PS I miss you

It's more the desert heat and San Jacinto mountains shoved up against the side of the city that I miss. The low-profile, modernist buildings, the ever-ready pool and lounge chair, the baked seaweed snacks at Trader Joe's, the endless stream of interesting characters and nary a nose to wipe or a meltdown to soothe to distract me from the bliss of relaxation. Yep, miss those things, too.

Other than make the trek to L.A. to see Craig Ferguson, we did barely anything we talked about maybe doing while we were there. But it was good. The CBS Studio experience was one of those "I have no frame of reference for this experience" experience. Which in itself was awesome. Lots of jolly fake and real laughing and just feeling like an excited toddler.

We stayed at two hotels - the first, the Colony Palms, was this old-school PS haunt that was hacienda-like, downtown, ultra-loungy, posh feeling and pretty heavenly. The pool was bloody freezing, but the people-watching was superb. The second joint, the Ace, was further south on the grounds of an old Howard Johnson. It was billed as hipster and it delivered that quality in spades, but the bed was brutally futon-like and the concrete floor lost its charm after the first few minutes. The pool was fabulous and warm and the hot tub was gigantor, with another awesome backdrop of Angelinos and PS locals to observe.

These things almost made up for the fact that the people above us took two hours to depart on our last morning there, waking up at 4 am and stomping around dragging their suitcases. And that they cranked the pool stereo at 6 am the first morning. There were some good points in between these two bookends but ultimately I wouldn't recommend the place unless you're 20, need a place to stay that takes dogs and bikers and don't give a shit if your bed is uncomfortable. I'm getting to be a cranky bitch in my travelling ways.

We managed to get some fresh-pressed juice on three of the mornings we were there, but mostly I wavered between eating like a superhero (greens from the local farmer's market, etc.) and eating like I'm on vacation. There was pasta, crab cakes, coconut french toast, cinnamon buns (albeit of the gluten- and dairy-free sort but fucking fantastic), wine, a bloody mary or two, and even a full egg and bacon breakfast at the airport before coming home on Sunday, but I gained nary an lb and my radiation scorch healed like a hot damn. Just in time to get all that fresh skin hacked off on Monday. Sweet!

I also had time to talk to the man I live with. A rarity. We got out some fears about the surgery, and just generally connected in a good way so he can prepare to see me once again at my worst next week and ride it like the unicorn he is. Seriously, the man is a titan and I couldn't imagine going through the next few weeks without his ever-present loveliness. And if y'all ever need to go into the hospital, you want a man like Pete around to get you shit. You think Shirley Maclaine was a beyotch in Terms of Endearment? Nothin' on my man.

I have another moppet home today with sickness and I love her like a daughter but am hand-washing like a demon so I don't get ill in these final days before getting a tube shoved down my throat. I'm building up my empire of super-foods and other goodies and am determined to never get sick again. Yes, that is the point of all this. Fuck colds, flu, cancer and the like. I'm done with all of you.