"Welcome to the OC, bitch."

Yes it's true, I am in Orange County, or, as no-one ever actually calls it, The OC.

In addition to my fascination with Walmart and mailboxes, it has been discovered that all of my knowledge of US geography comes from pop culture of some description, and so finding places that I recognise is also very exciting to me. This was very evident on the drive from San Francisco to LA.

(Which ... oh yeah. I was maybe going to post about that. Ok, so, very pretty drive, lots of beaches and also houses I could never afford but would love to live in, and great times with Tiff and our awesome driver Adrienne.)

Pismo Beach is from Clueless. Redondo Beach is from that Beach Boys song. San-ta Mon-i-ca Boul-e-vard is from that song. (PS, I cannot say the word, I have to sing it just like that.) I remember there were references to Felicity, Grey's Anatomy, Veronica Mars and plenty more. It's a good thing I watch TV or I would have no idea where I am right now.

I am currently in a hotel room, with my free wireless internet (which is working, ahem the Westin) and all my electronic equipment spread out around me, charging or waiting to be uploaded or whatever.

Every now and then I get a rush of something which may be hunger or it may be some slight anxiety.

I am on my own for the first time this trip (except for that lovely time I had wandering around SFO) and I am supposed to get myself from Newport Beach or wherever the hell I am to Palm Springs by Friday and to Vegas by Saturday. I do not know how to do this, and when I finish babbling crap at you, I will figure it out. So that might be what that feeling is about.

Or it could be because I had two hours of sleep and three huge glasses of vodka last night.