Are You Lookin' At Me?

It's Hip to Be Square.

Friday afternoon, I meet my cool new friend Ginger down at the beach for a walk.


Now, you should know this is something I never do - walk at the beach, that is. I'm one of those people who does not take advantage of living in Santa Monica. I know - it's lame - but it never occurs to me to go down there and find a place to park and then play Hacky-Sack or do Tai Chi in my pajamas or roller-skate around with a giant boom-box on my shoulder or whatever it is "beach people" do.

Ginger, on the other hand, jogs on the beach several times a week (and has the gorgeous gams to show for it) and spends lots of time there, relaxing at beachside cafes, reading and exchanging her crappy, smog-choked urban ions for highly superior beach ions that smell like Coppertone and David Cassidy.

Ginger knows about tides.

She's also a really relaxed, happy person which, naturally, arouses my suspicions. What's that all about, anyway? And does the beach play a role in her laid-back, sunny disposition? Can anyone upgrade their ions, or is there a waiting list? Are there forms to fill out that require two pieces of identification?

Whatever is going on down at the beach needs investigating, so I lock down the LJKGW nerve center, change out of my vinyl jumpsuit and burn rubber toward the surf.

Things are going pretty smoothly. I find parking in a metered spot and unload half a Ziploc-bag of Canadian coins on the City of Santa Monica. Excellent. I locate the correct little cafe/bike-rental hut and there's Ginger looking very chic and windswept. Fabulous.

So we start walking.

I concentrate and try to feel if my ions are getting dry cleaned, but I can't tell. Maybe they sell some kind of meter for that back at the bike shack. I make a note to ask about it at the end of our walk.

After a short while, though, I realize that people are kind of looking at me. Giving me little sideways glances and finger points. And - wait, I saw that - snickering at me!

What gives?

Am I not doing the beach thing correctly? Is my rookie status that obvious? And then I remember that this is the maiden voyage of my cool new hip-sling-purse-thing that I got at the swap meet.


At least, I thought it was cool. I mean, it holds my stuff right at my hip and leaves my hands free for spontaneous dance-offs and it has a built-in holster for my Swiss Army knife. What could be better? Then again, perhaps form is losing out over function and I just can't see it.

Could it be that rather than looking like a savvy, ready-for-action broad-on-the-go I instead look like someone who wandered away from tending the axe-throwing booth at the Renaissance Faire?

Seriously, what's with the snickering?

New Blog Alert: Sassypants Wifey has just started Care Across the Cities, a blog with a very sweet and positive goal. She explains it better than I can, so click on over and see what's it all about.

And a big, sparkly thank you to the my lovely friend (and honorary sister) La Belette Rouge for the Sisterhood Award:


I hope she knows that I am now certified to borrow her clothes without asking and then return them weeks later covered with mysterious stains and smelling of fried okra. That's my understanding, anyway.