Orange County is the Montague to my Capulet. Ours is a love that can never be. A hot, doomed secret.
TRANSPORTATION
Big, easy-driving cars that, I'll say it, make you feel important. Big, fast freeways. Big, angled parking spots in impossibly big lots, where only the first four spots in each row are acceptable. Otherwise it's simply too far to walk in your Jimmy Choos.
ENTERTAINMENT
Copious, delirious shopping. The very fiber of the American retail experience. Really big, really shiny centres (note european spelling) with multiple fountains. Ubiquitous flagship mall boutiques selling $700 shoes. And for the thrifty, multiple TJ Maxx outposts, oases of discounted name brand treasures.
And beaches. Lots of them.
FOOD
Roberto's/Alberto's/Adalberto's/Adalbertito's: Grimy, grease-loving Mexican joints in Spanish-tiled, salmon-and-seafoam-stuccoed strip malls. Where the answer to "Do you cook with lard?" is "Always." Roberto, you talk so dirty!
GENERAL PUBLIC
Real tans, fake boobs. Loafers, no socks. Bluetooth headsets. Skateboards as accessories. And blonde highlights more infectious than MRSA.
WEATHER
78 degrees and sunny, with a light warm breeze. As such, no concept of effective outerwear, unless worn as fashion statement. (See "Boots, Ugg.")
This time around, I felt the usual vehicular guilt, avoided all shopping locations including TJMaxx (major coup), might have spent quality time in sun, and flirted with Roberto, Alberto, Adalberto and Adalbertito daily. Then I came home, bought carbon credits (repent!), and made appointments for yoga (lard consumption), coiffure (infected!), and dermatology (hypochondria).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment