i spent the weekend in laguna beach, attending a wedding at this posh resort and spa overlooking the pacific. the wind was cold as it blew in over the cliff on which the bride and groom exchanged vows, her veil blowing gently behind her and her shoulders held high trying failingly to shield herself from the cooler-than-comfortable breeze. the trees were draped with flower petals on strands and votive candles hanging in protective glass vases. everything was crazy beautiful.

i was really enamored with the setting, but found myself distracted by the priest who made the duo proclaim that “yes,” they would gladly accept children god blessed them with. this is probably normal, but it’s weird to me that i’d ever say “yes, i can’t wait to procreate with my partner, and i proudly proclaim that to all of you we’re paying to celebrate with us today; oh, and in front of god, too.” just seemed like a private moment.

anyway, but the wedding just populated an otherwise pleasant but enlightening two days in laguna beach. i’d been there about ten years ago on spring break my freshmen year of college while neel was finishing his first year at pomona. then, it was just “this cool town called laguna beach.” we spent the day there. it was cool. then the mtv show came out and i looked at it differently. see, the town apparently was founded by artists, and there are tons of studios and galleries littering the outskirts of town and along aliso canyon drive, which is beautiful (on a different level) like pacific coast highway.

but this time, two moments stick out in my head that made me not want to return, despite its incredible beauty. one happened when julius and i were strolling down a side street off the beaten path, and a woman literally reached her hand out to stop me, and shouted “your jacket.”

“what about it?” i asked. she didn’t say anything, but kept staring at my jacket. i got this particular jacket from jcpenney about three years ago. i suddenly became incredibly and uncomfortably aware of it.

“do you like it?” i asked slowly, not sure what she was getting at. she just pointed more and said “the buttons.”

one of my buttons wasn’t aligned with its proper hole match. my bad.

“oh thanks,” i said, adjusting it.

“i just didn’t want you to go out there [to the main street] without fixing it.”

um, thanks? [insert awkward laugh] thanks for saving me from irreparable judgment?

PS clearly she didn’t like my jcpenney jacket, since she never answered my question. but no matter. the damage had been done. i’d felt totally naked in a way i don’t normally. i felt awkward and fake, like an imposter. i guess i was. but where are all these artists i’d naturally identify myself with? why have they been taken over by the elites?

the second happened just a couple hours later over lunch. in a french bistro overlooking the ocean, a woman literally made a waitress cry. when the waitress had stopped to ask “how is everything,” this particular patron who, no lie, clearly had her face altered (is that too stereotypical, or just reality?), responded, “where do i begin?”

the waitress was mortified, both at the response and the level of the woman’s voice. the problem? her daughter’s croissant wasn’t warm, and her eggs benedict didn’t come with whatever sauce it was supposed to come with. did it stop either of them from eating? no, but it definitely prompted a stern talking to. the waitress apologized, but the verbal assault continued. finally, i realized through the waitress’ thick accented apologies that she had started crying, and then the woman’s friend said, “oh no; we didn’t mean to make you cry.”

the waitress comped the breakfasts, both of which were less than $10 at this little cafe; and both of which equated to one thousandth of an hour’s time of each of their plastic surgeons’ fees, no doubt. but maybe it was all about the principle. isn’t it always?

PS after the waitress brought the bill for what i assume were some mimosas, the friend said, “don’t cry, we like you.”

phew. that was a close one.

had the wedding and company not been divine — plus had i not met up with an old friend in santa monica for thai and drinks, which was just brilliant and lovely — i might have felt completely out of place that weekend.

flying back to detroit at sunrise, i looked out over the greenery of the midwest and realized in an instant why some refer to my native region as “wholesome.”

maybe because we’re willing to shop at jcpenney.

or maybe it’s just me.

my flight to tampa last night was among the smoothest i’ve ever taken. but what made this particular flight experience so memorable was a few different events.

first, my colleague was supposed to take me to the airport. i say “supposed to” because he ended up forgetting and just so happened to leave early to head to his own vacation. no biggie, just a change in plans; i’ve got to get there earlier so i can wait for the economy bus to pick my ass up and head to the terminal, where i’d undoubtedly be greeted with tons of 6pm security lines. when the bus came, a woman and her husband were already onboard, and they were carrying a small dog in a bag. the dog was amazingly adorable. i wanted to take a picture but my camera was buried. but then the dog puked, and the woman caught some of it in her hand and looked at me like “omg did this stranger see that my dog just puked a little in my hand? what am i supposed to do with this small amount of tiny dog puke?” it was awkward. but the dog looked happy.

second, to my surprise, the place was a ghost town. it was awesome. so i strode up to the person awaiting my driver’s license and boarding pass. i had my headphones in with some zero7 accompanying me. when i got to him, i was pulling my headphones out and handing him the docs all at once when he mumbles something to me that was either “how you doing” or “where you going,” the latter of which i thought was weird, but he was clearly waiting for an answer, so i said “excuse me?” and his response was to ROLL HIS EYES and shake his head, kind of like one of those “fucking kids and their rock music” reactions. he just handed me my stuff and said “you’re done.” what does that even mean? why do you hate me stranger?

so then i get to the gate and some dude in a hawaiian shirt is on his huge cell phone and walking around speaking at a decibel unparalleled. i heard all about his ailing mother — we all did — and then, just as i think it’s all over. he hangs up the phone, calls “jimmy,” and starts bawling. BAWLING. like a blatt baby openly and without shame, still pacing the terminal and screaming into the phone about how sick his mom is. this guy was in his fifties i’d say, and i felt bad for him, but he was so overt about it that i actually was embarrassed simultaneously. i still feel weird thinking about it now. private conversation, stranger.

onboard, about 10 minutes into the flight, the woman next to me turns to me and says “whatcha reading?” from there, we launched into a 90-minute conversation that covered everything from my childhood to her sex life. no joke. we introduced ourselves. she said i had a good handshake. maria was hilarious, a little drunk, very english, and totally refreshing. we were yukking it up like old pals. we laughed about her having to step over a little old woman who occupied the aisle seat and was asleep. she told tales of her adventures in turbulence while using “the loo.” then she passed out. and i read more. as we landed, she turned to the aisle seat woman and said “how was your nap?” to which rita (as we learned) replied, “i didn’t sleep; i was too busy being entertained by you two.” we learned that rita’d been on 24 cruises, 23 of which since she was widowed, and that she was a new yorker originally. we hung out in our row while others departed the plane. we chatted on the way to the baggage claim, and outside while waiting for our rides. three women of three different generations going from strangers to friends. for a night anyway.

that must be at least a LITTLE of what life is all about, right?