From Soho house to Ed Hardy Beers. California diversity.

L.A. is so cool. We really are kinda smitten in that mushy wushy infatuation stage. This past weekend we took an overnight trip up to the San Bernardino mountains which would be like a hiccup away if we hasn’t gone at exactly 5
O’ clock rush hour. But I’ll get to that later-
I was in celebration mode because I had just had lunch at the Soho house with a really wonderful and interesting lady friend of a friend (millions of thanks to this friend). I won’t name drop because she might be horrified at my association but she is the daughter of a very famous writer and very famous actress and has daughters my age, she is wickedly smart and fun and a very talented writer herself, her husband is a very powerful attorney “to the stars” too- so they are totally enmeshed in Hollywood.

I do still get a bit nervous on first dates, which complicates my life as an auditioner, but she was so cool and relaxed that immediately I felt like I could gab to her about my most personal irritations.

The soho house is gorgeous. Its a members only club for Hollywood royalty, it’s located in the bosom of Beverly Hills atop a very tall building (for LA standards) that overlooks the city.
We sat on lush sofas as we dined on kale salads and drank sparkling water, I tried my best not to look smug.
Half the restaurant came to greet her at one point or another including a former judge on American Idol, the guitarist in a very famous band and the producer of two of my very favorite movies. Act casual I mantra’d I wrapped an invisible feather boa around my neck.

Lunch was over and she had put me in touch with a “young and hungry” manager who is essentially, part of her family. She is one of three managers who operate a very exclusive management company. They represent 40 actors, that are all real working actors, a lot with names that I know. Long story short me and young hungry manager were setting up a luncheon of our own, exciting!

Meanwhile, the mountains were gorgeous, or what we made out of them because by the time we arrived it was very, very dark. We piled pillows and blankets into the tent to make a nest of warmth because the temperature had dropped dramatically. We dined on quiche that was sooty on the outside and cold on the inside and drank Ed Hardy beers (long story) which were not surprisingly pretty disgusting, and loved every minute. Yogi immediately took his position as territory patroller and Guillaume read me tales from his book about a drug smuggler (the books called High, and it’s really good).

We woke up really early and wound up at a Belgian waffle joint on lake arrowhead, I would tell you the details between these two points but acting as my own attorney, I think it’s better I take the 5th. We played improv games as we got high on sugary waffles and coffee refills and watched the steam rise off of the adorable little lake. Actually, exactly 5 years earlier G and I had been to the same place with my mom when after we went to my cousins wedding on Catalina island. We drove on down through the tiny mountain towns which seems a million miles away from L.A. The air was a crisp 40 degrees, with added windchill because Yogi insisted on having his head out the window.

We drove to a place called Glenn Valley to pick apples because it sounded like a perfect fall thing to do. I don’t think G quite understood the finesse of choosing the right apple to pick but I suppose apple picking is a skill Americans are naturally more adept at.

We made it home just before dusk that same afternoon and went straight to the beach to play some volleyball with our roommates. We had started the day with 40 degrees and mountain towns and were ending it at 80 degrees and beach volleyball. It blows my little Florida sandles straight off.