The Surreal World

Last evening on the rooftop patio of a beautiful hotel, French in name and design, Le Petit, and I was over the waxing, almost full, moon. Surrounded by exquisite lighting, a lovely pool, and about twenty-five, physically stunning international hotel guests, my two friends and I sat on a sofa with a fireplace roaring behind us. Feeling cultured and high-brow, I was expecting some classic Jean Cocteau film. Instead, I laughed out loud when I heard the music and watched the opening scenes of a classic film of another sort, "Vacation" with Chevy Chase. While my two friends and I were heartily laughing at some of the lines and scenes, I noticed that many of the idioms and suggestive remarks weren't translating that well with the other audience members. When the young cousin in the film mentions that her father told her she was an expert French kisser, I don't think the Italian male model to my right understood the humor in the crass remark, for I saw him quickly turn away and ogle the Brazilian beauty next to me. Of course, I was eyeing the beautiful Brazilian woman, too. A blind man would have been eyeing something that exquisite looking. Our waitress decided to come check on us again after we were there for about an hour. Upon our arrival, she had asked if we wanted to see a menu, and we declined, instead ordering tea and coffee. From her accent, I discerned that she was French. She decided to come check on us again after we were there for an about an hour. One of my friends decided that she was hungry and asked the pretty and self-assured French waitress if she could see a menu. The waitress scowled and replied, "I ask you a while ago if you want to see a menu and you say no." Aunt Edna died just in time. Even though I found the waitress's abrasive response amusing, I didn't know whether my friends did or not, so Aunt Edna's dead body on the roof of the station wagon in the rain really diverted the attention away from the comportement grossier.

Today, I had a few moments to spare, and I needed to refuel after a weekend of sleep deprivation caused by the antics of the fireworks aficionados. I headed to the beach. A last minute decision, and I didn't have time to eat lunch. I was starving by the time I got close to the ocean. So, I ran into Ralph's grocery store in the chic, expensive Pacific Palisades area. At the prepared foods counter, I spotted fried chicken, tacos, and every unhealthy thing you could possibly eat for lunch. It's quite a misnomer that L.A. is the land of healthy eating habits. I think there may be more places here serving fatty food than there are in any major city in the South. "Are the chicken flautas made with flour or cornmeal," I asked the Latin woman behind the counter. She nodded her head and said, "Chicken. Yes." I smiled. "Are they made with flour of cornmeal?" I asked again. "Chicken," she said, frowning. "Um...the outside. Flour or cornmeal," I clarified. She grunted, and then she picked up one of the chicken flautas with the tongs and walked to the other end of the counter to ask a co-worker. "Flour," the co-worker shouted to me. "You want?" the employee asked, walking back toward me, holding the greasy treat high in the air. "I'll have two corn dogs," I said, as I pointed to the ones inside the case. Back in my car, and driving through an area with million dollar homes, I was happier than ever when I bit into the first of my two corn dogs.

Tonight, on our pre-bedtime walk, Shug and I met our neighborhood coyote again. Is it just me, or is there something strange about a coyote resting on the steps of the house across the narrow street from my apartment building? With front legs crossed, head in the air, looking at Shug and me as if we were the undesirable intruders, the coyote didn't get up for a few seconds. Only after Shug softly barked did Trixie LaRue (a name that I've given the slight and seductive coyote) run up the hill, off to who knows where.

The only predictable thing about L.A. is that it is unpredictable. Indeed, it is a land of contrasts. However, I am okay with that, because it's teaching me to be present with whatever comes my way. How great to be in place where the real world is also the surreal world!