My old street in LA was in Atwater Village, small and tree-lined, flanked by parks and mountains. It was home to a family of skunks, a pack of stray cats, and a toucan that squawked exactly like a pterodactyl.
BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT PTERODACTYLS SOUNDED LIKE.
My current street in West Hollywood where I'm in a hotel for 6 weeks during Spice Girls rehearsals is wildly different.
At first I was all OH NO because I'm not used to crews filming commercials in my face as I step out the door. Nor am I accustomed to walking for coffee every morning in my pajamas and having five valet men wish me a good morning.
By now they recognize that I'm one of their grungier guests and that there's absolutely no reason for us to kiss each others' asses; We can just be ourselves so we all smirk and nod at each other.
I've definitely never had a lobby in my home that was so shiny, so mirrored, and so black lacquered that I practically have to tiptoe with arms outstretched just to get to the elevator without accidentally crashing into a column when mistaking its reflection for a doorway.
And there are other things contributing to my enhanced attitude about this neighborhood:
1. The dive bar around the corner.
2. The delicious organic food cafe up the street.
3. Roscoe's motherf'ing chicken and waffles. How had I gone so long without?
I drove with Jane to LAX last night and I will admit that it wasn't easy because my stomach was churning through half a fried chicken smothered in gravy and onions, waffles, butter, and maple syrup. But that all went down together SMOOTH. Appalling. And wonderful.
I must be in a good mood because the things that would normally make me crazy are just amusing right now.
Cocker spaniel wearing a pink visor?
The guy at the studio who I met last summer and who I haven't seen since June, except for in People Magazine? The one I AIR KISSED when we saw each other? That didn't even freak me out. Yeah, I did that shit and then wanted to sneak behind the building and laugh really hard for about ten minutes.