The bed in this apartment is all kinds of amazing. My bed back in Iowa is dreadful. I love nice beds. I have another one, I just have to get my bedroom ready for it — it’s a king (comme moi!) and needs to have a bit of adjusting to make it fit into the room properly. Anyway, when I get into that bed, my body immediately shuts down. I don’t even dream. It’s remarkable. I wake up deliriously happy. It could be that I’m in Hollywood or it could just be the bed. Either way, I don’t want to go home next month!
I cobbled breakfast together out of a nasty baguette I bought at the Farmers Market and water. I was such a peasant, I was disgusted with myself. Still hungry, I decided to spend the day exploring Beverly Boulevard, which is a block away from my apartment. But, I couldn’t leave until I finished watching an episode of The Simple Life. That show…is…I want to use the proper term: IT’S A GODDAMN MASTERPIECE! I adore it. I could watch every episode over and over and over again. Everything about it is perfect. If you don’t like it, you’re dumb. I watched the episode where they tried to be psychics. “Would you like a palm reading or a chest reading or a butt reading?” Genius. SANASAAA SANASAAA SANA SAA SAA SANASAAAA!
With that done, I checked my tweets and I saw this:
I’m tearing up again. I’m not kidding the tears are real. This show is taped ten minutes from my apartment and I’m going to go. I’m going to see Nicole. It will be a childhood dream come true. I dream of sansaaaing with her through The Grove. We’d grunt and say “GEEEEZZZ” and then sanasa some more and everything in the world would be perfect.
Joyfully, I lept from the apartment. Excuse me, I haven’t given you a tour, yet.
Here’s the entrance to my building. It’s not the prettiest one on the block, but it’s a nice place. I’ve seen a few of the occupants and they don’t appear to be cooking meth. In fact, the entire area is charming. I looked on Zillow the other night and almost all the buildings were built in the late 40s and early 50s — my time, you know? So, I love it.
Here’s the entrance to my apartment. I love this gate. There are, in total, six locks on the front door and wrought iron grills over all of the windows. It’s very secure, which is comforting, yet creepy at the same time. It’s a lot of locks.
Here’s the kitchen. Why do I love it? Let’s say it together: CHECKERBOARD FLOORS! Plus that yellow and turquoise tile is stunning and I want to do it back home. A pop of yellow might really bring the space together. The cupboards are all original and refuse to close and the water is sometimes a bit rusty, but #yolo!
Here’s that wonderful bed. The only thing I can’t understand is all these pillows! I see it all the time. Do people actually use them? I don’t. I rarely use pillows at all. One at the most, but that’s a rarity.
It’s very mirrored in there. I’m not fat, so I don’t mind.
I probably wasn’t supposed to yank this pocket door gleefully from the wall, but I love them. It’s probably one of the things in life that I’m most passionate about. I just love them. I hope the owner restores this one.
The rooms are all done almost exclusively in IKEA, which I don’t mind one bit, IKEA is chic. I don’t care for Audrey staring at me. She was beautiful, but Breakfast at Tiffany’s was SO GODAWFUL! Why couldn’t one of her better pictures become iconic, like Funny Face or Paris…When It Sizzles? Monstrously large television where I can catch up on E!, Bravo, and OWN (but only on Saturdays for Golden Sisters and Life With La Toya!)
Now, we can head out and see the building that I’m most obsessed with.
I finally had a coffee at The Coffee Bean. I don’t know why I wanted to go there so much, but it’s been in the back of my mind for ages. It reminds me of the old Ellen show, maybe that’s why. I don’t know. Did you watch that show? It was so silly. Loved it. Ellen trying to date boys for five seasons! Laughs for all! I love Ellen. I wonder where she tapes?
The coffee was better than Starbucks and reminded me of Caribou back home. I shall frequent this place in my explorations. I noticed that I must have been in a big Jewish community because all the guys were wearing yarmulkes. I’ve always wanted a yarmulke. Do you think I could pass for Jewish? I don’t know. I like Jewish people. Hitler would have hated me for so many reasons. There was a very fashionable Jewish man who got out of his car who wore the most extravagant hat. It was stunning. I wanted one, but I could never pull it off the way he did.
As I walked down the street, I found my first bakery and I love it.
It’s an old Jewish bakery where they speak Hebrew or Yiddish (I don’t know the difference, please instruct me) and have traditional pastries. I was in love with the place before I met the woman behind the counter who gave me a lesson in Hebrew. She taught me how to say “thank you very much” and wrote it out with me and helped me with my pronunciation. “Tohdoh Rhabah” I said delightedly as I left the shop with this cookie:
This shop fascinated me. The workers were incredibly rude. They begrudgingly mumble, “Can I help you?” Then when you say you’re browsing — as you do anywhere, it’s an international phrase — they glare and walk away. Whatever, I had fun browsing. The entire place was filled up with gilded mirrors and chandeliers and antique paintings and furniture that had to have come from some French chateau. It was like Versailles put on an estate sale. I wanted it all even though that’s not really the kind of look I do in my rooms anymore. There was one painting of a French salon that I was completely obsessed with. I have no idea how much it cost, but I wish I had the money for it. It’s just the kind of thing I need to have in storage for my elegant cottage of the future.
This was a fun secondhand shop where lots of trendy people go to sell their clothes and find new things. There was a blazer that I wanted that looked like it came from a 1940s English coastal resort, but I didn’t know where to wear it, so I passed. I’ll probably go back. It was a great place to people watch. There was this one guy with his entire entourage. He’d put on a shirt or jacket and turn to them. Some would clap. “That’s the one, Jamal, that’s it!” a very hyper Asian woman would shout with each ensemble. I liked them.
The whole area was filled with vintage and antique shops that were far too expensive for me. When I get my Hollywood home, I suppose this is where I’ll be shopping, though!
I was feeling a bit peckish by this point and this advertisement did not help!
I came across a little cafe called Twist and went in for an orange juice and pastry. When I looked in their display case I couldn’t help bursting out laughing at their macarons! I bought one just to take a picture of it. IT’S SO RIDICULOUS!
It was, in complete honesty, one of the worst macarons I’ve ever had. The texture was all wrong, the ganache was gritty, and…look at it! I wanted to go back into the kitchen and give the pastry chef a hand, but I didn’t want to make them feel bad by having a fully qualified stranger schooling them.
There was a shop that sold Moroccan-inspired furniture and I wanted it all. I have always dreamt of having a courtyard with Moroccan tiles and a fountain and a big brass table. It will be gorgeous. I’ll have to incorporate that into the cottage I’m designing. I really want that cottage.
You could rent all these things for movies or commercials or parties.
I stopped in a bakery called Susina and bought some dessert and also a stationary shop where the print all of their cards and papers on antique printing presses. It was a really cool place. I bought a few cards and then headed back to the apartment to relax.
After a few hours, I went the opposite direction on Beverly and looked at the shops. I bought a stovetop espresso maker at a CHEAP restaurant supply shop. I wish I lived here permanently so that I could buy all the things!
This side of the street wasn’t that thrilling and there wasn’t much to stop and see. I finally came upon Cedars-Sinai, where I sat on a bench and reflected on my love of celebrity. I adore them all. I don’t care what they’re famous for. I don’t just love them — I just want to be them. I don’t know what it is about me or about a person that desires fame. I don’t know what it says about them, but I don’t really care. The only thing I’ve truly wanted professionally in my life is to be celebrated. I’m fine with myself, my personal life, my family, my job — I just crave the feeling of being beloved by strangers.
Remember when our Britney went crazy? It was a scary, but wonderful time. Let’s listen to a song from her genius album of that era, Blackout, in celebration of her:
That album was a masterpiece. I said it the day it came out and I heard it all for the first time. Nobody listened to me then, but now, it’s heralded as her greatest work. I TOLD YOU, BITCHES!
I finally made it to Robertson Boulevard, which is lined with nice shops. Right outside of a Chanel store, a twelve-year-old boy came up to me and started whispering, “I got lots of things here, cocaine, what you want!” Delighted to finally be offered a drug deal, I said, “Crack’s whack,” and carried on. What a gritty life I lead.
Headed back to the Grove area for dinner, I saw this, and began to get teary eyed:
Target is so wonderful. I love it there. It’s so relaxing to be in Target. I looked at the shorts. All the skinny people had got there before me.
For dinner, I could not resist the Veggie Grill. I went their last night and had the most amazing totally vegan meal and went back tonight for the tacos. THEY WERE AMAZING. EATING AT THE VEGGIE GRILL IS A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE. Oh God, I’m salivating just thinking of the place, but I can’t go every day!
I tried to go grocery shopping at a place called Erewhon, but it was too much for me. I didn’t understand what half the things are, and you know I love food. I delight in trying new things and find food delightful, but this place was over the top. I just wanted orange juice and Cheerios. I ended up with a stick of butter, a bag of potatoes, some lentils, and a bit of cheese. There’s a meal in there somewhere. I’ll be shopping elsewhere in the future.
All in all, I walked over eight miles. I mapped it.