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Things I Want To Remember About My Studio Apartment

12 Jul

1. The Target trash can and how it symbolized my entire decorating attitude. I think I am someone who doesn’t care and then when it comes time to get a stainless steel thing I do care! and I travel great distances for something that fits my aesthetic more.

Also the white Ikea clock for $1 that looked pink in store.


2. Lady Di, behind the sink, watching over me with her panda eyes, filling the house with wisdom and grace and a bit of mischief.


3. The ledge for flowers and how the lighting was always so terrible in pictures but so right in person.

The stools I never ate on, because I always eat in bed on a tray.

(OK fine, sometimes on a tray.)

(Mostly not on a tray.)


4. My cow tea kettle I got at a antique store in Carpinteria and the burners and tiny oven it sat upon. For an entire year I didn’t make bread or bran muffins! For an entire year my water barely boiled. I didn’t mind that much.

Rob did, though.


5. My grandpa’s picture in a frame draped in lights. My grandpa’s picture in a gold frame that I covered with a yellow liner because I accidentally ordered the wrong thing.

My grandpa’s picture in a frame draped in lights with a yellow liner and a blue Post-It note that says “Rob’s dibs,” a leftover from flowers Rob gave me from work.

Rob and how he would text me when flowers were available at work to make sure he got the best ones.


6. Rob’s mom’s handmade wrapping paper wreath. My rug from a flea market on Cape Cod. Those built-ins!



7. My broken Ikea dresser that I never replaced. The TV I used maybe twice because we have laptops now. The bookshelves I painted gold myself out on my front driveway for what seemed like days on end.

Princess Diana, the Beanie Baby.



8. The details so carefully curated. Stevie from Hilary. Dolly on the record player. Sweet Valley High and Joni and my favorite word NAP.


9. Happy birthday hanging year-round in lights.


10. Enid in the corner, somehow still alive?!

The tapestry from a flea market in Santa Barbara. Anne from Breanne.  The comforter from an antique shop in Mooresville, Indiana that I shoved into my carry-on and brought with me across the country.

The cart I bought just to house my library books.


11. Beatrix the succulent, in much better shape than Enid. The way my lamp was always turned out for better reading.

My skylights! making everything bright and light and terrible for pictures.

My ring holder and Rob’s ring in the box and the first-ever painting I bought off a gallery wall in a fit of maturity.


12.  Framed photos of a Lily Allen article about the English countryside. Two photo booth strips, one from the first year we were dating.

A postcard of Cape Cod.

Poopourri I forgot to put away.


13. My writing nook I never once wrote in.

The sewing machine I actually used! My Malibu pillow that will follow me everywhere.


14. My sunglasses DIY that’s droopy and old but still works.

A vintage jewelry box my mother picked out and got right.


14. Literary characters doing yoga.


15. Me. Sweaty and tired, in front of the greatest selfie mirror I will ever own.

Me who managed to pay rent every month on a not-so-great salary. Who cooked more in my non-kitchen than I’ve ever cooked in my life. Who bought fresh flowers, and walked to the store, and finally got to live that studio apartment life I had always dreamed of.

Me, at 29.


20 Things You Should Eat in Malibu

26 Jan


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



BONUS: Malibu Yogurt Cookies and Cream Frozen Yogurt

Can’t believe I almost forgot! Forgive me!

The Colors Of My Cities

10 Dec


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


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


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






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.




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.




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.




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.


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

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




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.










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

photo-298 photo-294 photo-295 photo-296

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.


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


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:


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.


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.


There’s still room to grow.

Lady Di

24 Sep


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.


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


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.