Friday

The first hour in the area I got lost on the freeway, stuck in the hotel elevator, deeply cut the two dominant fingers on my dominant hand while unpacking and then blinded myself with eye makeup remover. This seemed like a good time for a nap.

I met my friend for dinner. We ate Korean barbecue. He said, “A good rule of thumb is to find a place where Koreans are lined up outside.” We left coated in grease and the smell of spicy gelatin. We drove the Pacific Highway where I got a taste of Malibu. A taste was all I needed; suddenly, the empty-headedness of the ‘characters’ on MTV’s Laguna Beach and The Hills made perfect sense.

We headed to Santa Monica Pier for a jaunt along the moonlit beach. It was tough to walk five feet without tripping over teenagers in compromising positions. At the fishing pier, I stared into the water and felt like She and I were all alone. No fisherman, no tourists, just me and another moody, misunderstood force of nature swaying to the same rhythm.

Saturday

I woke up feeling a little… scattered. The drive and the late night exploration left me wiped out and it was the first time I’d been completely alone in months. The sky was cloudy, or perhaps just gray from pollution, and I was driving over an hour in a foreign place to meet a bunch of near-strangers. I milled around and then sat down by the window to admire the neighborhood architecture. Then, I missed Phoenix. I missed my dog and my grandma and my best friends. I wished there was someone with me to share it all but the whole point had been to have a solo adventure. Turns out, I don’t really like flying solo.

On the freeway, this sadness only crept in deeper. Focusing on the drive was nearly impossible, despite the near-suicidal rate of speed kept up by surrounding drivers. Suddenly, the car in front of me hit the brakes. Hard. I slammed my own, held my breath and braced for the inevitable impact. Suddenly, a resin patio chair splintered across the car in front of me. The car rocked, stopping about two inches from the red compact ahead. Thankfully, there was no domino effect. I choked as I started to breathe again. A duo driving a moving van pulled alongside us, cleared the roadway and traffic went along as if nothing had happened. I decided that maybe it was time to get back in the moment, to stop missing home, and start enjoying my trip.

At the barbecue, the adrenaline rush had rendered me downright docile. I got to know the people behind the blogs. It’s been a long time since I sat with such a hilarious, talented and open bunch of people. There is a camraderie to this blogging business and I am grateful to be a part of it. For the second day in a row, I put my toes in the wet Pacific ocean. She was different in daytime, though. I suspect she changes all the time.

We hung around Huntington Beach that night. We got on an elevator with Eric Balfour, which was simply more evidence that I only get star-struck over certain professional athletes. There was a surfing competition going on. I encountered a semi-professional surfer in the elevator. I asked him all about the event and how he fared. Apparently, it was like “woosh” and then it was like “whoa.” He was cool, though.

Sunday

I explored the area around my hotel, basked in the sunlight at a local Starbucks, and then headed to Hollywood.

In hindsight, taking the route that passed Mt. Sinai Cemetery on Father’s Day was not the most efficient way to go. I watched as Jewish families gathered around the graves of patriarchs. The area smelled of burning paper. Some day I will figure out why. The turtle’s pace of traffic gave me a few minutes to think about my grandpa. He passed away in October 2007 after a long battle with a variety of illnesses. The warm breeze blew through my hair. “California,” I thought. This was the last place I expected to be reminded of him, but it was a joyful moment nonetheless.

After lunch with another friend at an Argentinean restaurant in Valley Village, I headed back out. With my back to the mercurial ocean, I headed back to Phoenix. It was bittersweet leaving all that culture, mild weather and new and old friends behind. It’s not my favorite place but I will be back in due time. I can’t go another decade without digging my toes into a sandy beach.