Yesterday Remy and I went to the Annenberg Community Beach House in Santa Monica.

You pay $8 to park all day, and if you want access to the pool, you pay another $10. We didn’t want access to the pool because, although it looked lovely, it was packed with barely potty trained children.

You can rent umbrellas, volleyballs, tennis rackets, beach chairs, and other fun stuff there.

We ate at the Back on the Beach Cafe before forcing the 16 year old rental guy to hand over some tennis rackets for free. He said, “ok but at least give me a deposit,” and winked, so as to insinuate he didn’t actually need one. When we returned the rackets I pretended to demand my deposit back.

Anyway, we were starving. She ordered a chicken salad with feta, almonds, and a lemon herb dressing. I feel like I just made that up because I was only paying attention to my salad.

Here she is doing her infamous action shots:

I got a grilled veggie salad with chicken, same dressing:

Butter giving it to the bread. Weird presentation:

Side of avocado:

Side of annoying:

This brat pack spent their lunch describing their poop, describing the kind of whistling sounds they make while they poop and grossly miscalculating their tip. They couldn’t decide between 9% and 30%. Rookies.

Then I said to Remy, how old are these guys? 14? 15? Were we that annoying?

This one was the worst of all. He got his panties all in a bunch (literally) about going to his car to retrieve something.

We realized he had pretty much just turned 16 once he started yelling, “Let’s go to my car! I have to stop by my car! Here are my car keys for the car that I drive! Let’s walk toward my car so I can open it and maybe sit in it and then get something out of it cause it’s my car!”

Finally, peace and quiet.

And free beach tennis.

And then what we came here for:

Until this speedo sporting jackass showed up with a loaf of bread, no sense of personal space and Alfred Hitchcock horror. Remember The Birds?:

Remy told him to beat it in no uncertain terms and when he didn’t move fast enough she said, “Pronto!”

Remy, don’t you dare go back to New York. Ever.

Remy, of Montauk fame, is in town, thank the good Lord. We grabbed dinner at Izakaya where Remy drank all the sake we ordered because she didn’t know it’s bad luck to pour your own sake. I kept pouring hers and staring longingly at my empty glass.

We had broiled black miso cod that was essentially prepared by tiny fish angels:

Lotus root, which was hot AND spicy:

The underdog meal that I always root for, mushrooms in foil. As my sister said the other day, Mushroom, What a funghi! Runs in the family.

Spicy tuna on crispy rice which I almost forgot to take a picture of before they were all gone.

Albacore with crispy onions:

At this point I had surrendered to the bad lighting and the small bit of sake that Remy sent my way, so pictures are questionable.

We headed down the street to grab a drink at the bar at Minestraio, where, as luck would have it, our server was a fast-talking heartthrob with the world’s longest name ever. When we didn’t believe his name was Chance Frederick Champagne Newton, Remy carded him:

In case you can’t see, that’s a two-liner.

Chance, if you’re reading this, you might have my credit card info but I know where you live.

Since burgers, coronas, fries, red wine, and onion rings weren’t enough to make me want to curl up and die a fried food death, I thought I’d really drive the nail in the coffin with a stop at Z pizza, airport style, for dinner.

Who knew JFK had a Z pizza, with a vegetarian, soy cheese pizza on the menu? I ain’t mad at that! Or at least I wasn’t until after I ate it. And then, you know, the whole, curl up a die fullness thing.

Words cannot express how hard it was to leave Montauk on Sunday. Not only because it was such a fun weekend, but because all my best friends would be trekking back to New York and I knew that I would be making the dreaded trip to not only JFK but back home again. Don’t get me wrong, I love LA. Westside for life. Live and die in LA. Ride or die. Going going back back to Cali Cali. Ok I’ll stop.

So we decided to get the most out of our stay by hanging out on the beach as much as humanly possible before hitting the road.

I had to be at the train station by 3:00 in order to be painfully early for my 3:35 train departure. I’m a spas.

Katherine and Camille jumped in the freezing water. Remy and I tried to join but both had mild panic attacks since it was not only icy but too rough to be relaxing. We were better off on land.

Remy and I, as you can see above, are like a black and white cookie, yin and yang, good and evil.

Instead of leaving the beach to get lunch, we forced Camille, Stacy, and Ashley to go into town and pick us up some burgers, milkshakes, and fries. We had a few of our own supplies, too.

Here’s the part where you realize I was so hungry that I took a picture of the burger in it’s paper shell and then didn’t capture what it actually looked like inside. whoopsy.

NBD. No big deal. It was less about the quality of the burger and more about the experience of basking in the sun and eating a burger on the beach before packing up and shipping out.

Camille, Katherine and a bottle of red wine joined me on the train to Jamaica, Queens, where I would then catch the AirTrain to JFK. Until next time, ladies. OTL for life!!!

One funny thing about coffee is that when my dad says “cup of coffee” he pronounces it “cuff a coffee.” Could he be any cuter? No, he couldn’t.

Katherine and I made morning coffee runs into town both Saturday and Sunday in Montauk. A line formed all the way outside both days, I’m guessing not only because they have great pastries but also because they were monopolizing all the coffee business in town.

Who do you think you are spelling “shop” “shoppe”? Should I order myself some “olde” timey coffee? Huh? Answer me!!

The place did not offer iced tea and required that you pour your own hot coffee or tea. While I do appreciate the ability to customize my beverage, the sheer crowdedness mixed with all the hot coffee handling gave me the jitters.

I loved their funny cookies and inventive biscotti though:

Bet those lobsters didn’t have any green shit in them. Cute little bastards.

wellllll SOMEBODY’S been procrastinating on these Montauk posts.

And by somebody I mean me.

K, so after our afternoon naps and mellowing out, we stepped out to get a drink at the surf lodge in montauk. the website looked great but in reality every jerkoff stockbroker from the city was wrapped in pastel singing along to all the music some band was butchering. cover songs–the less satisfying sequels of the music world.

here’s all of us before we made a break for it and headed to Shagwong, a very strange restaurant/bar combo that left a lasting impression on me.

here’s me with Remy, who will be in LA in less than a week THANK THE GOOD LORD.

Shagwong, how do I describe you?

You walk in to a dark, slightly crowded bar packed with 40 somethings dancing to Biggie, wearing Mardi Gras beads for no reason, and flirting with the local DJ, who, by the way, was big on taking cigarette breaks every 2 songs.

Then there’s the dining room, which is strangely packed with great photography:

Now I have to say that Shagwong suprised us all with how good their food was! We ate so much and Remy and I threw embarrassment to the wind by dancing it off. Not in the bar where everyone else was dancing but in the dining room where it was far from appropriate. It’s just that…well we had choreographed such a good routine Friday night and, you see, we couldn’t help but practice it.

Ok so here’s a rundown of most of the food we ordered. This might help explain why nobody wanted to rage against the night after dinner. We all developed food comas and crashed.

Some kind of “fish” cake, but not shellfish. Fantastic. i can’t even tell you how this made me feel.

salad

crab cakes:

fish ‘n’ chips:

almond crusted flounder salad. the bomb:

seafood pasta:

Muscles:

Steak:

and I think some weird hospital cobbler that was just sitting at the table when i got back from dance party 2000:

Here we all are:

and here’s Tini making crutches look cool:

The dude next to her definitely thought so. Creep.

On the way to Shagwong from Surf Rider I had flirted heavily with our young, Norwegian cabdriver Matthew for the amusement of my friends. Tini (or Camille?) tried to accuse this guy of being Matthew.

No way, Jose. Matthew was young and pure and cute. For a cabdriver.

Katherine got stuck talking to this lady while on a mission to find out if some handsome man in a cast was married or not. One thing I can’t stand is when my friends try to introduce me to strangers. Allow me to announce I don’t want to meet the married guy with the broken foot, the friendly bartender, or anyone else you think I might like. I only want Matthew.

Just kidding.

Anyway, the lady was wasted and not making much sense. Katherine kept responding to her by saying, “Oh, Lauren knows all about that,” all while grabbing my arm and trying to pull me into their conversation. She kept saying/slurring, “shit you think I’m so drunk, don’t you??”

Poor lady. Poor me.