There’s nothing like home. There’s nothing like home. There’s nothing like home. My black platform heels aren’t doing the job that those Dorothy red, sequined shoes do — which is to send me home to St. Augustine. Los Angeles is great, don’t get me wrong but St. Aug has a hook into my heart.
The Ivy was the top hot spot for celebs and the upper crust for a long time, so it would make since that I would HAVE to go there. So my friend Kristen and I got all dolled up and went there for breakfast.
The place was so cute! Ivy covering the white picket fence in front and white umbrellas shielding you from the hot, beating sun. All the china was oversized and covered in decorative ivy vines. We sat down in our wraught-iron chairs with plush pillows and ordered two coffees. The waiter handed us our giant teacups with coffee and the menu.
Maybe I should have realized this place was out of my price range when a 5-foot-8-inch bottle of botox and silicon disguised in human flesh sat down to eat with her fresh-out-of-high-school wannabe model boyfriend. They were closely followed by two older women adored in so much jewelry I am still wondering how they did not tip over with the large weight of pearls around their necks. Anyway, the omelets were $24 is what I am trying to say. Kristen and I assumed they were from a golden egg, thus justifying our reason to split one.
Traffic is just something that you have to get used to, because it is everywhere in LA. One night, Kristen and I were on our way home from meeting people for dinner and Sunset Boulevard was at a dead stop. After we got the death look from two cops for being on our cell phones in the car — it’s illegal in California — we saw bright lights and tons of limos at the Dome Cinema. It was exciting to see a premier from the street. Plans started to form between Kristen and I about how we could break in and walk the carpet like we owned the place but those plans never came into fruition.
I don’t want to start a religion talk because we have those all the time with our friends here but just look at this picture:
This isn’t a concert; it’s our church. How awesome is that?!
After spending the whole week calling stylists and publicists of celebs attending the EMMYs to come into our showroom it was nice to have Denise Richards come in. The reality star and former model breezed in at a fashionable 30 minutes late. I don’t want to be mean because she was really nice to us, but man, she seriously needs to lay off the sunless tan spray. She loved talking about her little girls and took some gifts home to them too.
My mom about died when I told her that she came in to our office:
“Oh! I watch her show all the time! Did she look at you?”
“What? What does that mean did she look at you?”
“Bailey, did she look at you.”
“Oh my gosh Denise Richards looked at my daughter!”
Emily Christy, this blog is for you. On the first Saturday of August we went to a volleyball competition in Manhattan Beach called 6 Man. I have never seen 10,000 people in one place before and I can say that it is a crazy sight.
Teams got dressed up in weird and crazy outfits to play each other and win the title of the best volleyball team. Of the 10,000 people on the beach that day, I would say that 95 percent of them were completely wasted.
There was this one strip of beach that was blocked in by the team’s tents on one side and the courts on the other. People had to walk through this strip in order to get from one side of the beach to the other. This is where 9,000 were at one time. My friend and I had to walk through there all day and it was not for the claustrophobic. There were about 35 sweaty people in bathing suits bumping into you at every second. It was a gross and terrible experience but we had fun. It was a day packed full of music, dancing, and heavy competition; Emily would have loved it.
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