Peaks and Valleys (and Weddings, Oh My!)
It's 90 degrees here today, 40% humidity, and the construction on Park Avenue will surely be responsible for my asbestos poisoning. Remind me, again, why I left Los Angeles for this? I jest, of course, because I officially made my decision (after a jaunt in Rome - remember?) to live here over all other cities and I stick to it. But this past weekend on the sunnier side of the country definitely made me question myself. It also gave me a bit of a tan and a few new phone numbers.
The weekend started with Danna's rehearsal dinner, held at her parents' home in the cultural bastion known as "the valley." Well, the weekend really started Friday morning when I bought some fabulous Chanel shoes on sale at Saks (my first pair ever! milestone in a young woman's life), but the real reason for the trip was to celebrate my old college roommate and dear, dear friends nuptials. As one would expect at a Jewish function, the dessert spread was to die for and her Israeli family were all lovely. It was an honor being one of the few friends invited to the intimate gathering, and a perfect opportunity to get some one-on-one time with the happy couple before the big day.
After dinner my (jet-lagged) parents and I headed back over the hill but not before I recieved word that two good friends of mine were at the Roosevelt pool. And, according to their text messages, "talking shit" about me. Which I like to interpret as: discussing "how awesome" I am and "how sad" they are that I live across the country. As we rolled up to Teddy's in my parents rented SUV - oh yes, my parents dropped me off - I looked at the other young women around me. I'd apparently missed the skinny jean/black tank top memo and felt only mildly out of place wearing a bright green Betsey Johnson dress. Don't get me wrong - it's a personal favorite - but I'm not sure they let USO Entertainers circa 1941 enter Hollywood's hottest clubs. (Seriously - I should be singing jazz standards in this thing.) As luck would have it, the promoter at the bar is a dear family friend and let me in without incident. I secretly like to think that all the starlet wannabes who saw me waltz right in were saying to one another "Wow is that someone famous?" In reality, however, I'm sure they were saying "Is she lost?"
Finding my friends was easy, finding the alcohol was even easier, and before I knew it a few of us were heading up to another friend's new house in the Hollywood Hills. It was a striking (too masculine to be called "beautiful") manse perched against the side of the canon and had views of the glittering city below. All glass walls and dark wood and steel and chrome marked it as a total bachelor pad (this friend is a perpetual bachelor), but the pool and jacuzzi more than warmed things up. Or warmed me up. Along with more vodka. One of LA's downfalls is a poor taxi system (something that would come into play more than once over the weekend), so I crashed like the starlet that I was on his 400-count Egyptian cotton guest room sheets. Not a bad way to re-enter the Left coast social scene.
As a result, Saturday was a pretty introspective day. I always get introspective and emotional when I'm hungover (perhaps years of watching "The Breakfast Club" or "When Harry Met Sally" on hungover Sunday afternoons has something to do with it? It's now ingrained in my DNA?). My sage sister and I lay by the pool and I vented about feeling far behind my peers. She vented to me about the perils of buying a new home. We ate Mexican and PinkBerry. It was quite a nourishing day all around.
Sunday was the main event and, since I barely wear make-up on a dialy basis, I showered quickly before letting Harte go to town on me. She said I looked lovely - I think I look a bit like a French whore when I wear so much lacquer (but a cute French whore, don't get me wrong - you know, let's say 18th century-Versailles court whore). But even I have to admit she did a lovely job.
I was thrilled about the wedding because they are one of my favorite pastimes - free champagne & dancing, what's better than that? Oh, and the whole "union of two people who are in love and pledging to be together for the rest of their lives" thing is nice, too. Especially since Danna and Matthew are perfect for one another. The ceremony at the Skirball was a bit chilly (thank god I bought that Rozae Nichols leather swing jacket), but the emotion filling the space when the happy couple read their vows was palpable, and warmed the crowd. The rabbi was a character and the ceremony entirely personalized, which added an air of intimacy to all involved and even those of us sitting on the sidelines.
Danna walking down the aisle
I was glad she didn't wear white - would've been a total sham. Come on - they've been together for 10 years. Matthew's a wonderful guy, but no saint...
Danna's brothers gave a very funny speech and we were all treated to a slide show of the happy couple over the years. Naturally the Kappas made the slide show and we were all reminded how we've known the bride for almost 10 years. There's something bittersweet to having that much history with a person. I'm saddened that so much time has passed in what feels like a blink of an eye, and it's impossible to get back, but I feel so much more connected now that we have a backstory. These are people that will be in my life forever. (Hopefully, vice versa, until they're totally sick of me).
The happy newlyweds
Koosed-Etting, Moi, Sanj, BPlain
Beth and I were among the last to leave (shocker) and had issues (again) finding a cab, and didn't end up sleeping until almost 6am. I think I was wired from the events. My little girl is all growns up. It's hard for me to realize! In desperate need of food and caffeine, a few of the evening's hardest partiers gathered for brunch in West Hollywood at the new Little Next Door. Having spent my 22nd birthday at The Little Door years ago and loving it ever since, I was stoked to see the new cafe outpost they'd built. (If you go for brunch, def get the serrano ham and eggs with arugula, fyi).
Here's where things started to dawn on me. I looked around the table at these three other people who, for all intents and purposes, were more peripheral than good friends. One was a buddy from college, the other his girlfriend (who is my new girl crush - she's fabulous), and the other was a freelance TV producer (who's been known to moonlight as a Domino's delivery guy in commercials once in a while). When I left LA three years ago I wrote it off as unintellectual and boring and isolating. All of my girfriends had settled down with their boyfriends, in the honeymoon stages of first love and struggling with their careers. When I arrived in Manhattan I found myself going to dinner and drinks 6 nights a week, with single friends and dates and couples alike. We talked about books, articles in the Times and Journal, art, celeb gossip, the meaning of life, etc. I was so enthralled by this new life that I shunned all things Los Angeles and vowed never to return (save for visiting you, my dear reader, who lives out there).
But as we crowded with the other Memorial Day brunch goers and I looked around the group, I realized we were talking about books and news and movies and art. We were being social and having a full on outing. In an instant LA no longer seemed as bad as it once was. And as I pulled up to the slowly emptying duplex after breakfast, with the tacky "In Escrow" sign out front and all soul (read: my furniture and photos and books and art) removed from inside, I felt the awkward pang of remorse.
"You gave all this up?" My friend asked.
"I did," I replied, with a barely steady voice.
"Why would you do that?"
For once, I had no answer (I'm rarely rendered speechless). I started thinking about whether I'd made a terrible mistake. My life seems to have taken a turn - my friends in LA are now settled and make an effort to be social and create lives outside of their homes or relationships, while my friends in NY are all entering the nesting phase. I was pretty fragile the rest of the trip. I think my mother knew something was wrong when I locked up that house for the last time and didn't talk the entire way home.
Something in me chanegd this trip. I'd been in a dark place for a long time, and while I'm usually good at glossing it over and sacking up when I need to be social and fabulous, the past few months have really taken their toll on me. But the California sun, the Indie 103, the therapy sessions with my best friends out there (Jessica, Beth, and Harte - I'm calling you out), really did a nuber on me. For the better. So it was a weekend of ups and downs but in the end, I felt the omnipresent cloud starting to lift.
I thought I would cry on the flight home to NY. I love love love this inconvenient, oppressive, overpopulated city more than anywhere else on earth, but I had such a fantastic time that I was sure I'd shed some tears (well hidden behind my Versace shades, of course. wouldn't want anyone to know that deep down I'm really quite a pansy). But none came. Not one! Instead I feel quite liberated - I don't have to have a foot in LA anymore now that the house is gone, and maybe that will enable me to really live my life back here. Not that I won't come back for visits, and not that when I make my first (10) million I won't immediately become bicoastal (that would be ideal), but now I feel sort of free. Besides, it's not like LA's going anywhere.
And so now I'm back feeling incredibly relaxed and confident and happier than I've been in weeks. I don't know if the wedding I have this weekend will have quite the same impact (my guess is no, since it's about 30 blocks from my apartment and full of people I see on a regular basis), but I'm glad to have something to occupy my time nonetheless. Free champagne, right? And now if you'll excuse me, I need to jump in the shower in order to make it to after work drinks in the West Village by 6pm. What? Just becuase I'm unemployed doesn't mean I can't meet my friends who are employed for cocktails. So long as they're buying.
The weekend started with Danna's rehearsal dinner, held at her parents' home in the cultural bastion known as "the valley." Well, the weekend really started Friday morning when I bought some fabulous Chanel shoes on sale at Saks (my first pair ever! milestone in a young woman's life), but the real reason for the trip was to celebrate my old college roommate and dear, dear friends nuptials. As one would expect at a Jewish function, the dessert spread was to die for and her Israeli family were all lovely. It was an honor being one of the few friends invited to the intimate gathering, and a perfect opportunity to get some one-on-one time with the happy couple before the big day.
After dinner my (jet-lagged) parents and I headed back over the hill but not before I recieved word that two good friends of mine were at the Roosevelt pool. And, according to their text messages, "talking shit" about me. Which I like to interpret as: discussing "how awesome" I am and "how sad" they are that I live across the country. As we rolled up to Teddy's in my parents rented SUV - oh yes, my parents dropped me off - I looked at the other young women around me. I'd apparently missed the skinny jean/black tank top memo and felt only mildly out of place wearing a bright green Betsey Johnson dress. Don't get me wrong - it's a personal favorite - but I'm not sure they let USO Entertainers circa 1941 enter Hollywood's hottest clubs. (Seriously - I should be singing jazz standards in this thing.) As luck would have it, the promoter at the bar is a dear family friend and let me in without incident. I secretly like to think that all the starlet wannabes who saw me waltz right in were saying to one another "Wow is that someone famous?" In reality, however, I'm sure they were saying "Is she lost?"
Finding my friends was easy, finding the alcohol was even easier, and before I knew it a few of us were heading up to another friend's new house in the Hollywood Hills. It was a striking (too masculine to be called "beautiful") manse perched against the side of the canon and had views of the glittering city below. All glass walls and dark wood and steel and chrome marked it as a total bachelor pad (this friend is a perpetual bachelor), but the pool and jacuzzi more than warmed things up. Or warmed me up. Along with more vodka. One of LA's downfalls is a poor taxi system (something that would come into play more than once over the weekend), so I crashed like the starlet that I was on his 400-count Egyptian cotton guest room sheets. Not a bad way to re-enter the Left coast social scene.
As a result, Saturday was a pretty introspective day. I always get introspective and emotional when I'm hungover (perhaps years of watching "The Breakfast Club" or "When Harry Met Sally" on hungover Sunday afternoons has something to do with it? It's now ingrained in my DNA?). My sage sister and I lay by the pool and I vented about feeling far behind my peers. She vented to me about the perils of buying a new home. We ate Mexican and PinkBerry. It was quite a nourishing day all around.
Sunday was the main event and, since I barely wear make-up on a dialy basis, I showered quickly before letting Harte go to town on me. She said I looked lovely - I think I look a bit like a French whore when I wear so much lacquer (but a cute French whore, don't get me wrong - you know, let's say 18th century-Versailles court whore). But even I have to admit she did a lovely job.
I was thrilled about the wedding because they are one of my favorite pastimes - free champagne & dancing, what's better than that? Oh, and the whole "union of two people who are in love and pledging to be together for the rest of their lives" thing is nice, too. Especially since Danna and Matthew are perfect for one another. The ceremony at the Skirball was a bit chilly (thank god I bought that Rozae Nichols leather swing jacket), but the emotion filling the space when the happy couple read their vows was palpable, and warmed the crowd. The rabbi was a character and the ceremony entirely personalized, which added an air of intimacy to all involved and even those of us sitting on the sidelines.
Danna walking down the aisle
I was glad she didn't wear white - would've been a total sham. Come on - they've been together for 10 years. Matthew's a wonderful guy, but no saint...
Danna's brothers gave a very funny speech and we were all treated to a slide show of the happy couple over the years. Naturally the Kappas made the slide show and we were all reminded how we've known the bride for almost 10 years. There's something bittersweet to having that much history with a person. I'm saddened that so much time has passed in what feels like a blink of an eye, and it's impossible to get back, but I feel so much more connected now that we have a backstory. These are people that will be in my life forever. (Hopefully, vice versa, until they're totally sick of me).
The happy newlyweds
Koosed-Etting, Moi, Sanj, BPlain
Beth and I were among the last to leave (shocker) and had issues (again) finding a cab, and didn't end up sleeping until almost 6am. I think I was wired from the events. My little girl is all growns up. It's hard for me to realize! In desperate need of food and caffeine, a few of the evening's hardest partiers gathered for brunch in West Hollywood at the new Little Next Door. Having spent my 22nd birthday at The Little Door years ago and loving it ever since, I was stoked to see the new cafe outpost they'd built. (If you go for brunch, def get the serrano ham and eggs with arugula, fyi).
Here's where things started to dawn on me. I looked around the table at these three other people who, for all intents and purposes, were more peripheral than good friends. One was a buddy from college, the other his girlfriend (who is my new girl crush - she's fabulous), and the other was a freelance TV producer (who's been known to moonlight as a Domino's delivery guy in commercials once in a while). When I left LA three years ago I wrote it off as unintellectual and boring and isolating. All of my girfriends had settled down with their boyfriends, in the honeymoon stages of first love and struggling with their careers. When I arrived in Manhattan I found myself going to dinner and drinks 6 nights a week, with single friends and dates and couples alike. We talked about books, articles in the Times and Journal, art, celeb gossip, the meaning of life, etc. I was so enthralled by this new life that I shunned all things Los Angeles and vowed never to return (save for visiting you, my dear reader, who lives out there).
But as we crowded with the other Memorial Day brunch goers and I looked around the group, I realized we were talking about books and news and movies and art. We were being social and having a full on outing. In an instant LA no longer seemed as bad as it once was. And as I pulled up to the slowly emptying duplex after breakfast, with the tacky "In Escrow" sign out front and all soul (read: my furniture and photos and books and art) removed from inside, I felt the awkward pang of remorse.
"You gave all this up?" My friend asked.
"I did," I replied, with a barely steady voice.
"Why would you do that?"
For once, I had no answer (I'm rarely rendered speechless). I started thinking about whether I'd made a terrible mistake. My life seems to have taken a turn - my friends in LA are now settled and make an effort to be social and create lives outside of their homes or relationships, while my friends in NY are all entering the nesting phase. I was pretty fragile the rest of the trip. I think my mother knew something was wrong when I locked up that house for the last time and didn't talk the entire way home.
Something in me chanegd this trip. I'd been in a dark place for a long time, and while I'm usually good at glossing it over and sacking up when I need to be social and fabulous, the past few months have really taken their toll on me. But the California sun, the Indie 103, the therapy sessions with my best friends out there (Jessica, Beth, and Harte - I'm calling you out), really did a nuber on me. For the better. So it was a weekend of ups and downs but in the end, I felt the omnipresent cloud starting to lift.
I thought I would cry on the flight home to NY. I love love love this inconvenient, oppressive, overpopulated city more than anywhere else on earth, but I had such a fantastic time that I was sure I'd shed some tears (well hidden behind my Versace shades, of course. wouldn't want anyone to know that deep down I'm really quite a pansy). But none came. Not one! Instead I feel quite liberated - I don't have to have a foot in LA anymore now that the house is gone, and maybe that will enable me to really live my life back here. Not that I won't come back for visits, and not that when I make my first (10) million I won't immediately become bicoastal (that would be ideal), but now I feel sort of free. Besides, it's not like LA's going anywhere.
And so now I'm back feeling incredibly relaxed and confident and happier than I've been in weeks. I don't know if the wedding I have this weekend will have quite the same impact (my guess is no, since it's about 30 blocks from my apartment and full of people I see on a regular basis), but I'm glad to have something to occupy my time nonetheless. Free champagne, right? And now if you'll excuse me, I need to jump in the shower in order to make it to after work drinks in the West Village by 6pm. What? Just becuase I'm unemployed doesn't mean I can't meet my friends who are employed for cocktails. So long as they're buying.
posted by Chaden at 9:09 PM
3 Comments:
the serrano really was the deal maker wasn't it?
the serrano really was the deal maker wasn't it?
AC,
I hadn't checked your blog in a little while and was happy to see you'd posted something new. You're so right that NY is an inconvenient, oppressive and overpopulated place, and I too can't help but love it.
Thanks again for the impromptu afternoon tea at your place on Saturday. We have to do that more often! Makes this crazy city a little less chaotic :)
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