Preparation: La-La-Land

I’m ashamed to admit this, but I loved LA Story as a pre-pubescent. I know that doesn’t gel well with the Woody Allen Love that is currently making everything until I meet him in New York a blur, but at the time I thought it was hil-ar-i-ous. No idea why, as I now find Steve Martin to be a very close silver medal to the champion of Hollywood’s-Most-Annoying-Man crowd, the impregnator Cruise. (The only reason Robin Williams isn’t on that list is because he’s won gold in the Please-For-The-Love-Of-God-Don’t-Ever-Let-That-Man-In-Front-Of-A-Camera-Again category.)

Nevertheless, I loved the stupid round of over-the-top coffee orders, I loved Sarah Jessica Parker and her proclamation that the reason her breasts felt different was because they were real, I loved the whole driving down a highway in a red convertible thing. Then my friend Catherine called it Le Story, in a phony (but also hil-ar-i-ous) French accent, and referred to it as La-La-Land, and I realised that my love was, to others, dirty. Thus my love-hate relationship with this city I’ve only ever seen in movies and really good bad teen TV shows began. (Yes, I watch the OC and Brenda is still the best bitch ever to rock Beverly. Stop judging me!)

So when I decided to go on my mid-twenties (I can too still say that Oscar!) journey of exploration to the motherland via North America, I just had to go to Los Angeles. Not just because my wonderful friend Todd is there, but because I just have to see what it’s really like for myself. Plus, there’s the whole Richie-stalking thing. But as I started to really think about what going to LA would mean, I started to think like a Los Angelenos, or at least how they are portrayed in that fabulous bad TV to which I am addicted, (I SAID stop judging me!) and I realised that while I am perfectly fine looking in BrisVegas, that close to Las Vegas I will be a pasty, not-skinny-enough white girl. Ayyyyy! Something had to be done.

As Los Angeles is well known as the land of all things fake – breasts, marriages, singers – I decided I would attempt to fit in with the crowd by making myself a little less pasty – and therefore somewhat skinnier, as we all know tanned bodies look thinner – by smothering myself in fake tan for the couple of weeks before I depart. As much as I attempt to emulate Jessica Simpson in most aspects of my life – marrying another barely famous singer and having an award-winning* TV show based around my life, wearing ugg boots with tracksuit pants, having carnal relations with a General Lee – I decided that her particular shade of orange probably wouldn’t go with my hair, so chose instead the gradual “tanning” option offered by several products. I didn’t choose the Mischa version, as much as I would love to be just like her and embarrass myself every time I step out of the house/car/toilet stall wearing hideous rags on my anorexic frame, I’m cheap. So, I started to lather myself up with a more generic label, and was getting right into it, exfoliating the Jessica patches away on a regular basis, only to find out from my LA contact that in the land of fake, actual fake tan is a no-no, and that instead you should fake up the sun, by visiting what I’m guessing is the cool term for a solarium, the “Bulbs”.

*Most-Likely-To-Inspire-Hilarious-One-Liners-In-The-Gilmore-Girls Award, 2004

I may as well give up, start eating Cheetos and go to Britney’s house. At least I’d find a fellow not-skinny-enough slightly pasty white girl there to plan how to make Richie fat again. Plus I could talk her into buying K-Fed a belt. Now there’s a stellar plan. Librarian out.

910.41 : Trips Around the World

As an alternative to the usual bulk email that travellers generally send their loved ones, I have decided to join the blogging set and document my travels here. The benefits are great: you can read it when you want, you don't have to read it if you don't want to, and I get to say I have a blog.
Uber librarian kudos. ;-)

I am not, as yet, travelling, therefore this is really a pre-post, however I want to get started and have it all organised (well, I am a librarian!) before I leave.

For those of you who are confused (or I forgot to tell - sorry!) my itinerary is as follows:

Friday 31st March: I leave BrisVegas for the shiny lights of Syd-en-ey, where I will stay with my bro Paul and his loverley fiance Trish; go bridal shopping with the aforementioned not-a-Bridezilla; meet up with Chris and Jane, kiss their new baby's toes, just coz I can and they're cute, and then so Zoe isn't jealous of her sister tickle her to within an inch of her adorable toddler life; and see Kim, whose birthday it happens to be when I'm there.

Wednesday 4th April: Departing Sydney for the City of Angels, I will spend 8 glorious days with Todd stalking Nicole Richie and attempting to make her eat carbs. Lots and lots of carbs. I may also shop and go to Disneyland. But Nicole is my priority ;-)

Thursday 13th April: I bid farewell to the smog and say hello to the mountains as I arrive in Vancouver to see not one but two gorgeous Canadians, Danielle and Catherine. Looking forward to the relaxo mode. Don't think there are many celebrities to stalk there, so may have to take in some nature instead...

Friday 21st April: Will see me trying to convince Woody Allen that I'm perfect to play him in his next movie, as I'm suitably neurotic, can talk really really fast while eating thirsty pretzels, and my great great grandfather was Jewish... Understandably crushed by his rejection, I spend my time in New York with my friend Damo, who has graciously flown in from Waterloo, Ontario to nurse me through my heartache at having my dreams in tatters. We meet up with Catherine, who has taken a leaf out of my stalking book and followed me to The Big Apple to stage an intervention for the incubator Holmes.

Saturday 29th April: I arrive at Heathrow to find my fabulous best friend Jess and her perfect boyfriend Alfie waiting for me to introduce me to my new life in London.

To see if these tales and others come true, stay tuned...