  Jaci Stephen  Jaci Stephen: 'How did I end up here? LA wasn't
where I expected to be at 50'  Way Out West  Full May moon over
Los Angeles. It hovers beside the Lexington Commercial Holdings
building on Wilshire Boulevard, above the streetlamp at the end
of North Crescent Drive.  I try to take a picture of it on my
i-Phone and curse again the contraption that is about as
effective as Gordon Ramsay with laryngitis. When the camera
finally captures the shot, I see that the moon is
indistinguishable from the light from the streetlamp: two white
balls that could be anything, anytime, anyplace.  Except that
they are in Beverly Hills 90210, just outside my new apartment
on North Crescent Drive where, bizarrely, I am now living.  Most
days, I don't cry, but tonight, as I think of Britain waking up
as I walk into dusk, I do.  How did I get here? How did I, an
intelligent woman, teetering on the menopausal precipice of
life, end up pretty much alone, financially struggling, in a
strange city, staring at the wrong sid