The Graffiti Run

Part of the fun in moving to Los Angeles, aside from ditching the rain and snow in favour of glorious sunshine, has been trying new things. Whether that be vegan food (and my first celebrity spot! Queen Latifah at the Urth Cafe in West Hollywood) or just, y'know, getting up quite early. In the spirit of this new sense of adventure, we signed up to do the Graffiti Run. This is basically a 5k where people through packets of coloured powder at you.

Husband read about it in the LA Times, which ran an article saying, basically, 'The LA marathon is on Sunday. This is on Saturday and is was less stressful and way more fun.' We found a half price deal for it on Living Social and that was that. Except the last time I did any kind of distance running was, quite seriously, during Field in 1999. (As a side note, did other schools call 'outdoor' PE 'Field' and only call it PE when it was indoors? Or is this another one of those odd 1950s throw-backs on Paisley Grammar School used, like how we had a Rector instead of a Headmaster?) 

Yup, it has indeed been 14 years since I ran more than a mile at a time. Frightening. With that in mind, we decided to do a bit of training in the week we had between signing up and the race. Essentially, this involved going for a run along the beach in the sunshine a couple of times. As training goes, it's a pretty pleasant way to do it. Beats those poor sods you see with rain dripping off their noses and purple legs running in a florescent waterproof on the Meadows in Edinburgh. Unfortunately this only proved that I get a stitch after about 1.5k and then have to slow down to a fast walk and gasp a bit. It wasn't a very good omen.

Our only pre-dust picture, sunny and clean!

Next thing we knew, it was 6am on Saturday and we had to get up and drive to Pomona, a city about an hour away from where we are in the West of LA. Husband was miserable and grumpy, I was excitable and almost certainly quite irritating. I took a mug of tea with me in the car which gave me just enough caffeine to survive (note to self- must buy travel mug...) whereas husband had refused one, and insisted on listening to NPR discussing the right-wing Republican conference the whole way. It was grey and cloudy and pretty cold. We were ready to kill each other as we sat in the thirty minutes of traffic leading into the car park. When we got out the car, we realised we were amongst the first few thousand people there. We got a sweet parking spot near the action and the sun was starting to shine brightly on a glorious day. Husband went off to find coffee whilst I joined the registration queue. After that, we were both decidedly chipper. Everyone was in a great mood, the atmosphere was awesome and the St. Patrick's day theme made it all the more festive. 

The fact you could buy green beer at the starting line at 8.30am- and believe me people were- made my own lack of athletic ability seem rather less of a problem. There were so many families, babies in prams, kids on scooters (I wish I'd known that was an option...) and young people in wheel chairs being pushed by relatives and friends. People had started throwing powder already. We were in the fourth group to start, so people were already finished. I am seriously proud to announce that I actually ran 3/4 of the 5k, only walking a few times to drink a bottle of water or 3 (WHO are these people who can drink and run?! My chin was the only clean bit of my as I dribbled all over myself.) At the 1k marker, they hit us with red powder. I was COVERED. I've no idea how, but husband was way cleaner than me. As we hit the next markers, I kept building up more and more dust, as he stayed relatively clean, until at the 4k mark a volunteer noticed and just sprayed it directly in his hair. We hit the 5k in a flurry of orange dust. It was really good fun. Despite realising that the family with the 8 year old and baby in a pram that we had started with had beaten us to the finish. 

Same view, different colour

The party atmosphere was brilliant. I slugged some more water as we danced and collected some packets of powder of our own to throw at one another. The amount of green (husband's signature colour) I am covered in shows you that he was better at getting the packet open than I was... When we were done with the party atmosphere/not inclined to get drunk at 10am since we're no longer students, we brushed off the worst of the colour and headed for a McDonalds. Heavenly.

Anyone know how to get dust off a camera lense?!

Husband now thinks we should do some more running. He's talking half marathon. I'm not convinced. I did really enjoy it, but I suspect that was the atmosphere (and the fact it was decidedly non-competitive.) We'll see, shall keep going with the beach runs in the evening since I really am quite lazy and it's nice to watch the sunset and listen to the crashing waves. But running and being timed? I'll have to stop the stitches first. 

Here comes the sun

The last week has been spectacularly sunny in LA. I'm not quite sure what I imagined when I moved out here, but we probably have sunshine 80% of the time. I get to properly enjoy this on our magical sun terrace in our apartment complex. If the sun is out at all, it is warm enough to sunbathe in a bikini. It's completely sheltered and gets so hot. It was grey this morning, so we decided to go to Home Depot to pick up some rawl plugs (lest you think life in LA is all glitz and glamour.) By the time we left the store the sun was out and it was warming up, so we made the drive to Santa Monica for some coffee. The sun was coming and going behind the clouds, but sitting in the beach front cafe with a coffee with our feet in the sand was still heavenly. 

Permanent exposure to gorgeous sun creates some problems as I am super pale and Scottish. My natural skin colour has a faint blue tinge underneath it. I have never had a tan in my entire life- even after spending 6 weeks in the Sahara Desert on a mission trip when I was 15. Skin cancer isn't just a pithy punchline for jokes about my freckled skin, but is pretty dangerous when you are as fair as I am. I take this 'not getting burnt' thing pretty seriously. You would think that people would congratulate me on having such a healthy attitude towards my skin and safety. They do not. Case in point, a quote from my mum yesterday- "You're still really pale, aren't you?"

On top of this, our courtyard is overlooked by about 50 apartment windows. It would be really easy to have skin like an elephant (grey, dry, kind of hairy) without a tiny bit of effort. This has become my essential daily kit: 

Aveeno face sunscreen, Vaseline moisturiser with Aloe, Phillips razor, Coppertone waterproof, sweatproof and towel proof spray sunscreen.

My essentials list is the result of trying lots of things that I didn't like or just didn't work for me. Firstly, I cannot believe it took me so long to buy an electric razor. I don't have particularly sensitive skin, but every single damn time I shave my legs I get a rash. This rash is nothing compared to the one I get when I try cream/wax/crystals/incantations or any other type of hair removal you could possibly dream of. The electric razor isn't quite as effective but I can use it every day without so much as a single red mark. It's actually changed my life.

I use SPF 30. This is because I never, ever get cocky about it. I reapply roughly every 20 minutes. I remember a doctor telling my mum that it was better to reapply a lower SPF often than get complacent about a higher SPF. When we first moved here, I used SPF 50 but I don't think that's quite so necessary any more. The spray sunscreen was also something of a revelation. When we first came over we were going to the beach a lot. Suncream and sand are a crappy combination, and for poor husband is was just a nightmare. We also swim a lot (since we have a pool right outside our window, would be rude not to) and waterproof creams are the consistency of treacle. The sun is too strong to take the chance when you are in the water (especially in the sea) so we were kind of stuck. Then we discovered waterproof spray, and life has been so much better. It is a bit more expensive, but it literally takes 30 seconds to apply, and perhaps most importantly I can do every awkward bit of my back when I am here by myself. No more burnt patches!

The downside of this awesome spray is that the waterproofing means it doesn't really wash off. We end up looking like we have dirty PVA glue stuck to us. The only real way to get it off is to scrub it. Since I was going through so much exfoliator, I've ended up making my own. It's basically just sugar, salt and olive oil. Super effective, leaves skin soft and costs about $1 a month to make.

The other downside of the spray is that you cannot use it on your face. Since we use it every single day, I splashed out a bit and got Aveeno face sunscreen. It smells heavenly, is super effective and stops us from getting hundreds of spots. Worth every penny.

I've never been very good with moisturiser. In Edinburgh it was generally far too cold to faff around after the shower, my skin isn't that dry really so it never really mattered that much. Obviously, it is another story here, and the Vaseline one with Aloe is my favourite thing ever. It's dirt cheap, so perfect for everyday use, and is the best consistency, smells really refreshing and is pretty much everything you could hope for. I love it. I do have fancier stuff for special occasions but the Aloe one is the first one I grab for if I've had a day in the sun and I'm feeling hot and bothered. I'm desperately hoping it's enough to stave off the 'leather' look sported by so many of the older people here 

So there you have it. My sun survival kit. Any top tips or sun essential recommendations for me?

A catch up, or how I *almost* met Jessica Alba

The cat has burned all her eyebrow whiskers off on one side. She stuck her face in a candle, as cats are prone to doing. They went all curly and frazzled like back in the olden days when we used to use curling tongs. Then the next day they were gone. This inspired me to hoover more often.

We went to my one LA friends house to watch the Superbowl. It went on a bit. I quite like American Football now, but the game was dull until the fourth quarter. We were all cheering on the 49ers for a wide variety of reasons. None of them involving living in California. We also all agreed the Colin Kaepernik is a bit of a douche. I drank three beers and sang loudly along with Beyonce. My friend didn't mind. I think she is a keeper.

I developed a stinking cold on the day of the Superbowl. I got ID'd trying to buy some NightNurse. I have long suspected I have a cough-syrup allergy, and I was proved right. I haven't been that sick since we all got Ruairidh's stomach bug on the day of the Royal Wedding. I thought I had the flu, but the next, NightNurse free day I felt fine. Moral of the story- if you suspect you are allergic to something, don't take it. Especially after three beers.

I finally arranged to do some volunteering. I read about the charity on Girls Gone Child, but when I got there I was too embarrassed to say that's where I found it so I lied and said I heard about it googling 'volunteer opportunities' and now I feel guilty because everyone thinks their intern is doing a better job than she actually is at improving their web presence. They do not need to work on improving their OK magazine presence- turns out its a super trendy 'young hollywood mom-beverly hills socialite' charity. Last week Jessica Alba was there. Maybe she'll be there next time...

The charity gives baby clothes, nappies and other essentials to social workers to pass on to mums in need. I'm not sure the mums care that the baby wipes are organic, the swaddling blankets anais+aden or that the stroller is a Bugaboo, but that's what is donated. Yesterday I was putting together gift packages to go to families in crisis. It was like shopping for all the baby things I will never be able to afford. I loved it.

I have been sewing up a storm recently. And I'm getting better at it. I've taken a ton of pictures but most of them are gifts for people, so I can't put them up yet.

I was in the gym today, running along, huffing and puffing and looking like a beetroot whilst the most irritating boy ever was lifting weights and acting like a posing douchebag. When I finished on the treadmill I could hear that he was listening to Taylor Swift on his headphones. I snorted out loud. Not that there is anything wrong with Taylor Swift. Just him.

Hollywood living...

I am positively giddy with glee at the prospect of telling you this astonishingly true story. It is SO Hollywood, and nothing Hollywood ever happens in Westwood, which is full of sun-worshipping academics, a strange breed that reads hefty books about the Korean War in swimwear.

It was super hot again today (35 degrees) so I sat by the pool waiting for my laundry to finish. A blonde lady I’ve seen a few times on the loungers appeared. She is probably in her 40s, but is so plastic it’s a bit hard to tell. She dresses like she’s 13 and it is 1989- the ‘stacey’ fluffy blond perm, TEENY floral bikini, tiny whitewash denim cut-offs and sugar pink lipstick. This is fairly entertaining to start with. It is made all the more entertaining by the fact I have a partner in crime, Elise, a newly qualified nurse who lives 3 doors down and is from Chicago and also thinks LA is a little bit ridiculous.

The lady blasts teeny-bopper music out of her iphone. This makes Elise and I snigger behind Instyle magazine. She sings along, slightly off key, at the top of her voice. She dances along too, wiggling her limbs disturbingly as she sunbathes on her back with a bright pink towel over her face. Every so often she exclaims ‘Girls, it is SO HOT, why is it so hot in October?’ We agree that it is indeed very hot, and sadly we do not know why.

She bolts upright, then starts making a call. That is when things got really ridiculous. She starts talking a mile a minute, telling the poor recipient how great his body was. Elise and I catch each other’s eye, then bury our heads in our magazines, scared we will actually laugh out loud this time. The point of the call quickly becomes apparent- “Dale, I want you back in movies. It’s time. I have a great part for you, only thing, they want you to be butt-naked.” Elise and I look at each other, eyes popping out of our head. “No, no, honey, just your back-butt. Back-butt naked.” Elise and I are now shaking with silent laughter. “It’s a love scene. You’re a yoga instructor. It’s perfect.” I mouth ‘what the hell?!’ to Elise, she shrugs, still struggling not to laugh out loud. Dale the yoga instructor agrees to be back-butt naked in the movie and she hangs up. ‘Girls, I’m an agent. He will be great. It’s a LOVE scene. He’s a YOGA INSTRUCTOR” (I still have no idea why these two things are related…)”You girls know what I love? To make money!!” She wiggles around in a sort of dance again, singing loudly about plastic bags in the wind along with Katy Perry. “OOHH! He sent me back-butt pictures for the casting agent. Want to see?!”

Elise and I quietly say ‘No thanks…’ to scared to look at each other or directly at her. The bouncy lady decides it’s time to go inside. “Darling girls, it is TOO HOT for October. I’m gonna shower. I had so much fun with you!!” She wiggles herself back into her little cut-offs and sashays down the stairs. We wait until we see her cross the courtyard before descending into helpless, uncontrollable laughter. ‘This city is weird’ Elise says to me. She is right.

Beautifully lit moments.

My life happens in beautifully lit moments. Everything in LA is perfectly lit. It's the reason the movie industry moved here from New York in the days of silent film. It washes everything with a glow that makes it feel a little surreal.

Today, Mrs Martinez from the 3^rd floor told me it was 110 degrees in the courtyard of our apartment complex today. That is HOT, even for here. “I watched you jump in the pool and I wished I could still jump.” Then the elevator pinged and she smiled at me and wandered out with her laundry basket, the usual call of ‘have a nice evening’ trailing back to me.

One day I cried for a full hour because I had read a tweet plugging ‘The big fat quiz of the 80s’. I wanted to watch it SO MUCH. Not because it was funny or because I cared who was on it or even because I loved the 80s (I wasn’t born til a few years in), but I wanted to watch something that connected me to my history. I wanted effortless pop culture cues and shared collective experience. I always feel a few moments behind the joke here…

I was sitting beside the pool, sewing a cushion cover. The turtles that live in the pond were on the patio next me. The biggest one watched me the whole time. He jumped back in to the water as soon as I finished, he must’ve wanted to be sure I’d get it done.

I have not long arrived in the US, and I am determined to wear beautiful flowing clothes like a cool, calm and collected indie princess. I would swan around the house in a flowing striped maxi skirt and sparkly anthropologie belt. I felt like one of the girls you see on blogs, with red lipstick and perfect tortoise shell glasses. Unfortunately, life still happens when you are beautifully dressed. I’m not sure if you have ever tried to change king size bed sheets in a maxi skirt, but let me offer you this advice- don’t. Especially not in 30 degree heat. This will always be known as the day I changed the sheets in my underwear, unaware that the team of landscapers were at the window. Moving away does not, unfortunately, change who you are.