I’ve totally slacked in updating my Star Sightings. Two in the last couple of weeks.
Kirstie was having lunch at Chin Chin in Studio City. She came in with a bunch of teenage boys and was met by a friend. I’m here to tell you, she looked fabulous! And she used chopsticks to eat her Chinese Chicken Salad.
And less than a week later I was sitting on Vine at the stop light at Sunset, and who do I see getting into a black Maserati????
…the man who broke up with Carrie Bradshaw on a Post-it Note.
Though I haven’t talked about it much, I have been riding my motorcycle. Not much, but I’ve been getting out there. And I’ve been falling. So has my bike.
It goes a little something like this: I pop the clutch. The bike stalls. The bike gets away from me. The bike falls down. I fall down. In the best possible world when that happens I miraculously manage to get out from under the bike before it comes crashing down on me.
Last Saturday when that happened I was out our corner. The bike went down on my right side. I called for Chuck between sobs. He made me pick the bike up.
Yesterday I was over at the local college, heading to the big empty parking lot to practice. This time the bike went down to the left. I miraculously managed to not end up underneath it, but bruised my entire left calf on the inside. Frankly, if it didn’t hurt so damned much I’d be amazed at the spectacular colors it has turned.
Chuck picked the bike up for me yesterday. And I hardly cried at all.
But yesterday instead of giving up in defeat, I spent the next hour (or so) practicing my right turns, doing slalom turns, and otherwise finally somewhat enjoying that whole wind in my hair (OK, helmet) feeling of motorcycle riding.
In fact, I had such a good time that I suggested that we go on a family motorcycle outing today. Clearly something got rattled loose in my brain in one of my many falls. But hell, I’m intrepid.
We agreed that the bagel place was the best destination. Far enough away to qualify as going more than around the block, but in a not overly traffic-y area. In an extremely unlike me manner, I woke up at 7:15 this morning, itching to go. Unfortunately, Zoe didn’t wake up until 9:45 and Chuck didn’t get out of bed until well after 10. So I’d been cooling my heels for 3+ hours and was afraid I was going to lose my nerve. But hell, I’m intrepid.
Off we went. Zoe rode with Chuck. I
zoomed putt putted there under my own speed. But apparently, in finally figuring out how to make right turns I lost my ability to stop my bike. All the way to bagels I kept putting my feet down too early. But we got there. In one piece.
We dined al fresco sucking in the car fumes on Ventura Blvd. I made it there. Alive. Now all I had to do was make it home. As we were leaving we had our first star sighting of the day: Ace Young. His lovely photo has been added to my celeb gallery over there on the right. He was with his family. And the table of four little tweeners two over from us were positively aflutter. Yeah, he’s cute. The ubiquitous wallet chain was mysteriously absent.
Time to go home. Finally. A right then left out of the parking. A right turn up Fulton. A left onto our street, and a right into our driveway. I’d be home.
But noooooooooooooooooooo. Chuck had to stop at Rite Aid. Chuck wanted me to go with him to Rite Aid. I reluctantly agreed to go to Rite Aid. Add another left on Riverside and a right into the parking, then a left out of the parking, a left on our street, and a right into the driveway. I could do it.
I made it into the Rite Aid parking lot with only a minor incident of gear problems. And I even managed to get over my Fred Flinstone inclination to stop the damned motorcycle using my feet!
Star sighting number 2 of the day in the Rite Aid parking lot: Timothy Busfield. I’ve had a crush on Tim Busfield since back in the 30 Something days.
And with the exception of my last left turn into our street, for which the best thing I can say is that I recovered well, I would chalk today’s outing up as a successful one.