Mr Woog, for the sake of your blood pressure, please do not read this post!

Normally I write blog posts in the morning from my lady room while the kid get dressed for school. Today? Not so mundane. Except it appears that there is a Playboy Bunny Convention going on in the pool.  And it is totally putting me off my pancakes.

Yesterday I woke up at 1pm, due to the continual jet lag. So I loafed around a bit and wrote a bit. I caught up with my LA Woman Eden and after a bit we decided to head down to the Santa Monica Pier to check out a different side to LA.

We jumped into a cab where the driver spoke really good Russian. Like totally fluent. And after a few minutes of mime,  we were headed to Santa Monica which we assured was ten minutes away.  After about an hour, Eden realised it was time for her to head back to West Hollywood as she had an appointment at LA INK to get her neck tattooed with a skull.

LA traffic is like Sydney Traffic's big nasty older stepsister with acne and a bad attitude.

So I was dropped near the pier and Eden got to spend some more quality time with Boris as he drove her back into Hollywood,  getting lost along the way. The most expensive and ineffective tourist tour ever!

And I got to hang out here.

 And I liked it. Except I could not find Pamela Anderson on Patrol.

I walked a long way watching people. I could watch people for days. It is better than Foxtel. Santa Monica was a real mix of local characters and tourists. One thing that did strike me was the amount of young men in wheelchairs,  which I suspect might be one of the not so charming results of the Afghanistan situation.

It was 5pm and I had not had breakfast or lunch. The jet lag diet was working!  I found a dumpling house and grabbed a seat by the window.  The waitress came and asked if I was waiting for someone. I replied no. I had no book or magazine to read but I did not care.  I got my dumpling on washed down with a glass of California's finest.

From my table, a spied a Bloomingdales across the road,  so I took my Riesling buzz across the road to see what was going down at Bloomies. And what was going down you may ask?

A fucking massive shoe sale with 40% the already discounted price! Please look at the shoe, and not the toe hair.

 Gucci leather thong, get in my belly.

Whoever said never mix leopard print and sparkles can go bite me.

Little flat stripy Kate Spade cutie, I am sorry I had to leave you behind... but my toes are to fat for you. I am still more upset than you are. We could have been friends forever.

And to you, you hot coral patent leather sling back, I think I love you most of all!

I wandered out to the street in a state with a massive bag. I walked down the mall thinking, "America? For someone crying really poor at the moment,  you really do have some fancy ass shops!"

On the way to find a cab,  I took a wrong turn and ended up in Sephora,  which for make up junkies is like Disneyland. I wanted a new tinted moisturiser and asked the advice of a supermodelesque store assistant. She sat me down with some options and asked me my name. I told her then asked what her name was. She answered.

"It's British."

"Same!" I replied. "What is it?"

"British."

Ok. So British hooked me up with some Nars and some Laura Mercier and some clear advice to me not to call my kids a name which will make them hate me forever.

I got back to The Standard just in time to dump my stuff and jump into yet another cab with Eden.  We were going out to dinner with one of America's Most Top MommyBloggers Heather from The Sporhes are Multiplying. And we went here.

It was wonderful to get my margarita on with Heather and her adorable family. I showed Eden how to order in a merkin accent as to not confuse the Mexican waiter. I am looking forward to hanging out with Heather at BlogHer. I have offered to act as her bodyguard and party buddy. She looks like Amy Adams.

Today we are packing up and heading down to San Diego. Watch this space.....