Walking Sunset

I don't know why I remembered this story. I guess it was because I was emailing a new friend who lives in LA near where I used to live and I remembered this tonight.

I lived in an area right above downtown LA called Silver Lake, next to Los Feliz. When we moved from 14th Street and 2nd Avenue in New York to LA and moved into this neighborhood, I thought it was amazingly tropical and beautiful and beachy ... and it was compared to New York, I guess ... but in some ways it's very urban and for most Los Angelenos is considered a rather "downtown" location -- not beach-like at all. But this was all before I really started to learn about the beaches in LA and it looked so gorgeous to me to see mountains out the window of our little place and there was a big blue reservoir right there we used to walk around at night, just dreaming of what would happen to us in LA. Anyway it was a fun and lovely time, full of opportunity, and I was always coming up with these weird adventure ideas.

My husband and I were recently married, but then I got transferred for my job out there really quickly and to make the move easier, we moved in with an old friend -- he was a cinematographer going to AFI (American Film Institute) and so we had this great apartment with me, my husband and our friend Kev. You have to know the personalities to appreciate this crazy menage a trois (which it wasn't btw), so let me take a stab at that. I'm half hyper crazy zany risk-loving in the extreme and as some folks have noted, one of the most extroverted people in the world. My husband is a counter-weigh of Asian American good sense, patience, understanding, thoughtfulness. Kev, who's a doll, is frankly a worry-wart about everything and rather downbeat about what can happen to a person in the world. Reminds me of Eyore a little. He's a terrific cinematographer, cameraman and writer too.

So I was always coming up with these brilliant ideas (okay, it's very I LOVE LUCY, I know) sans Ethel. And one night, I read in a guide book that a really excellent AUTHENTIC Mexican restaurant was on Sunset Boulevard fairly near where we lived. Of course, anyone who knows anything knows that LA is the quintessential CAR town, but Halley decided --- no, no, no -- none of these adventures would be really fun unless we WALKED instead of drove.

Of course, I managed to talk these poor guys into this expedition and off we marched on a hot night down Sunset Boulevard. If you ever go anywhere with me, you'll note that my map skills leave a lot to be desired. What was supposed to be fairly close by ... well, let's say it was about an hour and a half away. Not only that but it was hot as hell. And not only that, but it was through an area that went from fair to dangerous very quickly. I could read the message my husband and Kev shot back and forth to one another as the streets got more and more gutsy ... "Oh great, we've got this cute blond leading us down the street and those nice guys with the knives and guns might want to take her with them, but we get to save her since we're the menfolk here. Oh, shit!" Now there was much checking by both guys with me on the EXACT address of this joint. And of course, I'm not good with numbers and did that girl thing, "Don't worry, it' probably right up there." Well, it wasn't, but finally we got there.

And I don't know what the guide books definition of "authentic" Mexican food was, but this place, even I had to admit, was a total dump. A total dump I'd just dragged us through hell and heat and danger and a waste of nearly two hours to reach. There was not one white person in the joint. So, I suppose that was the "authentic" part. It was getting dark now, which made the walk BACK even more frightening for my two colleagues. We ordered some food. .

Next to us, there was a rowdy table of Mexican guys in cowboy hats and they were making a lot of noise, drinking a lot of beer and flirting with me. Both my husband and Kev were giving me dagger looks, like "do NOT talk to these guys." It was beginning to look like some bad B movie where they would have to have a fist fight to save my honor if it got any hotter.

The waitress brought us our food, which was very unappetizing and the two guys looked at me like, "Could this get any worse? Who's great idea was this?" Just as I gave one more cheerleader speech, "Hey, guys, dig in! It can't be that bad." and we sit, the three of us with forks poised mid-air, not quite ready to dig in. Suddenly, we turn and see one of the Mexican rowdy guys, who's obviously had too much beer, trying to get to the men's room past our table,. Well, he doesn't quite make it and vomits all over my huband's and Kev's shoes.

Of course, me being the blonde that way too often escapes unharmed, I was spared. And having orchestrated the disastrous evening, even I felt sorry the guy hadn't aimed for my shoes.

Well, if we weren't finding the food appetizing before, the odor of fresh vomit hardly enhanced our dining experience. There was a moment ... palpable to be sure ... when we suddenly realized, these other drunk guys were heading for us and that it was important to be totally OKAY with their friend's vomit on our shoes. And I think both my husband and Kev got up and gestured like "cool, no problem" and then we threw money down for the dinner we would never eat and got out of there fast. I was not asked to plan any more outings for a quite a while, nor did I offer.