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20 Things You Should Eat in Malibu

26 Jan

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Whoever says Malibu doesn’t have good food, get out of town.

1. Sunlife Brazilian Bowl

I actually like the dragonberry bowl best, but acai is the cool thing, OK? Malibu now has TWO locations of this health shop, complete with crystals and surfing videos because it’s just that popular.

2. Lily’s Breakfast Burrito

Add potatoes. Use the sauce generously. Call ahead at least 30 minutes. You only need a medium. (Trust me.) Ooh! Also a good donut.

3. Coral Beach Cantina Nachos Roberto

Add chicken.

4. Duke’s Key Lime Pie + Fries (And Ranch)

Malibu’s pub. Treat it as such. I like their blue cheese burger. I like their nachos. They know me by name here, get off my back.

5. Taverna Tony Avgolemon Soup

Their pita bread is also divine.

6. Vintage Grocers Chai

Honestly anything from Vintage Grocers. They have homemade kombucha on tap, this is what we’re dealing with. Rob likes their poke bowls.

7. Grom Gelato

Whatever you get, add the heavy whipped cream on top.

8. Malibu Seafood Fish and Chips

Better fish and chips than London, hand to Harry. The line is always a beast, though.

9. Malibu Farm Quinoa Oatmeal

This place has its own cookbook and honestly it’s all great and it’s on the pier and I’ve seen Orlando Bloom here so I can’t ask for more. I usually get the quinoa oatmeal with fruit, maple syrup and coconut milk because I’m an oatmeal girl at heart. Their smoked salmon scramble makes the Best of LA lists regularly.

10. Cholada Drunken Noodles

Best Thai of my life, no joke. This is spicy. Usually the other person orders green curry and we split.

11.  Malibu Chicken – Spicy Chicken Wings

A new addition (where KFC used to be, Yelp is not helping here), but my oh my I do enjoy a bucket of hot wings. They make them in a lot of pepper so they have great flavor. Fries aren’t bad.

12. Neptune’s Net Clam Chowder/Thick Gravy

Go for the sunset on the patio. I like to get one of their fried fish plates and a thing of clam chowder, which, as mentioned before, tastes like gravy.

13. Paradise Cove Fried Calamari

This order comes in an enormous plastic cocktail glass with fries and dipping sauces and it’s worth the $10 parking to split this with a girlfriend.

14.  Old Place Restaurant Noodle Bake

Technically considered Agoura Hills, this one is up the canyon from Malibu and feels like you stepped into a Western. There are peacocks wandering around and dim lights and a wood cabin and I quite enjoy the noodle bake and potpie.

15. Farmers Market Chicken and/or Cheese + Chili Tamales

I get both sauces, but green is best. There’s also tasty bundt cakes and decent falafel. It’s a gourmet farmers market. There’s a lot going on.

16. Malibu Kitchen Snickerdoodles and Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

I also like their pulled pork sandwich for a nice lunch in the sunshine.

17. Marmalade Cafe Artichoke Dip

And/or pot roast. I used to love their fried chicken meal but it’s let me down the last couple of times and I didn’t want to mention it and now I’m regretting it.

18. Ollo Brunch

It’s trendy, it’s got a great interior, and if I just want a stack of pancakes and crispy fries for breakfast I go here.

19. Nelly’s Catering Carne Asada Tacos

A taco truck in the middle of a nursery. Good stuff.

20. McDonald’s Sausage McMuffin with Egg

Duh

 

BONUS: Malibu Yogurt Cookies and Cream Frozen Yogurt

Can’t believe I almost forgot! Forgive me!

The Colors Of My Cities

10 Dec

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Inspired by this beautiful post

Salt Lake is purple.  It’s purple mountains majesty and purple snowcapped peaks.  It’s purple in the mall parking lot, purple on your trail run.  It’s purple wherever you turn. Ominous.  Powerful.  All-watching. The kind of purple that means  everywhere else you live you notice its absence.

Las Vegas is neon.  A rainbow of colors flashing and shimmering in the desert sky.  It’s all spark and show, all fake and all amplified.  It’s nothing like real life and that’s what it’s bringing to the table.

London is gray.  Gloomy skies and clutched umbrellas.  Trench coats and ancient brick castles.  The gray of the tube.  The gray of the pub.  The gray gray gray that infects who you are.  The gray gray gray you can never get away from.

Malibu is gold.  The shimmer of salty air right before the sun yawns its last breath.  The gold glow of warmth, of wealth.  The gold glow of something solid in its worth.

I Miss Pepperdine

10 Aug

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I miss Pepperdine something fierce.  Something right in the gut that creeps out and punches me every once in a while just because it knows that it hurts.  It knows where the bruise is.

I miss Pepperdine even though at this very moment I’m sitting in the Pepperdine library typing away.

I love Pepperdine.  Much like I love Malibu and I love Caitlin, I love Pepperdine because it came to me at a time when I felt particularly low, a time when I needed it most.

I love this library I’m sitting in.  I love the hot chocolate machine that I can never get to work.  I love the cubicles, with wood and scattered plugs you have to search for.  I love to write here, knowing that I am protected from noise and other people, but I can also see the ocean if I turn my head just so.

I love the shelves and shelves of books.  I keep collecting books for my future library, against all principles of zen and the art of tidying up and I’m OK with that.

Pepperdine is OK with that too.

I’m assuming.

I miss Pepperdine in the fall, with all the new freshmen and all the new energy.  I miss being a TA with my best friends, spending the afternoon in a booked study room wasting our time, talking dreams.

I miss Katie showing up late with a gold parking token, Starbucks in hand.

I miss the Chipotle runs, the Duke’s runs.

I miss getting snickerdoodles and oatmeal chocolate cookies from Malibu Kitchen during break.

I miss the pointless lectures and the group chats.  I miss that feeling that we are right in the thick of it, that we need to sign up for that writing conference Right Now!

I miss writing.

I still write, obviously.  In some ways more than I did then.  But I miss writing for an audience.  The anxiety before your work is read in class.  The thrill of watching yourself improve, of getting caught up in a story.

I miss playing pretend for four hours a night and calling it school.

I miss class.  I miss tea breaks from class.

I miss the popcorn trees in spring and the ever-changing rock.

I miss the pasta bar and chocolate milk machine.

I miss, I miss, I miss.

I finished my coursework in two years, the quickest you could do so in my program.  That was silly, looking back on it.  That was silly, but I was eager to make money and get in the workforce.  I don’t remember why, exactly.   Student loans, I think.

That extra year, the third year, was the year people really started to improve.  People found their voices and niche and ideas.

I have two great sitcom ideas, so so much better than the sitcom idea I pitched last year.

And here I am.

I didn’t have a good undergrad experience.  One day, if I choose to write about it, it will be like the book of Job–calamity after freaking calamity, this time with no moral at the end.

I’ve often wondered about this.  Had I gone to a different school would things have been different?  What about a liberal arts college back East studying creative writing?  What about an all-women’s college?

What if I had applied to schools abroad?

The conclusion is always the same: I can’t change it now.  I made the decisions I made when I made them for a reason.  I was 17.  I wanted to be near friends and family.

But further, I was 17 and had to pay for college.

I made the decisions I made for a reason.

I am here now for a reason.

Not for a reason like “Everything happens for a reason,” but for a reason like “I actively made these choices.”

Pepperdine got to be the college experience I never had.  Not in the traditional sense, maybe, because my version of college has never included many of the traditional college things.

Pepperdine got to be a place I could pursue the thing I love most, with my best friends around me.

I never made any friends in undergrad.  Well, one.  (Hi Laura again!)  I felt like I was in the wrong place doing the wrong thing.

Here I am today and my best friends are all people I met in this program.  The boy I love is someone from this program.

I miss Pepperdine.

I’ll always have it, of course.  I’ll always have Pepperdine.  The memories, but also the present.

I still come to campus often.  I run on the track.  I go to yoga twice a week.

I swim in the pool.  I buy those overpriced gluten-free chocolate animal cookies from the shop. I check for eggplant soup in the cafeteria more than I care to admit.

I miss it and I have it and it’s fleeting.

There’s a thing when you’re in a moment that you don’t fully grasp it.  I remember when Caitlin and I stopped being roommates there was this feeling–that was it.  That little patch of time where our lives intertwined perfectly with Grey’s Anatomy reruns and Rice Krispie treats, that time was gone.

We talked halfheartedly of being roommates again post college, maybe in San Francisco, but I think we both knew it was over.  That time came and was wonderful and it would never happen again.

We are different now, Cait and I, from when we started Pepperdine.  We grew up.  Together and separately.

I am different now, from when I started Pepperdine.

I grew up.

I miss it like mad.

Home Is Where The Nachos Are

31 May

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Friday afternoon I found myself in a yin yoga class with Hilary.

Yin yoga is my favorite kind of yoga, mainly because I know I can do it.  I know I can stretch and grow and leave feeling refreshed.  Sometimes I go to these 1.5 hour hot yoga classes in Malibu, and all I can think is I’ll never be able to do this, I must give up yoga and probably everything else.

But yin yoga at noon at Pepperdine is one of my favorite things in the world.

Hilary smiles throughout the whole class.  You should really try working out with that girl.  Her eyes are closed, she’s in shavasana, and she’s got a big, broad grin across her whole face.

Hilary has many of the things I do not have.  It’s what makes us good friends, my eagerness to soak some of it up.

After yoga I told Hilary I wanted fries.  I saw an Instagram shot of fries and I needed fries and so to Duke’s we went because I know about their fries.

(And their nachos.)

(And their hula pies.)

We’ve been here nearly three years, Hilary and I.  I got a notification that the blog I started in London–a very sad, very small, desperate thing of a blog–just turned four.

FOUR YEARS OLD!  My London times are in preschool.  They no longer just happened.

I remember moving here, fresh back from London and everything was London this and London that and it’s not anymore. I hardly mention it.  It’s part of my history, and certainly not the most important part right now.

Not even close.

The boys Cait and I dated that first year we were here, the ones we gave nicknames and who were topics of conversation–they have grown older, grown out of their nicknames.  The other day I found out one of them is expecting a child with his now wife.

I texted Cait.

She responded with a picture of a burrito.

Three years.

Not quite.

Almost three years.

It’s enough to make a place a home, I think.  Or it’s getting close.

I get sad, sometimes, about my life here.  I have friends, and good ones.  But not that many of them.  And none who knew me before.  These are all “new” friends, people who met me when London was fresh.  People who have never met the boys who broke my heart or the friends and family who healed it.

My friends here feel so separate from the rest of my life, sometimes.

Rob has two friends from other areas of his life, a childhood friend and a college friend, who are both here in Southern California.

I envy that.

What I would do to have a childhood friend out here!  A high school friend!  My sole college friend! (Hi Laura!)

There are times when my life in California feels so separate from my life elsewhere.  My life in Utah, I suppose.

All of my siblings are back in Utah now, did you know?

You wouldn’t know.

For a stretch there it was only 1/5 Denning children in the Beehive State, all of us spread out, doing our own thing, likely never to return, and then without warning everyone is coming back but me.

It’s enough to make a girl think.  What am I doing here?  How long will I be here?  What do I want of my life?

I think these things anyway, but the prospect of all the people I love regularly gathering without me, I think them harder.

I have a life here.  I’m no longer at the stage where I wonder when my real life will begin.  I am living my real life, right now, this very moment, with the dregs of my cold tea and my California cherries and the four books I have open on my bed because nothing is really holding my attention reading-wise these days.

This is my life.  A life of yin yoga and french fries, of sea salt and foggy skies.

I don’t want to ever leave Malibu.

I think this fairly regularly.

Every time I drive up the PCH, past the stilted houses and the dots of surfers and the overpriced restaurants–I feel the air come back into my lungs and I think, “How could I ever leave this?”

Malibu feels like home.

I have my places.  A magazine stand, a burrito stop, my favorite scoop of ice cream.

Places take time.

So do people.

Rob reminds me of this when I’m feeling sad about being here.  “Jill,” he says.  “Your people in Utah have 15 years with you.  It’s natural that it’s different here.”

It’s natural and it’s hard.

It’s my real life, right now, this very moment.

I’ve Found My Dream Home (And It Happens To Be Owned By Miranda Kerr)

21 Apr

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Photos via Zillow

I am house hungry.

So, so house hungry.

I feel it somewhere deep inside of me, I think it’s the same place my heart once broke.  It’s buried and twisted in that hole, that me space, unable to be separated from my being.  It throbs.

House

House

House

I’ve heard of people being baby hungry–Googling images of diaper bags and going sappy over tiny shoes.  I’ve heard of people being dog hungry–trekking to the pet store and cuddling up to furry creatures.

I am house hungry.

I will sacrifice babies and dogs and my life’s blood just get me a house.

House

House

House

This feeling has been building, of course.  One does not simply wake up and decide, “Today I’ll spend six hours on Zillow scrolling through every listing in Malibu.  Today I’ll talk to my mother about the ins and outs of loans I’m nowhere near getting.”

It creeps up on you.

You don’t realize you’re in this deep.  You tell yourself it’s not so bad, it’s just a hobby, you can stop any time you want.

HOUSE

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

My current dream home happens to belong to Miranda Kerr.

Or Orlando Bloom.

I’m not really sure.

I do know that Miranda purchased the home, and that Orlando and Miranda are no longer together.  However, I also know that Orlando still lives in Malibu so I’m doing all sorts of guessing here.

I saw Orlando the other day.  I was on Malibu Pier waiting for a friend for brunch.  He walked towards me and it was the first time my life has ever gone in slow motion.  He tousled his long, curly hair in the sea breeze.  He casually held his neon yellow motorcycle helmet.  His leather pants crinkled with each step.

WHO IS THAT GOD AMONGST IMPERFECT, UNWORTHY, SWINE-LIKE MEN I asked myself.

He got to me, looked me in the eye and half smiled.

I’ve spent every moment since recovering from/reliving the experience.

House

House

House

Orlando’s home is a white cottage overlooking the water.  It’s in my favorite Malibu area, one with a great neighborhood feel, but close enough to shops/yoga/burritos to feel like a small town.  There’s a porch for outdoor dinner parties.  A pool because I’ve realized all I really need life is my own patch of water.  There’s a fabulous living room with fabulous beams and all the fabulous white.  There’s a pool house for my one day Ryan Atwood.

There’s even a little detached gym.

That will be my library.  I will fill it with wall-to-wall bookshelves and find myself a rolling ladder.  I’ll store my fuzzy Dodger blanket and unattractive but highly comfortable pillows there.  I’ll write there.  I’ll read there.

There will be my favorite space.

House

House

House

House

House

House

HOUSE

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

Where To Eat In Malibu: Coral Beach Cantina

5 Dec

There is this myth around these parts of LA.  It goes something like this:

There’s no good food in Malibu.

I’ve read articles on the topic.  I’ve heatedly argued its merits with a ferocity that makes me wonder if I should take up speech and debate.  I’ve defended and screamed and recommended my guts out, and now, I decided it was time to really end that myth once and for all, here on the definitive blog about Malibu (so says my mother).

You guys are in for a wild ride.

Where to eat in Malibu: Coral Beach Cantina

It’s all about the nachos

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I’m going to get this out of the way.  If you order something else at Coral Beach Cantina you will be disappointed.

If you go inside its open doors and take a seat on the fading patio, and decide it’s time for enchiladas, then you have misread me and this blog post and I expect an apology note.

On personalized stationary.

I expect you to cry yourself to sleep, clutch your pillow for support, and then write me an apology for your moment of drama.

The enchiladas (and tacos) (and whatever else you foolishly ordered) aren’t going to do anything for you.

Coral Beach Cantina sprung from the earth, a perfect vessel for Nachos Roberto with chicken, and we, as a society should respect this.

In the words of Beyoncé, we should bow down, bitches.

Coral Beach Cantina

Address: 29350 Pacific Coast Highway Malibu, CA 90265

Parking: On site!  Always enough!  Hallelujah!

Ambience: A+ (Feels a bit like Disneyland, no?)

Highlights:  Homemade salsa and hot chips that crunch and crumble and bring delight to the world

Lowlights: Flat Diet Coke, approximately 35% of the time.  This can be remedied with a trip to the Malibu McDonald’s.  (Does the Malibu McDonald’s deserve its own post?)

What to order: Nachos Roberto with chicken.  Add those onions and jalapenos.  Live a freaking little.

Pricing: $12 for the nachos.  WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE?  HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING?

Things of note: Sometimes I split the nachos three ways.  Ideally I think it’s a two-person nacho, but three is also quite comfortable, and quite cheap.

Also the owners will never know your “regular” order no matter how often you frequent.  Don’t feel bad about this.  I only do 35% of the time.

 

PS: Can you spot Lucas and his red converse?  It’s like Where’s Waldo only less fun!

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

7 Nov

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I run along Zuma Beach.  It’s part of this new thing I’m trying called health.

I exercise.  And drink water.

I watch the surfers, wondering if I’ll ever try to get on a board again.  I pass serious athletes and praise myself for putting on sunblock.

At the half mile mark I turn around and head back.

A mile of running.

It sucks more than a mile of running ever should.

I drive up the road for a congratulations smoothie at the local organic cafe.  The sheriff stands in front of me in line.  So do the tie-dye girls who passed me on my run.  Malibu has this small-town feel to it, despite its 21 -mile length.

I keep wanting to write about it.  What it’s like to live in Western Malibu.  How the ocean is just there, popping out at you wherever you go.  How you can get Greek food and end up sitting by Mel Gibson, and, how, if you’re me, you type a note in your phone and slide it across the table:

IS THAT MEL GIBSON NEXT TO US

And your friend nods her head subtly.

I want to talk about all of the local places, foods, spots.

Malibu seems manageable.  How one would ever conquer LA I don’t know.  You could live your whole life and only discover a sliver of LA and then slowly die in its oppressive center.  I could conquer Malibu, though.

I like that.

Something about that makes my life more manageable.

I order a Wolverine smoothie, a concoction with scary nutritious-sounding ingredients.  Sipping, I head next door to buy some deodorant.  I’m always in a deodorant crisis, borrowing my roommate’s deodorant, talking about deodorant, writing about deodorant.

Luke says my signature scent is deodorant.

I wander past the bagels, and decide my stomach is right.  It is a bagel morning.  I see the prepared foods section, and decide my butt is right, it is a fried chicken morning.

I go with a men’s deodorant as I’ve been told that antiperspirant/deodorant actually makes you sweat more.

I now smell like a man from my past.

Oops.

I field the day’s beginning text messages.  Luke informs me he had watched this Taylor Swift Instagram video 10 times already.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” I ask.

“Hey, you could like Kendrick Lamar, too.  I’ve given you the option,” he says.

Luke loves Kendrick Lamar.  He put Kendrick on his most recent mix for me, a CD entitled, “Remember when we went to Utah.”

Luke also loves Taylor Swift.  He actually requested I write that Taylor Swift post, you know.

I guess you don’t know.

I make my way to the local bookstore, the last of the independent bookstores in Malibu.  A book club is going on, some novel I’ve never heard of.  I order an Anne Lamott that will be in on Friday (they’ll call me!) and walk out through the attached coffee shop.

Hilary congratulates me on my run and emails me a YouTube video suggesting we are practically on our way to finishing an Ironman.

I begin a group text about Benedict Cumberbatch’s engagement.

Sadly, I am not a Cumberbitch.

Malibu is so beautiful today.  It’s beautiful most days, but this week it’s been positively sparkling.  There’ve been few waves, just a still, blue ocean.  My coconut oil, the great thermometer, slowly returns to its solid state.

I eat my fried chicken before 10:00AM.  Four wings, just like that.

Luke often tells me it’s all downhill from here, my life has peaked.

Sometimes  I believe him.

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine better than Malibu, better than writing, better than the people who make my life so much better.

But then I remember Jude Law hasn’t released an Instagram video jamming to Fiona Apple.

Nor has David Beckham been recorded dancing to Stevie Nicks.

So

There’s still room to grow.

Lady Di

24 Sep

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This is Lady Di.

Lady Di is my new best friend.

She sits atop my dresser, smiling with her rimmed eyes, shedding her regal light on the room around her.  She protects my essentials, my SPF moisturizer, my Moroccan Oil.

Where some people would place a mirror, I place Lady Di.

She is my best friend.

(We know how I feel about friendships.)

Hilary found Lady Di for me, because Hil is just that sort of fantastic person.  She told me LD was an housewarming slash friendship slash early birthday month present.

Birthday month preparations are going well, thank you for asking.

Luke says others enable me when they buy into birthday month, but then he opens the note on his phone and adds things to the “Jill Birthday Month” list so really there’s not much more to say about that.

Lady Di and I feel it in our bones that this is going to be a good birthday year.

Gilmore Girls is released on Netflix on the first day of birthday month. Lucas and I also celebrate our 6-month anniversary that day.

Plus.

I’ll be in Malibu for my birthday.

You can see the stars in Malibu!  Have I told you personally about my testimony of the stars in Malibu?

It’s a wondrous thing to look up and see a mess of speckles against a dewy sky.  It’s a wondrous thing to be far enough away from LA I can pretend LA doesn’t exist if I want to.

I always pretend it doesn’t exist.

I’ve only been in Malibu a few days, but already the past little while feels like a weird dream.  Malibu is where I should be.  In Malibu I’m always on holiday.

I’m a holiday sort of girl.

I met Luke for dumplings this week, and when I showed up I said, “I forgot to wear a bra.”  He laughed, “You sound like you’re on vacation,” and that’s what it feels like, honestly.

The no bra thing occurs as often as socially-acceptably-humanly possible in my life.

But the forgetting about the bra thing? That’s a vacation thing.

It’s vacation 24/7 in Malibu.

Plus work and writing.

I’m good with the work and writing if I’m on holiday vacation anniversary jubilee, though.

If you know what I mean.

Lady Di does.

She says hello, by the way.

I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of her.

A lot of her.

Infinity Lady Di.

I’m considering starting a LD Instagram account so you can follow her adventures directly.

I’ll keep you posted.

I’m Moving To Malibu This Week: A Study In Grammar And Psychosis

15 Sep

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I’m moving to Malibu this week.

Truly, I’m moving to Malibu this week.

I’m truly moving to Malibu this week.

I’m moving, truly, to Malibu this week.

I’m moving to Malibu, truly, this week.

I’m moving to Malibu this truly scrumptious week.

I’m moving to Malibu this week, truly.

A Little Bit Of Nonsense

13 Aug

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Creakkkk.

Do you hear that?

That’s me stretching my blogging muscles.

They’re all pale and jiggly and nervous from lack of use.

Let’s see if we can change that.

All right, all right.

A few things.

First, and most importantly, Cape Cod Potato Chips.  Oh my Cape Cod Potato Chips.

I first tried these gems of deliciousness on the beach, my toes in the water, my fingers permanently stuck in the bag.  No one else was remotely as excited as I was about this snacking development. I raved and crunched and gesticulated with those hand gestures, those hand gestures that define me probably more than any single thing on this earth, and the people around me just stared.

Stupid East Coasters.  We get it. You eat Cape Cod Potato Chips every day and grew up in Stars Hollow.

We get it.

Also, it was not until after I had shipped 40 bags into California and taken this picture cradling said bags like a baby that I found out Cape Cod Chips are carried in Malibu grocery stores.

Of course they are!

Malibu!

Speaking of The ‘Bu (no?) I spent last Saturday under its flawless sky.  Life is brighter in Malibu, folks, that’s just the truth of the matter.

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I get like a cartoon of myself in Malibu.  I gush and giggle and say about 400 times, “I hate LA!  LA could fall into the ocean and I wouldn’t blink an eye!  But Malibu!  Always more Malibu!

I don’t know if it’s Malibu itself or if it’s just what Malibu symbolizes that inspires such passion in me, but I suppose that doesn’t really matter.

Malibu is it for me.

Malibu is the place I went when I was broken and starting over. Malibu is where I first pursued writing as a real, actual, I’m-gonna-do-this thing.  Malibu is beginning and the end of everything, and to this day I still spill my best words under its no-filter-needed sky.

Winters in Malibu and summers on the Cape?

Does that work for you all?

Let’s see, let’s see.

Oh!  This song.  Cait showed me this song the other day and I think it’s quite perfect.  I have a thing with the number 17, and the age 17 and this song perfectly captures what 17 is and was and will forever be to me.

Listen.

I know you’ll love it.

(Said in a Kathleen Kelly voice.) 

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And…finally.

Look at this bacon house of delight and wonder!  Soak it in!  Grasp the concept of chocolate covered bacon!

I snapped this shot last weekend at the OC Fair with Lucas.  Bacon is kind of a thing for our relationship, you know.  The first thing Luke ever cooked me was a BLT, and this was a strong move on his part since he’s a bit of a bacon expert and I am a bit of a bacon crazy.

(Bacon crazy?   Creak, creak, creakity creak.)

When we go to the store Luke has a careful bacon selection process and it’s very cute to see his face scrunch up as he peers through his glasses and picks out the very best of the fats for us.  If I’m ever upset with him all it takes is a good plate of bacon and most everything is forgiven.

So far nothing has been so big that bacon couldn’t fix it.

That might have more to do with his cute glasses, though.

Or him.

Probably him.

I’m going to definitely say this has to do with him, and I’m going to log off now before this train completely derails.

Blogging!  I’ve missed you so!

Creakkkkkkkk.