I Only Eat Mexican in California

I Only Eat Mexican in California
Originally uploaded by middleagedteacher

As I've mentioned, when in California , I make a point of eating Mexican as much as I can as I never usually eat it. For good reason. Sydney is not known for it's Mexican Cuisine.
Here I am at 'La Salsa' at The Promenade at Thousand Oaks. I was starving & they forgot my order. So I was forced to shovel in all the little side bits.
Please note my Homemade in California necklace. I bought some jewel making stuff with me just in case I had a Spare Moment. Strangely, I had a number of them. So I strung together some white beads that I just bought at the Bottomless Pitt, 'Forever 21' for about three bucks & a little Japanese Noh Mask or whatever it is that I bought a year ago at Narita Airport in Japan.

Not Kim Novak in Big Sur

Marge & I are now in Big Sur. We're  on Highway 1 driving alongside supposedly spectacular scenery which is almost impossible to see because there's this Creepy Fog. I hope it's Not a Metaphor for Something Nasty.

Last time I took this road was in 1983 with my then boyfriend, Warwick. That time I didn't see anything either because it was Night. We were in a helluva hurry to get to San Simeon to visit Hearst's Castle which I was totally fixated on at the time so I wasn't too fussed about missing out. 

But this time I really wanted to see it. I got quite a shock when we arrived at The River Inn & saw postcards of Spectacular Views  of artfully placed salt & pepper coloured rocks amidst swirling seas & Meaningful Sunsets. Here I am in the 'Heartbeat of Big Sur' shop making friends with Bath Products & Dolls.

Apart from the Creepy fog, it's also Cold. In fact, ever since I sat in an Arctic Movie Theatre watching 'Harry Potter' a couple of days ago where I actually felt that I'd moved into Hogwarts during a blizzard , I've been cold. Marge's car says it's 64 degrees which, in my dim memory of Fahrenheit tells me it's late Autumn, or Fall, since I'm in America. In fact, as I sit here in the darkened River Inn motel room in a light singlet & footless tights, I'm Slightly Shivering.

In honour of the cold, Marge is wearing a woolen hat that she later purchased from the Craft Shop next to The River Inn. She is also holding a biography of a local artist that she actually bought & finished  as it was rather Slender Reading.

Since I was a child, when the picture above of Kim Novak in her Big Sur Living Room was featured in a magazine , I've had a whole fantasy about Big Sur. There was another photo of Kim sitting up in a bubble bath in her bathroom which jutted out into the sea.

 I was transformed.

I immediately convinced myself that in fact, I looked v. like Kim, as well as my other idol, Hayley Mills & would one day live in Big Sur, or it's Australian equivalent.

Oddly enough, that never happened. And to tell the truth, I'm Quite Glad.  After visiting the place this time I realised that maybe the view out of Kim's windows for much of the year was Pure Fog.

While at The Thousand Oaks Mall, I spent rather a long time at 'Forever 21'. 

What a Stupid Name. I personally loathed being 21 & the thought of being stuck there 'Forever' is chilling. 

Anyway, it should be called 'Forever 14 & a Half' because most of the clothes are really only fit to be worn by what used to be called, 'Teenyboppers'. Of course, that didn't stop me buying two v. v. cheap clothes items from the 'Sale' rack.

But for me the Main Game with 'F 21' are The Jewels & Accessories. 

Just look at the cute Toy Prada that I paid $4.99 for. I like to think it's a Dead Ringer for The Real Thing that I think retails for $1600. 

When Bad Conversations Happen to Good Talkers

Marge dumped me at Thousand Oaks Mall & drove off in her new Toyota Hybrid.

I was thrilled. Three whole hours to eat a Taco Salad from La Salsa in the Food Court, visit 'Anthropologie', 'Forever21' &  finish off with a  Sad Latte from The Coffee Bean. 

It took forever to eat the Taco Salad.

 On & on I chomped through a Forest of Shredded Lettuce interlaced with Pinto Beans. As I chomped, I read the LA Times Health Supplement on Aging. According to the newspaper, there's nothing we can do about aging except accelerate it. We can't actually slow it down. The Usual Suspects were trotted out, you know - Atkins, Pritikin, Adele Davis et al, who all said that they were going to live forever & then disappointingly  died at the Usual Time. A frail little old man who advocated Calorie Restriction karked it at age 79 from Lou Gehrig's Disease.

 Apparently, mice & now monkeys do v. nicely on a Reduced Calorie Diet. They have fewer age-related ailments & look young, but no one knows if they are Happier.

This is a perfect segue into an encounter I had at the Baggage Carousel at The Tom Bradley Terminal in or is it, 'at'  LAX? Every time I have to enter this terminal I Fear the Worst. And it never disappoints.

I get off a thirteen hour flight. Get through Customs OK even though I couldn't work out where to put my thumb on the Fingerprint Machine. 

Then the Magic Begins. I stand at Baggage Carousel No. 1. next to a late-middleaged woman from Oregon who has been in Australia visiting her daughter. She starts talking to me effusively. She just loves Australian Accents. I turn it on for her. 

Time passes. People are anxious because their bags aren't showing up including mine & the woman from Oregon. There is an announcement. The bags from Sydney are now available from Carousel No.3. We race over to it & find bags from Alaska.

 Another announcement. The bags are now available from Carousel No. 5. Bags from Frankfurt. A further announcement. The bags are now available from Carousel No. 1. People start cheering & applauding. I wonder if the Men with Sniffer Dogs who are circling us will produce Taser Guns & begin shooting.

Whilst all this was going on, the Woman from Oregon was talking to me non-stop about the importance of eating raw foods. I kid you not. She'd had a mastectomy & had refused all medication. 'Just pack it with ice', she told the Doctors before she checked herself out of the hospital & skipped home.

All I could do was watch the baggage carousel go around & around without my bag on it. 

And just when I'd almost given up hope & reconciled myself to the idea that all the Summer Wardrobe that I'd thrifted at 'Bednobs & Broomsticks' was probably lost to me forever, it suddenly appeared.

By this stage, Oregon Woman was on to Parasites.  

'I had a tapeworm the size of a Veloseraptor inside of me, but through eating raw foods, it's gone', she said.

'That's great! Bye' I replied as I wheeled myself off & almost out into the LA Street.

A Higher State of Being

Look closely at the cozy couple in the centre of the photo above. You may, or may not call at least one of them a Celebrity. 

It all depends on your definition which we won't go into right now.

 

If a Celebrity crosses my path, I go into High Alert, as if I've seen a lesser version of God &  desperately have to make contact on order to move up to a Higher State of Being. 

Yesterday, I had such an experience. I was lunching al fresco in Malibu with Marge, her teenage son Eddie & her brother David. We were eating Mexican which is all I eat when in California. 

Suddenly, I saw this couple coming towards us. I  went white, sat bolt upright, got v. serious & quietly exclaimed, 'OMG, there's Rachel Zoe. And her sidekick husband!!!'

Of course, no one knew who I was talking about.  Maybe Marge did. 

You probably don't know who she is either. So I'll tell you. Rachel's a Stylist to the Stars but I can't remember who she's styled. Anyone you can think of that's showed up to The Oscars looking like a Giant Stick Insect is bound to have been one of Rachel's clients. She's also got her v. own Reality TV show, The Rachel Zoe Project that I featured here last December.

Anyway, I was desperate to get a photo of  Me & Rachel. I know, it's really hypocritical considering what I just said about Stick Insects, but I'm Nothing if not Inconsistent, particularly where Celebrities are concerned.

As we helplessly watched Rach & Hubby drift out of sight, Marge suggested we follow them. But by the time I could get out of my seat, they were far ahead of us. 

So, we had to run.

Marge is miles taller than me & alot more robust. While she was athletically running along gripping my camera in true Paparrazzi style, I was pathetically limping behind.

'Just take a picture of them from behind. That'll be enough' I urged Marge.

'Nonsense. Do want to be a Complete Milquetoast for the rest of your life?' she inquired.

'Look, they're going into that shop. Let's follow them'.

I meekly followed, frantically mentally rehearsing how I was going to handle it when Rachel said 'NO'.

Inside the shop, Rachel & Handbag Hubby were gathered around The Bra Section. I lurked guiltily at the front door while Marge barged right over to them.

'Would you be offended if my friend had her photo taken with you?' Marge asked.

'Would you be offended with what I'm wearing right now?' Rachel humbly replied.

Maybe she didn't say those exact words. Neither of us can now remember. But something along those lines.

Whatever Rachel actually said, she was v. gracious, down to earth & cheerful. So was hubby, who seemed used to standing on the sideline out of the way. 

Hope I'm not sounding like I'm now trying to crawl up her arse, Heaven forbid.

I've spent ages staring at the photos. Sadly, I haven't been transported to another State of Being as a result. 

Maybe I should Aim Higher.

Reading Los Angeles

Let's pretend that I'm a Travel Writer.

Los Angeles is an ever-changing Landscape of Huge Signs. Every time I come, I can't wait for Marge to drive me around so I can read them & gauge my mood. 

It's a bit like reading tea leaves, I guess.

Yesterday's reading started out a Little Creepily. Marge bumped me & her brother David off on Wilshire in Brentwood where we caught the Bus that just  appears out of nowhere down to LA County Museum. As I looked out the window, all I could see were ominous signs featuring a dead-like creepy child that said 'Orphan'.  

Quelle Horreur, I thought, or I would have thought if I thought in French. 

Is this a warning , I wondered. And where do you put the question mark in a sentence like that, I also wondered. Perhaps here? Or here?

'Orphan' is one of those words that stand out like Dogs Balls to me. And now I'm wondering about where to put the apostrophe in Dogs. Perhaps at the end of it. 

 Being adopted has given me carte blanche to go Pear-Shaped every time I hear a word that remotely connects to Abandonment. And 'Orphan' spells Abandonment in Big Letters. One of my favourite anecdotes about an Old Hollywood Star concerns Clifton Webb, a clearly gay actor who reached his peak perhaps in the late forties in such Fine Films as 'Laura'  & 'Cheaper by the Dozen'. Perhaps you have never heard of him, so you just have to take my word for it that he was  Fairly-Big  inasmuch as an Slightly Effete Pansy could be back then. Or maybe even now.

Anyway, Clifton was devoted to his Elderly Mother. They lived in Hollywood together & were famous for hosting Legendary Lunches every sunday that all the rich & famous attended. 

Of course Clifton's Mother eventually died & the lunches stopped. It was inevitable. He felt utterly abandoned & never got over it even though Mum was ancient & he was sixty-two. 

From that time, Clifton became known as The World's Oldest Orphan.

I certainly don't want to be like that. 

But then later, Marge picked us up from the Museum & we went driving along Fairfax towards Sunset. I suddenly came across the 'This is My Town'  sign & my mood immediately changed. 

Of course, LA is my town. I'm at home. Kind of.

By the time I came across the 'Do You Grunt?' sign, I was positively kicking back.

And when I discovered 'Hooray', I was euphoric.

So Much to Tell, but Not the Strength to Tell It

Have got soooo much to tell, but not the Strength to Tell It.

First, ever since I finished school for the term, which was last Thursday, I've been sick with Toy Swine Flu. It's been Utterly Revolting. Lying in bed like some Old Rotting Dowager whose servants have deserted her. Being forced to eat a huge plate of out-of-date spaghetti with absolutely no sauce on it. Finding a hard-as-a-rock block of Rogue Parmesan that had been hiding in the fridge & cutting it into slivers & mixing it into the pasta. Being amazed when the cheese didn't melt. 

At the same time , my daughter was regaling me by phone with Tales from Her Tasty Kitchen. Roasted Pumpkin Soup with Cocoanut Milk. 'Little Ears' Pasta with Field Mushrooms. Pan-fried Haloumi with lemon & chili. 

Anyway, I am Slightly Better today & I hope I'll be Even More Better tomorrow because I'm flying off tomorrow night to Los Angeles to spend time with MBF Marge & her family in Thousand Oaks, California. It's my possibly 24th visit. 

Ask me anything that you want to know about 'ol Thousand Oaks, & I'll tell you. It's in the Conejo Valley, which means Rabbit or maybe Hare. I believe that the place is absolutely brimming with celebrities, although I've never seen any. Marge once sat in a doctor's waiting room with Mickey Rooney. I like to imagine that Lisa Marie Presley who I have a Slight Fascination with, lives close by. 'Hopalong Cassidy', which was one of my favourite shows when I was a kid, was filmed in the hills of Thousand Oaks. So was 'Zorro'. Oh, and of course, 'Mash'. Some of the streets were named after television shows of the early sixties. Marge once lived in 'Big Sky Drive', which was the name of a show that my parents regularly watched. Thousand Oaks is about twelve miles inland from Malibu. 

For the past few weeks, I've been frantically collecting summer clothes from 'Bednobs & Broomsticks'. I've got Quite a Stash. So, most days I'll be posting Northern Hemisphere Clothes on my flickr & blog.  Hope you can wait.

Before I go, perhaps you're wondering why I posted a pic of Queen Victoria. You may have thought that she perfectly went with my Toy Swine Flu Moan. You'd be wrong.

Last week when I was visiting my friend Maud Lone Star at a quaint inner-west suburb, I found Queen V hanging over the Court House. I couldn't believe the synchronicity. Only that day, I'd been examining  the sad lines on the side of my mouth which I believe are technically called, 'Marionette Lines'. Or maybe 'Naso-Labial Folds'. But they should be called 'Sad Clown Lines'. Anyway, I couldn't help but feel sorry for Queen V. Note the way that the Cruel Sculptor has etched them into her face. Not to mention the Jowls & Double chin. No wonder the poor woman went into mourning for the last fifty years of her life.