Facade

Ch6 Early O'Clock

At early o'clock in the morning my brain insisted we were still living in New York. It wasn't necessarily wrong, it woke me up right on time at seven in New York, but four in LA. The sun wasn't even awake yet and my brain said it was time to get up.

"I don't suppose any of you want to get up?" I asked my dogs, not one of them even cracked an eyelid. Apparently flying tuckers them out.

"Fine, I guess I'll go alone then." I looked through the closet and found it laughable when I actually saw a wet suite. It'll make it look like I totally mean business but in reality I have no intention of even getting a toe wet. Pools are great, I can see the bottom, they're filtered, they're temperature controlled, and there's no giant meat eaters swimming in them. Oceans are literally the exact opposite.

How do I even get this thing on? My athletic wear has more give then these pants. I can already feel the atomic wedgy forming. God forbid something like this got wet, how the hell are you supposed to get out?? And don't even get me started on the near rubber like feeling against my skin or that new tire smell that somehow seemed to leach onto me. After whole minutes of wriggling and muffled cursing I was finally in the wet suite that was going to remain dry. I waddled around my room attempting to gather my necessities up when I decided today was not the day for me to try wet suites.

Remember when I asked how the hell to get out? Well I figured it out. It might not have been graceful, in fact I looked like a penguin trying to tango, but I'm out of it now and the rubber based wedgie is gone. Sports bra plus workout leggings plus sneakers equals comfort.

My long black hair was stifled into a ponytail after some careful brushing. Some quick eyeliner and foundation to hide the jet lag bags under my eyes and good enough. It isn't like I have to be runway model worthy, I'm just going for a run on a hotspot surfing beach in an attempt to find the daughter of a criminal mastermind. No need to look pretty or anything, that's what morticians are for.

I'm taking two stairs at a time when I remembered how empty my refrigerator was. Who knows if breakfast is even viable? At least there's coffee...

While my coffee was brewing I did some quick research to find out where the surf life was in LA. I wasn't really in the mood to read all the websites that popped up but I skimmed to figure out the general consensus. Score! Found a radio cast all about LA surfing spots and what's good this morning. The guy hosting had a mild voice with slight huskiness to it. I could almost picture him, twenty something, tan with bleach blonde hair, and a carefree attitude. If one thing was for sure though, this guy was definitely accustomed to speaking to long time surfers and dropped the word swell enough times that I took the time to figure out if it was a good thing or not. Turns out its good... basically.

"To all my surf dudes and dudettes, it's El Porto today. The canyon's kicking up wicked swells, get your A-frame ride on!" Where the hell is El Porto...? Thank you Google Maps, maybe I won't actually get lost today. HAHAHAHA. That's funny.

Coffee and protein bar later I was feeling dissatisfied but pulling on a hoodie and ready to be on my way. I definitely have to pick up food on my way home. All the way down on the elevator I grumbled to myself over my sad breakfast, slow descent, and unwillingness to approach the vast body of frigid water filled with maneaters. I'm such a whiner, practically insufferable. With a chuckle I realized I had managed to complain about my complaining, good grief. While I'm not necessarily Ms. Happy Go Lucky, I'm not usually this level of cranky cynic. Oh well, maybe I'll cheer up after a jog on the beach. Or better yet, maybe I'll cheer up after a ride in my new Mustang.

With a chirpy beep my car was unlocked and I was sliding in. Oh that heavenly smell of new car and fresh leather. The feel of an expensive ergonomic driver's seat and the want of twitchy toes to floor this eight cylinder injected engine. I turned the key and the engine became alive with vim and vigor. I settled into my seat, adjusted my mirrors, and reminded myself which pedal was the 'go' and which was the 'stop.' I haven't driven since my test, that's what they made the subways and taxis for. I don't think Nonna realized how out of practice I was driving or she might have gotten me a more solid, slow moving care instead of something just under a race car. Oops, hindsight is 20/20 they say. Fingers crossed I don't die.