenly paper whore that I am, rather than in a darkened cave where I belong. I can't even take my freaking shoes off for fear that a client might see me. Must have word with her. (Like she'd listen. I've had many "words" with her.)
Anyway, drove through Venice Beach and was quite disappointed to discover no bleach blonde, bikini-clad bodybuilders in Old School roller skates, zipping around the coven of skate punks, with a 1979 boombox on her shoulder. Not a one.
And I am one of 4 people not wearing jeans in the office today. If you think I freak out over open-toed shoes in the office,* you cannot know how uncomfortable I am with the jeans. Those who know me, know that I am the worlds biggest comfort dresser (I had written "slob" but that's a bit harsh) when I am not at work. But there is something about getting paid that makes me want to, you know, not wear what I wear when I driving the kids to and from activities on the weekend (I had written "drinking beers and hanging out" but that's a bit fantastic.)
Anyway, I've got to get some stuff written, revised, comprehended. I've been up since 3:45 a.m. EST after sleeping only 3 hours. It is now 14 hours later.
Maybe if I hurry the bellboy/underwear model will still be working at I can order him to feed me some grapes. Preferably squashed and fermented. More on the hotel later. Perhaps I can surreptitiously take some pix. But the lighting is sooo poor (that is to say, night club hip and stylish) that I need a tripod... Seriously, you walk into the hotel and 3/4-expect the lights to start flashing and bad Euro-techno-Industrial crap to come pulsing through at top decibels.
I am so uptight and East Coast.
naked piggies in Pacific Ocean
______________________________
* It just is. Don't try to understand it. I have nothing against feet and I never wear shoes sitting in my own work-cave, but I just can't get into the open toed shoes in the office. I can't explain it.
... but with a much shorter flight.I'm hanging in our fabulous Santa Monica office which, for those of you less familiar with LA that I am, is way west on the water. My secretary was kind enough to secure the glass conference room right off the reception desk, where I can be seen by all to be the slovenly paper whore that I am, rather than in a darkened cave where I belong. I can't even take my freaking shoes off for fear that a client might see me. Must have word with her. (Like she'd listen. I've had many "words" with her.)
Anyway, drove through Venice Beach and was quite disappointed to discover no bleach blonde, bikini-clad bodybuilders in Old School roller skates, zipping around the coven of skate punks, with a 1979 boombox on her shoulder. Not a one.
And I am one of 4 people not wearing jeans in the office today. If you think I freak out over open-toed shoes in the office,* you cannot know how uncomfortable I am with the jeans. Those who know me, know that I am the worlds biggest comfort dresser (I had written "slob" but that's a bit harsh) when I am not at work. But there is something about getting paid that makes me want to, you know, not wear what I wear when I driving the kids to and from activities on the weekend (I had written "drinking beers and hanging out" but that's a bit fantastic.)
Anyway, I've got to get some stuff written, revised, comprehended. I've been up since 3:45 a.m. EST after sleeping only 3 hours. It is now 14 hours later.
Maybe if I hurry the bellboy/underwear model will still be working at I can order him to feed me some grapes. Preferably squashed and fermented. More on the hotel later. Perhaps I can surreptitiously take some pix. But the lighting is sooo poor (that is to say, night club hip and stylish) that I need a tripod... Seriously, you walk into the hotel and 3/4-expect the lights to start flashing and bad Euro-techno-Industrial crap to come pulsing through at top decibels.
I am so uptight and East Coast.
naked piggies in Pacific Ocean______________________________
* It just is. Don't try to understand it. I have nothing against feet and I never wear shoes sitting in my own work-cave, but I just can't get into the open toed shoes in the office. I can't explain it.
posted by Frances @ 6:21 PM
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