After an extended sabbatical from LA, I've returned, subletting in the heart of the beast, Santa Monica, between Montana & Wilshire; a neighborhood glistening with high-price boutiques, Ugg-booted MILFS, 4 Whole Foods within 10 blocks of each other and a yoga supercenter, the Costco of yoga, a block from my new digs.
Costco Yoga is packed all day with aging starlets-turned-executives-wives; women over 80 with 40 year-old faces, eyebrows tattooed on and new botox lips, which give the newly-lipped a vaguely duck-like appearance. I call them Duck Lips: the freshly-injected top lip, swollen like an over-stuffed sausage, bulging over the bottom lip.
The wealth of Santa Monica is different than the wealth of Marin County, where I was raised and is the second most affluent county listed in Forbe's. Santa Monica wealth is showy, brassy, and unapologetic; Marin's wealth pretends to be poor, but hyper-eco-aware. Charo vs. Joan Baez.
I've lived in LA for 5 years, in what is essentially Mexico. Echo Park, while overrun with hipsters & artists, is primarily Latino families who've never seen the ocean. Santa Monica is a startling change. I love the garbage-free streets, the coiffed gardens, and the ocean breeze. I am simultaneously amused and repelled by the Candy Spellings of LA, botoxed and liposuctioned, seeking inner peace and balance in Costco-yoga class. Even the yoga teacher has Duck Lips and various celebrities make appearances.
I took yoga with Marg Helgenberger the other day. It is surprising to see a television figure in person. She is stunningly beautiful, as was Lindsey Lohan, who emerged from an elevator I was about to enter.
In other news, there are several notable bakeries in the hood and I plan on sampling them all.
To The Downfall of Evil!
Love The Ukulady