Two Palm Trees Walk into a Bar...

So I've been living in Santa Monica since June, and I love it. Dry cleaners, coffee shops, craft stores, boutiques, and about a squillion Starbucks cover every acre not previously occupied by a Palm Tree or an overpriced home. People walk almost everywhere, and hundreds of joggers and park-Yoga enthusiasts can be seen from before Sunrise to long after Sundown (though I do admit, they are hard to avoid running over during the peak exercise hours of 7-10am).

Living on the Westside has many ups, and a few downs. Yet, even the downs are more like minor inconveniences that are completely forgotten after a 2 minute walk to a coffee shop or to TCBY. In fact, they are inconveniences you merely laugh away as you consider how nice it really is to live in a land of perpetual sunshine and a non-existent crime rate.

Let's Examine:

Probably what I love the most about Santa Monica is the food. The quality of food is actually pretty surprising given the size of the women you see walking around. Surely with food this good, someone must be eating it?

I live on Idaho and 7th, just a very small block south of Montana, which is perhaps less known than, say, the 3rd Street Promenade. Yet, on Montana, one could find everything they need to fill their every gluttonous whim. Spumoni is a small Italian cafe with an extensive Gnocchi menu and the best pasta dish you'll ever have (Rigatoni Siciliana...trust me).
The chicken caesar salad and the tapenade served with the bread are just stupid. Right next door is a TCBY that is open until 11pm, and in the event that you need to kill your carb-induced coma: a Starbucks on the other side. Down a few blocks on the corner of 10th and Montana is a really interesting Caribbean cafe called Babalu. I haven't really tried any signature dishes, but their breakfast can kill even the most persistent hangovers.

On this street there are probably a dozen small restaurants, positioned between the boutiques, delis and wine shops, that I have yet to visit. The place I frequent the most is positioned half a block away, on 7th and Montana: Pavilions. Surely, it is your ordinary small-to-medium Grocery store. Yet, being a 2 minute walk away and with a system that lets me take the shopping cart home and leave it in the alley, Pavilions is like the Mecca of weeknight eating. Any recipe I want to try, any wine impulse I have, and any desire for the latest People or US Weekly can be satiated immediately.

By far the best place in Santa Monica, and probably the entirety of Southern California for that matter, is Bay Cities Italian Deli and Bakery. You can get Sandwiches, Cheese, Wine, Spice, Olive Oil, Sausage, and bread that an Atheist would praise the sweet baby Jesus over. The line is long and its closed on Mondays, but besides this, Bay Cities is the best thing to happen to Santa Monica. Go there, and if you don't, lie to me and say that you did.

If you are in my area, and you don't know me well enough to call me, a few other places to try are Amici's, Guido's, or Makkai (if you're on a nice date); Barney's, South, The Parlor, or Father's Office (if you're trying to have a casual time and possibly get laid); and again, Bay Cities if you're going to cook an Italian meal and possibly propose (anyone?...no?).

Be careful if you go to Santa Monica to go Shopping. Boutiques like LF and Planet Blue are out of control with the prices. This being said, they do have great sales. My personal favorite is Zara, which you've heard of and you can find it on the Promenade. If you don't like it, there are 500 other places to try so there's no point in examining this. Moving on.

-If you like Yoga go to Power Yoga
-If you like Ballet go to Westside
-If you are going to the beach, walk there don't park. Better yet, ride a bike.
-Go to Helen's on 25th if you need to buy a bike.
-Make it over to Abbot Kinney in Venice at least once in awhile. Venice is a hip older sister to Santa Monica, or better yet, a 'Silverlake-by-the-Sea". You may have a really great time, or you may have a really boring time. Either way, its worth a shot.
-Stay away from Yankee Doodles. There is nothing in there for you. For that matter, avoid Johnny Rockets too. And CPK.

-This is a big one: After you visit Bay Cities in the morning, find a place to sit with a Mimosa around 4th and San Vicente. The men, they run/lift weights/walk dogs/do Yoga with no shirts on and they are in perfect shape. (Feel free to email me a thanks for this suggestion).

If you are thinking about moving to Santa Monica, here is what you need to know:

1) Get in touch with me. I'm fairly new here myself and I am still going through East-Side withdrawals.
2) Get used to not having a Target/Wal-Mart around. Many convenience-type places you didn't even realize you depended on are practically non-existent. Instead, you will find boutiques with $900 lamps.
3) Try not to drive on the weekends. Walk to the store, to the movies, to the beach, and to the restaurants. Browse the swap meets and farmers markets and garage sales. Walk to Michael's or Joanne's and make something. Cook something you've never cooked before (don't try a wine reduction. You'll only ruin your pan and make yourself cry).
4) Be careful where you park. The Santa Monica Parking people don't mess around. Tickets are like, 65 bones.
5) Know that Santa Monica is rent controlled. Further, rents are going down, and landlords are willing to drop even further if they're desperate. You may end up paying more at first, but the pricing wont really increase after that. Always use Westside Rentals.
6) Be aware of neighbors that have been there awhile. They are, for whatever reason, always a pain. Yet remember, they are rent controlled so they are probably paying half what you are. The landlord would love nothing more than to get them out and raise the rent to market. Don't take shit from these people.
7) Be happy. If you're not happy, Fake it 'till you make it. The streets are wide and uncongested, the palm trees and tall and pretty, and the beach is right there. It'll catch on.

I learned that in Rome, they have a term for overly fussy, public complainers: brutta figura. As for us Americans, it is more in all of our nature to complain to the managers or try to get an extra 20% off when the hem in frayed. However, you will find there is a certain easy-goingness in Santa Monica as well. It could be the beach, the Yoga, or the fact that many of these people don't work (for whatever reason). It could be the lack of noisy traffic or the ease of obtaining caffeine in the mornings. Hell, it could even be the jogging men. Whatever it is, it is not a bad place to visit, and certainly not to shabby a place to live.

Come on out.

I am in Europe!

And when I go places, I like to write about it so I have it forever. Also because it gives me something to write about and, as made evident by the rest of this blog, I often have a hard time with that. Alas, Enjoy! (links below)

Paris Pt. 1

Paris Pt. 2

Paris Pt. 3

Paris Pt. 4

Paris Pt. 5/Londontown Pt. 1

You did good guys. You did real good....

Vote for 'em here.

Chode Potato

Because I am bored.

Seven Days Without Facebook is Some Weak-ass Shit!

Facebook both sucks and is awesome.

Things that are AWESOME:

-Tagging every picture I can get my paws on. Even people in the background. Tag em. Tag em ALL.

-Having an instant fix for my pathological need for attention. All I have to do is have a witty headline for whatever the hell I am doing and behold! 15 comments from people I could just as easily call/see in person.

-Putting lots o' pictures up of all the fun and exciting things I do, complete with clever captions for entertainment value!

-Occasionally linking to my blog (something I actually care about and am trying to shape).

-Untagging ugly pictures of me because somehow it will cause people to think I am a shitty looking version of myself.

-Mindlessly clicking through a high school acquaintance's wedding/baby pictures for alot longer than I should.

-Harrassing my mother, sister, aunt, cousin, Alisa and Danny to no end.

-Poke around the site of a boy I met the day/night/weekend before. I am not ashamed to judge based on a history of frat-boy man-pile pictures with beer, sideways hats and hand signals. I simply leave dry-yet-disdainful comments and stick the poor bloke in the platonic friend category. Next!

Now, onto things that SUCK

-Knowing that you got up at 5am, you're fucking tired and "Ugh, it's Monday." On Thursday, you are "excited about the weekend" and "get to see (insert friend no one knows here)." Saturday you are hungover and Sunday you really hope your Team wins. Jesus at least Twitter is funny. The most guilty of this crap? Me.

-Being tagged in a photo where you look like a beast.

-Jackass people I work with/go to Kabbalah with/vaguely know making assumptions because my pictures involve my weekend outings. I yawn, and in reply I get a "Hey are you tired? Too much partyin' eh? Eh?" Oy!

-Emotional Cutting. In short, this is what you do when you go to the Facebook site of someone you know you shouldn't go to the Facebook site of and look at pictures you don't want to see and click on links you don't want to click on. People look at us, we look at them. What a negative shitshow.

-Facebook Chat. I'll hit you up. Otherwise, leave me alone.

-Facebook in General: My life has no ambiguity. There is no mystery. No "I wonder what he/she is like" or "I'm curious about..." Nope. Its all there. Described in detail on a newsfeed and laid out in pictures. Everyone is connected and dependent and enslaved. It causes you to not function without having to pause and share every thought and gather the thoughts of others. Had a great day in (Insert City Here)? Post it on Facebook, because it didn't really happen unless everyone is envious/entertained by it.

So what to do?

Well, I am a proud/ashamed Facebook addict. Thus, I have decided against getting rid of my Facebook and instead decided to abstain for one week. I will take note of the effect this has on my life in general. At the end of the week, I will probably post a link on my Facebook linking to this blog where people can read about what I did while NOT on Facebook.

Or...maybe I won't. Let see what I learn.

For now, Goodbye Facebook. You have left me in a tired, bored, trance for too long. You have caused me to hold on to things I should let go of and let go of everything else but you. You have fried my brain and worn out my laptop battery. I have missed dance classes and TV shows and sleep. I am done for one week.


...because I don't think I could give it up for longer than that.

I went to Italy!

And if you want to read my long, narcissistic ramblings about it, you've come to the right place.

Day 0 - Chess in the Airport and the resulting Madness

Day 1 - Train Station Hysteria and the Beauty of Firenze

Day 2 - David, what a Man!

Day 3 - Trains, Skulls, and a Forgotten Stumbling Home

Day 4 - Confusion in the Sistine Chapel, Wikipedia Tour Guides, and Italian Crazy People

Day 5 - Euro Extortion and the Danger of Being Alone

Day 6 - Chain of Screaming and the Venice Alternative

Day 7 - Executions, Flying Rats, and Kissing Italian Boys

A Day from Mama Sue's June Visit

A little late, but worth a post.

I should have known that my mother, a heavy packer under normal circumstances, was going to greet me with 4 suitcases holding no less than 850lbs of shit. She had been in Brooklyn for 2 weeks prior visiting East Coast family. This being said, I ask you - I BEG you - to tell me why this woman felt the need to travel with 6 cookbooks.

I arrived at my cousin Amanda's house where my Ma was babysitting Dominic, Amanda's newborn baby (of course that's his name, right?) "Nanny Fanny Pudding n' Pie!" - I hear shouted as soon as I walk in.

Enter Mama Sue. Buckle up, its gonna be one hell of a ride.

Amanda was due to be home in an hour, so until then, we were on nanny duty. I had never met Baby Dom. I should take this moment to enthusiastically proclaim that Dom is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. Olive skinned, big brown eyes, and a smile that takes up his whole face. I love that little man more than anything. I will also point out that it is an amazing thing watching your mother be, well, a parent. It has been, presumably, twenty years since Mama Sue had to change a shitty diaper or burp an infant yet she was able to revert back to newborn mother status like it was nothing. Warming the bottle, putting the kid in the carrier thing, bouncing it in her lap (you know, whatever it is people do with babies). She had it down like it was a routine. Come to think of it...this dog-and-pony show was probably nothing compared to raising me.

We headed off to dinner after that. It is at this point that I should mention that there are a few things, as a Destefano woman, that you would rather have a root canal than deal with. A notable one is being in a situation that may require another Destafano woman to shout an an innocent bystander. To put it plainly: my mother HATES being interrupted by strangers trying to sell or tell us something. She hates random chatty people, Academy Award acceptance speeches, poorly behaved children, and all other humans that contribute to social awkwardness. Someone in a shopping mall is freaking out? You'd rather die than deal with the already icky situation in the presence of my mother.

To provide an example, I will use the dinner we had that night at a brewery in Burbank. Me, my sister, our closest friends, and Mama Sue had an amazing dinner and probably a few too many cock-a-ma-tails on the back patio of the restaurant. 10 feet away, there was another large party that finished and left as we were still ordering dessert. The busboy proceeded to clear the tables that were pushed together, and then the waiter came to separate them back to their original locations. I should remind you that this is patio furnature on a concrete-like surface. Therefore, this waiter's determination to reorganize everything in a frenzy created no much noise we couldn't hear eachother to order dessert. There would be 5 seconds of silence, and as soon as Ma began, "how about the tiramisu?' He would begin dragging another metal table with a deafening screech.

Finally she stopped mid-sentence, glared over at the poor guy, threw her arms in the air and shouted, "REALLY?!? Really?...."

I hung my head and took slow breaths in an effort to slow my pulse down.

Besides Ma's quick (and implied) verbal thrashing at the waiter, who totally deserved it might I add, the night was uneventful after that. I hadn't slept in days because, apparently, making sure you see someone off to the middle east for two months is a week long bar hopping event with 20 other people. Needless to say, I needed to get some sleep.

A great day with Mama Sue.