If L.A. were a person, she would be Monica Lewinsky – steamy (with smog), scandalous and eager to give visitors head(aches). I’ve given L.A. another chance, but it has let me down. I tried being a tourist. I tried being a native. Unless you can handle traffic at all hours of the day, dodge homeless men at doughnut shops asking for your e-mail address and avoid rental car scam artists from taking your wife and kids as compensation, then you cannot handle a life in L.A. I barely made it out of there alive.
First thing, I applaud you L.A drivers. Sneaking in and out of lanes like you own the city, you all are famous for giving tourist drivers PTSD. (I’ll send my therapy bill.) Why hasn’t the White House paid for a banquet dinner with free air fresheners for life for anyone who drives in this freakin’ city? Driving to work every morning is risking your life. You better kiss your wife and kids goodbye because unless you have eyes on the side of your head and the accessibility of a flying car, you will crash and die. (too harsh?) The amount of people who inhabit the lanes of any Southern California freeway on a Tuesday morning is barbaric. There is not one public transit vehicle in sight besides the money hungry taxi drivers who’ve already started their meters two blocks before picking you up. But hey, it’s L.A.
Okay, okay. You’ve hiked the Hollywood sign. You’ve walked on the Avenue of the Stars. You’ve convinced yourself that the man you saw at the MILK shop drooling while eating a cupcake and staring blankly at the cashier was indeed Jack Nicholson. You’ve driven through Rodeo Drive and Sunset Blvd. without stopping because let’s face it – you’re not rich or cool enough to buy a pair of socks from a single boutique on these streets. NOW WHAT? Should I drive 10 miles for a fucking hot dog at Pink’s and then drive another 15 miles to the park to enjoy my hot dog? OF COURSE! Why? Because hey, it’s L.A. and apparently paying four dollars a gallon for gas is “so L.A”.
L.A. is depressing as fuck. It reminds me that I am neither famous nor rich enough to live in the nice areas of Beverly Hills or Manhattan Beach so I am limited to a hostel (yet again) on W. Century Blvd. and a rental car company with two stars on Yelp. Thanks L.A., but I think next time I’d rather live extravagantly as a homeless person on the streets of San Francisco playing with my garbage can drums and asking for spare change than drive on your highways and stay in your hostels.
Now Playing: “Chocolate” by 1975. AH-HA! You’ve noticed that I’ve changed the “Music Choice” to “Now Playing”. Even if you haven’t, NOW you’ve noticed. This recent change to my blurbs will significantly impact my life in ways you can not imagine. By the way, what the hell are the lyrics to this song?