Sunday, August 26, 2007

Saturday In Santa Monica

In my late thirties, my social life consisted pretty much of the following:

On Fridays, I'd drive in to the Valley to Andi's house. She'd whip up a fabulous meal and we'd sit on her patio smoking cigarettes, drinking champagne, and solving the world's problems. (Okay, I'm sure the subject of men came up on occasion, but not as often as you'd expect).

On Saturdays, I'd catch up with Kathleen, my singles buddy. Since she lived in Santa Monica, I'd drive up the coast to her, she'd drive down the coast to me, or we'd meet somewhere in the middle, like Malibu.

All that changed on January 14, 1994.

Yep, that's the day the earth shook.

I didn't know it at the time, but lots of stuff was about to change, including my social life.

Andi's house in Woodland Hills was a shambles...and, more importantly, an asbestos trap. She promptly moved in with her boyfriend (later her husband) down in Santa Monica. There went the Friday night dinners.

St. John's Hospital, where Kathy worked as a respiratory therapist, closed indefinitely and employees were told they'd have to reapply for their jobs when it re-opened. The hell with that, Kathy thought. She bought a condo in Laguna Niguel and moved away.

There went my singles buddy.

So yesterday, as I drove down the coast to Andi's for a reunion of sorts, I felt like I was "driving down the route of my thirties" and here I am, now in my fifties. Eeek. A long time has passed. And, how pathetic is this?? It's August, I live 20 minutes from the beach, and this is the first time I've seen the ocean all season.

A lot has changed on PCH. The two bars we used to frequent have been shut for ages, but it appears something's in the work to take their place. These days, the "in people" frequent the "Polaroid House" which I was dying to swing by, but...well, I feared there may be some sort of invisible age barrier...y'know, like those things they put up to keep dogs in their place? Ha.

As I made my way through the beach traffic I half-expected a pack of paparazzi (paps, as they're now called) to come speeding around a corner, but it was a slow day for celebrities. (Oh, and I'll bet motorists on PCH are basking in a sense of security now that La Lohan is tucked safely away in a Utah rehab center.)

Anyway, I met Kathy at Gladstone's where I took this picture.

Later we met up with old college-era friends at Andi

and Scott's cool, cool, house. And I just can't figure out how to make sense of the way Blogger wants to arrange these pictures, so I'll just end the commentary here except to explain that the photo of the woman with the head chopped off is meant to demonstrate that it's possible for old ladies like us to wear four-inch heels. (Okay, I confess. They were MY shoes, and she was using them to impress her the way, it worked.)

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