One of my favorite things to do in Southern California is to head to Malibu. While the journey is only 20 miles, it is a world apart. All is calm and serene in the Malibu State of Mind.

I used to be a hater when I heard that celebrities and richy richers had weekend retreats in Malibu…seriously, your getaway is less than an a maximum of 30 miles from your primary residence?! Typical…

Now. I know why.  It is a vacation spot even for those living in the vicinity. The mood is laid back, the vistas intoxicating, the beaches wide and uncrowded. The main fashion/shopping center is comfortable, secluded and understated with lovely restaurants, fab shopping and plenty of coffee shops and a tranquil inner courtyard to while away the afternoon and people watch.

Unfortunately, over the weekend, there was a culprit who darkened a perfect day…a grumpy middle-aged woman, probably my decade. I am sure it was her own reflection that turned her into a Debbie Downer. Fashion alert: no one should wear visors while dressed in street clothes. On the tennis court, it is even a fashion faux pas. Personally, I think one of Andy Roddick’s best moves on the tennis court was when he surrender the visor (rumor has it, Brad Gilbert forced the issue). Even Maria Sharapova should re-evaluate the look.

We hung for a bit at the exclusive Malibu Lumberyard shopping area on Cross Creek Road, comprised of such retail therapy and eating establishments as, INTERMIX, J.Crew, Kitson, Alice + Olivia, Maxfield (only Malibu residents can afford anything in this store), Tory Burch, Crumbs Bake Shop and Mr. Cindy Crawford’s, Cafe Habana.

There was a Malibu sponsored children’s happening, offering samples of McConnell’s homemade vanilla ice cream (all natural, established in Santa Barbara in 1949…must try at least once), a hand lotion station and a DJ entertaining the rich and famous kiddies who were outfitted better than me. Kenny “Babyface” Edmonds and Jane Seymour were trolling the paparazzi free zone.

I could move right into the J.Crew there. If you are in the ‘hood, ask for very personal stylist, Ashley Cornett, and she will make you look edgy yet preppy.

We cruised up on David’s vintage Indian motorcycle. I cheat on him with the NY Giants and his affair is with a  woman who has amazing lines and classic beauty, namely his 1950 Indian Chief motorcycle.

I have to tell you we ARE Steve McQueen and Ali McGraw when we mount the bike. We are literally joined at the hip, tooling the PCH and the Santa Mountains which ring Malibu Canyon. Helmet on, biker boots, hair blowing in the breeze…I am young, thin and indestructible with my man taking the lead. David will tell you this is the only time I surrender the power…he is in complete control! I don’t even sweat. I love taking off the helmet and shaking out my hair just like in the movies. Who cares how it falls, just the act of doing it gets us hot (for the moment and we know I am always scorching!)

The mountains above PCH are amazing. Twisting, windy roads, panoramic views of the ocean on one side and the canyons on the other. It is a completely different world. We stop for a drink at The Rock Store, which is an establishment that has been a motorcycle hangout for years…Jay Leno and Arnold Schwarzenegger are regulars and their images are immortalized on the wall which, by the way, is made completely out of volcanic rock. The Rock Store was actually a stagecoach stop in the 1910’s.

There are multimillion dollar homes next to trailer parks and Malibu Lake appears out of nowhere. Homes ring the lake and the mode of transportation are boats that look like the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland.

Heading back to Malibu leaves me breathless as the trip is downhill all the way. I close my eyes, hang on for dear life and pray, sending positive vibes to my pilot. We hook up with the PCH again (Pacific Coast Highway) and pass Pepperdine University…perusing the rolling lawns and ocean view, you wonder why people chose the frozen tundras of  universities in Wisconsin, Michigan, Syracuse, Boston and Nebraska.

David and I cruise into Santa Monica, I dismount, shake out my hair one last time, wiping out the illusion of our personal getaway movie. The stark realism of everyday life hits as I walk the dogs and pick up poop…the fantasy is over. On the road again will have to wait until further notice.