An Australian Girl In America: Days 1 & 2

So we arrived at our hotel in LA at 10am (3am Australian time) after our long haul flight during which I may or may not have combined pills and alchohol (see previous blog). My husband and I immediately fell into deep sleeps (read 'comatose states') from which we awoke five hours later refreshed and rejuvenated (read 'jetlagged and feeling revolting'). We decided to get out and into the sun (read 'shop') so left our hotel and walked to the nearest shopping centre (read 'caught a taxi'). We were near Beverley Hills, and so the clothes were prohibitively expensive, but I still managed to find some sale bargains and bought a few items (read 'lots').

We were both hungry so we hit the diner scene for some food. It was a day of culinary firsts for me. I broke my chilli cheese fries cherry, and then I broke my cherry pie cherry (I am SO proud of that line. Let's say it again, shall we? 'I broke my cherry pie cherry'. Ah......)

The chilli cheese fries tasted great while I was eating it and then horrible five minutes later. The cherry pie tasted great fullstop, until I saw apple pie on the menu, and noticed that 'added melted cheese' was an additional $1.95. I was nauseated, and let me tell you, it wasn't because of the cost of the cheese. It was because of the concept. I mean, apple pie with cheese? Have some dignity, Americans!

We returned to our hotel, and discovered a girl in undies lying in a glass box behind the front desk. She had her back turned to us, so I assumed she was cranky, and didn't knock on the glass, despite being hugely tempted. I asked if perhaps I could be paid to lie in the glass box for the next couple of days, but my offer was politely declined (read 'declined with a look of horror').

And then we went to bed.

This morning we awoke and headed to meet our LA friends. We hopped in a taxi which was driven by a very angry Bulgarian, who abused us all the way there, claiming we were making him drive to another city, we didn't know what we were talking about (even though all we'd said was the address) and were grossly inconveniencing him. The ride took twenty minutes.

We ate at a very posh cafe which we were assured by excellent sources is frequented by Simon Baker. To my profound disappointment, Simon was not there, and the only other patron in the cafe was Steven Spielberg. Bummer.

I tried to photograph Steven but my friend Jack's* big head was in the way, so Jack's wife Rhonda took the photo for me. She was not pleased, as apparently it is 'very uncool' to photograph celebrities in LA, but I threatened to cry unless she did. So she took the picture as discreetly as she could, which turned out not to be very discreet as all as the flash went off on her iPhone. She then slunk in her chair  muttering 'I'm so humiliated' for the next half hour, whilst I waved and tried to make eye contact with Steve.

My friends had business to attend to so my husband and I did another spot of shopping, during which time I picked up this important self help manual for him. Honestly, I don't know how we've survived so long without it.

We then proceeded to Venice Beach, which was just like Bondi Beach, only virtually everyone there was at least one of the following:

1. Black
2. Exceedingly well built
3. Obese
4. Covered head to toe in tattoos
5. Covered head to toe in gold jewellery
6. Eating a chilli cheese dog
7. On rollerblades.

Being none of the above, we stood out like sore thumbs. This is probably why I was chosen by two performing artists to dance with them. And because I'm on holidays and no-one will ever see the evidence, I did.

Later, dudes.

*Names changed in case Steven Spielberg reads this post.