Yee-howdy, it’s been an interesting week. I was doing edits—first round done, Yay!—and Harlie work and prepping for “Kiss Me Again” to come out in a few weeks! (OMG, I’m so nervous about that!) Also, have been chewing my fingers waiting for all the books I want to read to come out, esp “Hostage To Pleasure” from Nalini Singh. I’m such a mad fan girl for her books, I really am. I’d worry about embarassing myself except…well, I passed that point a long time ago.
Anyhow, today I get to do some site updates so it’s pretty and shiny for September—and there’s a cool thing starting on Monday I get to take part in, but no peeps until the first!–and I can FINALLY fix that error to the free reads. I know there hasn’t been any new material added, but I’m planning a new free serial read starting around Christmas that’ll take us back to Rancho Del Cielo where my February release is taking place! If I can get it done, that is!
Other things, though, is that I went to La Brea with the hubby for his work. La Brea is THE fashion district in LA, gang. Heart of Hollywood, where if it’s media related, you’ll see it there. Movie posters like wall paper. Giant digital billboards. Most of the sides of buildings are ad spaces. There’s an iPod add that is twelves stories tall! There’s a yellow building with a space chiahuahua painted on the side. I’m not sure anyone knows why. Jet Li’s Mummy Face hangs about 8 stories long from a sky scraper. Oddly, the billboard for “Death Race” fits right in over the building it’s parked on, which makes one think that’s the name of the place. Oh, and I loved these. Someone goes around with a stencil painting the sidewalks with movie ads. Not colors or anything. Not even signs. What would you do if the water stain on the concrete looked like Heath Ledger’s “Joker” face? I jumped in delight. There were other characters randomly placed, too, including a thug pointing a gun up at you. I love stuff like that!
I want you to picture me, because this actually happened. I’m standing there, on the rainbow colored bricks in the center of “Beautiful People” row, where beautiful people are passing me by. Every one is thin, make up flawless, fashion epic. I’m standing in the middle of the bricks, holding onto my ice cream stained double-baby stroller, hair almost appearing brushed, eating a thick slice of Italian Cream Almond cake out of a plastic container. People were actually turning their heads to stare at me in open mouthed shock. I love horrifying the disciplined.
Them’s the ABCs of me, baby.
So, anyhow, as you’ve probably guessed, I’m no slave to fashion. Hubby’s in apparel and it’s testament to his love for me that he allows himself to be seen with me. Especially in La Brea. So, we tour the stores, check out what’s hot and what’s not is simply not allowed. Then we make a side trip to “Pinks”. Now, if you’ve never been to Pinks, you’re missing out. They’ve been around since 1939 and is considered the most successful small business in LA. Possibly the state. People come from all over to eat from the landmark and no one goes away unhappy. The line was short, only a 40 minute wait. Usually it’s 4 people wide, looping the building and down the block. We had a nice lunch and headed on back home. We ate in the back seating area, where the wild birds fly right up to your table and sit four inches from your hand and eat your food. I kid you not. I have to get the pictures off hubby’s phone.
The strange thing about Hollywood is how much it reminds me of my childhood, which was in Fresno. The streets, the clothes, the aged decor are very much the same. Kind of like seeing a showgirl an hour after the show, tired and still in her make up, only now she’s in the harsh light of day. You can tell that a lot of these old buildings were top of the line once, art deco teals and pinks that have gotten faded without the shine and covered in a fine—or not so fine–layer of grime.
It makes me sad, a little, because while I can see where I used to be and still have happy memories from my youth, there’s a lot of me that is terribly grateful to get home. I don’t want my kids to know the things I knew as a kid. Call me stupid, but I want them to feel safe at night…and in the day. I feel like they should have that, at least for a little while. It’s not a safe world, but they don’t need to know that yet.
The funniest notes were the signs as we drove home. A sign on a building read, “Hip Pain: 888-My-Hip-Hurts”. Then the infamous Hollywood cemetery, “Hollywood Forever”. Now if that ain’t perfectly named, nothing is!
