Chow Down

It's funny to be with really really rich people. I don't feel entirely out of place, as I've been to the same places and don't exactly come from the sticks. I eat at the Brentwood Country Mart, can navigate all of the Beverly Hills shopping district and know what Northern Trust is. I've even been there.

It's just different to me though to act like it's normal to have a home in three or four cities on two continents. I am still looking for one place here. My mom and I don't discuss whether or not she should get the Balenciaga dress. (We are more likely to discuss whether or not I am on drugs, although in all fairness, I think many people that know me discuss whether or not I am on drugs.)

Last night we all went to Mr. Chow for a family meal. Again, I've been to Mr. Chow with my family. But it's different when the entire staff greets you with hugs and the paparazzi takes your picture as you leave. It's just a bit different. I'd like to think this is all acclimating me for when I finally get my own sitcom on premium cable and have a string of celebrity romances that are extensively covered and speculated upon in Us Weekly and various internet blogs. But until then I'm happy to cozy up to the eastside and pretend I'm a hipster (I may look cool, but I could never be real hipster cool. I like reality TV too much.) and live with other people who hope their checks clear each month. These days I'm more broke than Bel Air.

All in all my proudest moment of the day was being the only one to get the little man to stop crying when he was tired and cranky and it was way past his bedtime. I did a quick execution of The Bubble Dance that I had invented earlier that day and through the tears he started doing The Bubble Dance too with instant joy and spontaneous whimsy. That kid rocks my world.