I happened to be out on the Left Coast this week, checking out those institutions of higher education that my daughter has deemed suitable for gracing with her presence next year. One of the colleges on her list is Pepperdine University, so we schlepped up to Malibu from San Diego County to check out these possible digs.
Since I’m always early for everything and terminally anal, we arrived in the general area with more than enough time to spare. After driving up the coast a bit, blinded by one gorgeous vista after another (it’s So Cal, and yes, the sun was shining and the sky was blue), I decided we would get a light lunch in before the Pepperdine tour.
I pulled into a beachside eatery that looked like it might have the kind of food that would appeal to a food snob like me. (I won’t go into it indepth here, but it was.) The restaurant was nestled on a bluff overlooking the ocean – beautiful, just beautiful.
I should have known this wasn’t your normal surfer joint by the Maseratis, Mercedes, and Porsches crammed into the postage stamp-sized parking lot. I should have gotten a clue by the “harrumph” of the valet as he took the keys to my rental Hyundai that this was the stomping ground of the rich and famous, but no.
I maintained my normal, blissfully unaware composure and we charged in like we owned the place. (I must admit I’ve had this attitude since frequenting a 5-star resort when I was a 16-year old hippie. After all, my money spends just the same as a rich persons’.)
Usually food is the centerpiece of my day, and as I was slobbering over my lunch (which was heaven, pure heaven!) I tried to ignore the super-tanned, super-buff, and super-boob-ie-licious diners all around me - that is until the hostess tried to seat one gentleman at the table next to ours.
After some discussion between customer and hostess, which I totally ignored because I was having a food orgasm with a bowl of soup, the man was re-seated along the back wall of the restaurant, out of the way of the general dining public. He was equipped with a pile of papers and a highlighter, and it looked like his was going to be a working lunch.
Article comments
1 - Wanda Rizzuto
I thought you were going to say that you ran into Orlando in the parking lot. I have to climb down from the ceiling now.
Maybe he'll call you now that you've taken such an interest in his career. I don't think I'll hear from him any time soon, not after my Hong Kong Phooey post. At least I didn't call him a rat face though.
(BTW, this came to me via Google alert. Thanks for the plug!)
2 - Joanne Huspek
You're more than welcome, Wanda. In the last couple of days since writing this, I have come to several conclusions.
1. I would trade an audience with SFS, Orlando, Brangelina and the Pope for the lunch I had the other day. My taste buds are still craving that soup.
2. I was hoping SFS would read my pitiful tale of woe and get in touch with me. Not that I'd pitch him my novel, but my brain has a couple thousand other weird ideas in it. Does an internet ship of fools strike a chord? Not that I'd sell him any of my ideas, but with a child considering Pepperdine, it's worth the shout out.
3. The other thing I was hoping for was that Orly would finally notice you.
3 - diva
Joanne, you couldn't fall off your heels at the right moment? I like your chances of being discovered by SFS better than I do Orly's. . .
4 - Wanda Rizzuto
Orly wouldn't notice me if I set my hair on fire and put it on YouTube.