The First Day

Ultimately, the trek to LA is unimportant. It consisted of three dull plane rides and thirteen hours of wanting to stab my eyeballs out with my own finger. I was apprehensive to arrive, but desperately wanted to rid myself of planes and airports. Don’t get me wrong, being up in the sky and spying on the world below is one of my favourite experiences, but I hadn’t slept at all the night before and was absolutely exhausted. Not to mention I had to pay an extra $130 to check my luggage which, combined with my exhaustion, put me into Super New York Mega Bitch mode. After all that, I still had to cart around a heavy, broken carry on that demanded I bend practically over sideways at the waist to drag; plus a bag draped over my shoulder that was so damn full of random crap it was threatening to rip at the seams. Despite all of this trauma, I did, in fact, manage to land safely and on time to the Burbank airport without much damage to my psyche. Don’t talk to me about my ruined shoes though, that’s another subject entirely. Stacy London isn’t my hero for nothing. A girl’s shoes are important to her!

The first day wasn’t really significant to my life. LA looked just as it always had, sunny and fake. At least in New York everyone is real, although this luxury of attitude is often marred greatly by rain, prolonged winter, and blaring horns. When I attempted to walk to my favourite diner in my new home of Toluca Lake/Studio City, I decided that LA is a far cry from New York all together. A mile and a half is not far for New Yorkers to walk. That’s like deciding to walk from Penn Station to Central Park; a fete no New Yorker would think twice about. In New York, you are granted the entire world in the radius of a single city block, and all it’s treasure is delivered promptly on a silver platter. It’s absolutely sane, and even encouraged in some neighborhoods, to decide to schlep on over to your local bodega at 3am for ice-cream and cookie dough. California? Quite the opposite. As once said in one of my favourite movies: “Nobody walks in LA.” And that my friends, is a statement true to it’s word. Nobody walks in LA. It’s like saying “Nobody puts Baby in a corner”. I mean, it’s just an accepted fact of life. I’m not entirely sure if people in LA really know what this particular style of movement is, exactly. They just don’t do it. Well - I suppose I should say we just don’t do it. There go my Michael Kors boots, because they surely won't be needed for walking all over anyone anymore.

I don’t mean to insult Los Angeleans, I’ve noticed that most everyone here is stunningly gorgeous and ridiculously kind. The baristas at my local Coffee Bean (aka, Miley Cyrus’s local Coffee Bean, as I’ve discovered) are pumped with happy, fun, ecstatic-to-be-alive energy. I actually had to take a step back and analyze the situation as I ordered my first Caramel Ice Blended - these local SoCal Guys and Gals are actually more polite and respectful than me, and I was born and raised in Alabama. Let’s face it, they are better equipped with the term “Southern Hospitality” than even I am. I was shocked. Enthralled, but shocked. Paula Dean would be shocked. PS, I adore you, Coffee Bean. Why aren’t you alive on the East Coast? I’m pretty positive Coffee Bean consistently kicks Starbuck’s ass in the coffee chain department. Oy. Anyway.

In all seriousness, I simply adore my roommate. I think she is a wonderful, sweet amazing person, and to my knowledge we get on rather well. She’s very funny with a wonderful laugh. She showed me around and I became minorly acquainted with my new neighborhood. The rest of the evening is but a trifle, and has completely slipped my mind. I have no conclusion statement, other than to let you know I do actually like it here so far, but getting over the shock that this sunny land is not New York might take some time. Stay tuned for more updates. <3

(Post written about Day 1, May 2nd)

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West Bound Train

I've bought a one way ticket on a west-bound plane to see how far that I can go...

Wow. I'm going to be living in Los Angeles tomorrow. Twenty-four hours I have, before I will be gone from Huntsville, AL for three to four months, minimum. I am completely and 100% enthralled. I don't know what to expect, but this is the thrill of the move. "I've always said that I was a rover", and as a friend of mine has told me, here is the next chapter in my memoir. I look so forward to filling in the blanks; taking my paint brush and creating a story on an almost blank canvas. There is only a faint outline depicting what could result from my artistry, but the overall consensus is that I will most likely begin to colour over the predestined lines and smudge the whole thing into an entirely different arrangement. This is what usually happens, and I thrive on the challenge of creating my own destiny.

This new adventure is going to be brilliant. So many signs, uncanny circumstances, and fun coincidences beg to light of metaphysical intrusion - this was meant to happen. The energy surrounding this event is so grand that I can only look forward to finding what the future will reveal. It is exciting and unreal, but I have always had that tendency to pack up and leave within a moment's notice. This is the beginning of an interesting, somewhat cataclysmal expedition into the unkown; a pilgrimage from one frame of mind into another. I don't intend to blankly ride along on the surface of this leg of life's promenade, but instead I will delve wholeheartedly into creating the inner workings of the outcome, and hopefully, the journey will remain more important than the goal.

We'll see where I end up in a few month's time. Until then, I'll be working on the Dirty Dancing tour at the beautiful Pantages Theatre on Hollywood BLVD. How many people are as lucky as I am? I feel so grateful for the experiences that keep gunning down the track in my direction. Let's hope that the beautiful entity known as Karma continues to favour me, but regardless, I remain open minded and accepting to whatever it is that Life will offer me.

(This entry was written on 5/1/09)

California Dreamin'

Last month, I took a trip to California to spend a week visiting my best friend in Santa Barbara, which, by the way, if you’ve never been to Santa Barbara, I suggest you go. NOW. It’s gorgeous. Ahem. Anyway, in the meantime, I drove down to LA to stay with a couple of friends for a few days, and they were apt to take me by the Hollywood sign. I was beyond pumped to see this great Hookie Mookie in person. Being a little East Coast living, Southern born and bred girl (If you want a precise definition of who I am, I'm most certainly the product of a love affair between Stacy London and Gretchen Wilson. If you can muster your brain around that one, I would certainly applaud you!), I was ecstatic to delve into anything dealing with California and the ridiculously beautiful beaches that inhabit said state.

Upon arriving to the sign, I decided I wanted my picture taken. Being a New Yorker, it was high time that I played tourist for once! However, out of the many pictures I got in front of the sign, this is by far my favourite:



I’m pretty sure this picture takes the cake :-) I love how my hair blends in with the ground - no these aren't photoshoped. I never realized how red and blonde my hair was until these were taken.

I also went wandering around, and with the high powered technology we posses today known as "digital cameras", I was able to take a few shots of some incredibly gorgeous tiling that resided on a few tables somewhere on Hollywood Blvd. Aren’t they so intricate and beautiful?

Kate Walsh - the REAL Jean Grey

My best friend and I have decided recently that on her days off from shooting films and TV, Kate Walsh is actually a Super Hero, particularly Jean Grey. No, really. She is. Who better to fly all over the world and save your grateful ass from mass destruction?



I know I certainly would.

Ok, I'll admit this has in part (read: mostly) to do with the fact that Private Practice is coming back to grace all of us with it's gorgeous presence in "Avid TV Watcher's Land" once again. So please, ready your Tivo, set your DVR, or just fucking sit your Kate Walsh-loving-behind down in front of the telly and WATCH it. I refuse to let a show as fab as this one go anytime soon. Also, Mrs. Audra Ann McDonald has to be one of the nicest people I've ever met (not forgetting to mention tall and gorgeous, too!).

Watch it. Private Pratice. October 1st. YAY! [excitement].

xxxxxxx,
P. Stone

Welcome To My Crazy Life

Let's see, one might question "What sort of vibe is this blog is going to give off?". Well, I can sum it up in one simple statement made by my mentor and better half, Patsy Stone:



I've lived a crazy, whacky life in New York City for nearly four years now. I've had celebrities buy me drinks, danced on a Broadway stage, came close to being decapitated (while simultaneously being told I was gorgeous) by Janice Dickinson in a hot nightclub sprawling with gay men and Drag Queens.

Don't be deceived, my life in New York isn't all kittens and rainbows. There have also been many excruciatingly painful downs; I've been fired from my job, homeless, slept outside of a Broadway theatre because of said homelessness, been poor and depressed, and not to mention, stalked for blocks while trashy scum-of-the-earth men threaten to rape and kill me - Welcome to my side of the story ;-)