The twitter alerted me to several things I obsess about today. First off, the Golden Sisters were twerking. MANDATORY BREAK:
God, I just love everything about them. Theresa is my spirit animal. I want to go twerking with them! I would totally fangirl on them if I were to see them somewhere in LA. Last week they were at an antique shop in Burbank that I had just walked by. That was pretty amazing. But, to make this twerking even better, MILEY CYRUS tweeted them about it. It’s like a dreamworld I live in! She said, and I quote, “Granny with a booty almost got it on da wiggle wiggle wiggle. #doyothangggg” Loves it.
Then, Tom Daley is now doing this daily (get it?) diary and posts pictures of himself doing shit everyday because he’s beautiful and can get away with things like that.
I wasn’t really in the mood to do much of anything, so I stayed in the apartment until mid-afternoon taking care of some work. I did some website maintenance and tidied up and wrote out some cards that I bought a few days ago, which reminded me of how much I love cursive. I just adore it. Nobody writes in cursive anymore and that’s tragic.
I finally worked up the motivation to do something, so I went to the post office. I thought that was going to be the extent of it all, but I had put on a super cute tank top that I bought at Target that EVERYBODY seems to wear. It’s ridiculous the way I have an eye for trends. I swear my tastes are somehow being cultivated — NSA or something. I’m not really all that bothered that they are searching through my records, they’re sure to have an amusing time and I’ve always been a giver.
I walked up to Melrose and was immediately annoyed because there was no sunshine and it was drizzling and I looked adorable, but whatever. But, there were loads of Art Deco touches on the buildings that seemed to be forgotten and it reminded me of the decadence of Old Hollywood and I felt revitalized — I’m weird.
Melrose was rather grungy. I later went the other direction and it continued to be grungy, but more interesting, too. There were lots of shops that catered to interior decorators, so that was interesting for me to peek into since I love that kind of thing. Lots of tailors. Lots of little boutiques.
I saw a place called Duff’s Cakemix and went in for a nibble. It was a branch of the bakery on that show that’s on Food Network. I used to watch it a lot…what’s the name again? It’s not Cake Boss…Ace of Cakes? I think that’s it. Beautiful place, lovely staff, meh cupcake. I had lemon poppy seed. I guess I’m just not a big fan of buttercream. There’s nothing all that pleasant about knowing that you’re chowing down on butter. Not all buttercream is bad, of course, but most of it is rather flavorless. I prefer other frostings. Chocolate frosting, mainly. I could eat that by itself. I do eat it by itself.
I’m really tired of cupcakes. Why are they still popular? This baffles me. I’ve never been much of a fan of these tired little cakes, but I can always follow a trend — well, not really, I’m more of a trendsetter. But, where are the tarts? I need a good lemon tart. Le sigh…sometimes I feel like I should have just gone to Paris. This trip is costing about the same!
I walked and I walked and I walked my little feet off (well, actually, they aren’t that small, size 12) and finally found myself at the boundaries of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. I need to go explore Beverly Hills later wearing fancier clothes. Not a tank and shorts.
I was delighted to go to the Andrew Christian boutique on Santa Monica — they’re the only company I will buy underwear from. Get some. The shop was lots of fun and there was such variety to sample from. You remember my latent desire to be an underwear model, right? I think I’d be a great underwear model.
There was a pair that was supposed to give you an ass, so I tried those on, no luck. My ass just does not exist. It’s there, but I have to be naked for you to appreciate it. Lord, I wish I had one, though, life would just be better. It would be better for everybody!
I talked to a charming go-go dancer for awhile. He told me that on Tuesdays, everything is half price. Guess who gets paid on Tuesday? Me. Guess who’s going back on Tuesday? Me. It’s a fun place. You should go there if you have a penis. If ladies can go get nice bras, so can you.
I loved this area of West Hollywood — it was so friendly. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood, even if it was cloudy. I adore the gay community, there is not a friendlier one in all the world. I even saw an underwear model walk down the street — no, it wasn’t me in a mirror! Thank you, though.
I saw a place called Champagne bakery and had to go in. Would they have tarts???? They did! Balance is restored to the world. I didn’t order one, but I was relieved by their presence. I had a raspberry mousse cake and espresso and sat in the cafe to watch all the handsome people stroll by.
Sitting there, I came to the realization that I keep forcing Hollywood into being Paris and constantly comparing the two of them. I need to stop that. Only Paris is Paris. Hollywood is it’s own animal that I don’t fully understand, yet. I also realized that no matter where I go or what I do, I won’t really ever be at home unless I’m in Paris. It’s just the right spot for me. Everybody should live where they feel at home. I don’t know what I’ll do in Paris to support myself, but I probably need to work on moving there. Maybe if my book ever sells, I’ll have enough to make part of a down payment on a decent apartment. A boy can dream.
As I headed back towards Melrose, I found myself a new quest: to find the perfect pair of jean shorts. Everybody wears them here. They’re #totesadorbs. Want. Most seem to be cut off of full-length jeans, too, so maybe I’ll find a decent pair at Goodwill. There is a MASSIVE one down the street.
Back on Melrose I stopped dead when I saw a Tokidoki shop. Do you know why? Let me refresh you:
Oh, and I saw a Banksy on the way!
Back at the apartment, I decided to head out to dinner and see that new Lone Ranger picture. I had to go to the Veggie Grill, of course, and ordered the carne asada burger with a side of lentil soup. This dish was not as spectacular as the others I’ve had, but I’ve never been a burger person. The soup was delightful, but I’ve always been a big soup person. I could eat soup for every single meal and be perfectly content.
Finished, I started walking towards the theater, but as I got closer I felt totally psychically repulsed by the thought of it. I don’t know why, but I often get weird feelings like that. I usually listen to them, so I went to the Fat Cow (a rude name) for a drink at their bar. The bartender was a moron. I don’t know how many bartenders I will have to teach to make a sidecar. He didn’t even know where the brandy was so I let him replace the brandy with Campari — which was not stunning since he filled about half my glass with it. Campari is to be used lightly!
This encounter reminded me of my other latent career desire: to be a bartender on a cruise ship. I just think that would be fun. Don’t you? I’d wear a tuxedo and have my hair slicked back and rock a martini shaker.