November 13th, 2009
Back in 1996, I moved to Los Angeles from Chicago. I had lived in LA before, from 1991-1993, but in the married-with-children Valley, and as a young single woman, I vowed never to make that mistake again. So this time around, I found a studio apartment in Brentwood, bought a used Lexus, and tried to assimilate into the West LA lifestyle while bringing home approximately $400 a week. Soon enough, I found a local establishment, Mezzaluna*, and visited there often, making friends and inappropriate se@ partner choice(s). Before long, I had ingratiated myself with the people who worked at Mezzaluna, and often hung out at the place after it closed, or tagged along with the waiters, waitresses, and managers as they continued the party at some other bar on Wilshire Blvd.
I met some interesting people. Most I don’t talk to anymore. One doesn’t talk to me anymore because she didn’t care for The Rock and would be really pissed to know I’ve married him and bore his progeny. And one I remember fondly because he was a down-to-earth (hard to find in LA at that time), nice guy. This guy, J, would light my cigarettes (I’m really making myself sound like a trashy ho-bag, aren’t I?), tell me when Ben & Jerry’s started carrying the Blondie Sundae flavor, and even helped The Rock move me out to San Diego. Good stock, he was. Also creative and liked music as much as The Rock and I did. So we wanted to keep him in our friend queue.
But things happen. Life travels along like a river (or barrels by like a white water rapid) and you lose touch with people. I recall one trip to LA in 1998 where The Rock and I went to visit J at some hip establishment where he worked and he alluded to a cool gal he was dating who was a stylist to the stars, and that was one of the last times we saw J.
But you know, Facebook can change all that. And so it was. I friended J a few months ago, and was delighted to see he married the LA stylist and is the father to two beautiful boys. And then? I discovered the LA Stylist has a blog and a Twitter account and that she was funny and gave fashion advice and egad! what more could I want in a virtual best friend? (She does not know that she is my best friend yet. I want to be the one to tell her.)
Even better than that? The LA Stylist gave me certified advice regarding what to wear to a black tie event. I thought I could wear a burn-out velvet dress. She assured me I could not. I thought I still could. She gently suggested that I not. I still thought maybe I would get away with it. She nicely said hell no. So maybe a sheath, I said? Depends on the fabric, she replied. Cotton? I offered. Probably not, she countered. And on and on we went. She even sent me links to stuff and offered to shop online for me and overnight something.
So forget J. His wife is where it’s at.
Thanks for the memories, J! Now tell your wife to call me.
*I would love to tell you more Mezzaluna stories some time.