February 22, 2012
When our weekends aren’t subjected to birthday parties and a varietal of events, we find ourselves confused. And we wander. Sometimes we just pile everyone into a stroller and walk the trails in our neighborhood, look at nature and get excited over bugs.
Look kids a worm!
Other times we go to the beach or buy mama pretty things at the mall.
But the mall is for people who don’t like sunshine and aren’t bothered by kids having meltdowns over lost balloons.
So on Sunday afternoon we found ourselves confused, and instead of bumping into each other all day at home, we leisurely made a trip up to Venice. I’m not talking about the wacky and weird boardwalk of Venice Beach, I’m talking about the quiet and laid back Abbot Kinny Blvd.
It’s like a hipster paradise, that Venice. From the moment I stepped out of my car I felt like a loser. Everybody is an artisan. And the people there just feel creative and way more informed. While talking to a local the word “bespoke” came up in our conversation. When was the last time you just threw a word like “bespoke” around in your everyday dialogue? Me? Not so much.
And as we were passing a coffee shop, I overheard a British woman tell her friend, “Oh! This is kind of an institution. We may have to queue for a minute.”
So I judge an area based on the number of British people walking around.
And then there are the men.
The men are amazing in Venice.
They can get away with holes in their socks, because, hey, they’re wearing suspenders, so they’re kind of dressed up. They all have various degrees of facial hair, and all exert a quiet, cool confidence.
They’re basically my husband. Except two Christmases ago I bought him a pair of suspenders and he laughed and threw them on the ground, and then he stepped on them, and then I cried, and later I had to return said suspenders, and he got an X-Box game instead.