It's not that I didn't love L.A. -- it's that it was really amazing for a few days and then not so good and then just very decidedly NOT home, which was the only place I wanted to be.
Confused? Me, too.
Over the next couple of days I'll fill you in on the entire week -- or eight days, rather -- that I spent in the city of angels. The first weekend was vacation, spent with my friend Emily, and we spent most of our time consuming ridiculous amounts of food, drinking before noon and staring at the ocean.
We spent our New Year's Eve catching a few bands at a club called The Satelite, and we spent our New Year's Day lounging in Santa Monica, walking the promenade and taking roughly 17,897 barely distinguishable photos of the beach. I'll tell you all about those adventures, in addition to our drive through the Hollywood Hills, my million dollar one-man-advertising-flash-mob idea, the Best Amateur Photographer of All Time, pancakes the size of a baby (or a house cat? take your pick) and more pictures of food than you ever imagined you would look at during this lifetime.
Then, after Emily left me to head back to the great wintry north on Tuesday, I went back to work -- taking care of clients remotely with the assistance of coffee shops and laptops amid lunch meetings and coffee meetings and dinner meetings and happy hour meetings. (In case you were wondering, those ones are the best ones. THE BEST ONES.)
So stay tuned, y'all. There's some peril and misadventure in this tale, too. Let's just say this: it's so, so good to be home.
cheers,
elizabeth
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