Tag Archives: living in los angeles

I guess we’re friends?

1950s 1960s friendship girlfriends snow

On TV there’s always a group of friends who spontaneously meet up, or someone will call Tyler, and they’ll say, “Tyler, meet me at [whatever bar or coffee shop here]” and they hang up and don’t even give a time, and Tyler always shows up. And let’s not forget the ole drop-by. This happens a lot on “Beverly Hills, 90210” (the original). EVERYONE drops by Dylan’s house. I understand why TV writers do this. To show characters calling each other, or texting each other, is a lot less interesting than having them speak in person. But this trope gave me false hopes about what being an “adult” would be like. And by “adult,” I mean any cool, awesome chick from 18 – 30. From Clarissa Darling to Carrie Bradshaw. I thought that once I turned that magical adult age, I would have a close group of friends who would always be available to meet at “our” place or drop by unexpectedly.

I don’t think this is a real thing.

If you and people you know live in NYC (like the village or somewhere stupid in Brooklyn) or Los Angeles (in somewhere like Silverlake or Los Feliz or maybe even Venice) you can experience the magic TV moments of running into your friends at a nearby restaurant or other local joint. That’s why I like where I live now, even though I use to ruthlessly make fun of it all the time. I like being able to walk everywhere. I used to live in Manhattan and that was one of my favorite things, ever. To just get out of your studio apartment and walk. And see people. And things. And get hammered and take a taxi back or walk. Or if you’re really desperate, the subway. Yes, I can be quite an elitist jerk, don’t even bother pointing that out. I think that jeans and beer are for poor people. And if that shocks or upsets you, then I’m sorry. I’m like Patrick Bateman, but a woman, and with a lot less money and murders.

I think I have lots of friends. Maybe? It’s hard to tell. What’s a friend? Someone who goes to your bday party? Someone you don’t feel awkward having a one on one conversation with? Someone you know really well? I don’t really feel like I have a lot of close friends. But I have friends I can talk to. I wish I had a closely knit group, like the ones in “How I Met Your Mother” and “Friends.” But perhaps those don’t exist. At least not after college. But just once, I’d like to send out a mass text with, “MEET AT COOLBARWELIKEHERE at 9!” and everyone shows up, or at the very least, doesn’t ignore my text.

For more on friendship, read this old post: Friends.

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You’re in a new town.

empire state building nyc

Photo by me.

I am now certain that I miss New York city, though it’s sweaty as monkeys in a suitcase out here. Before I can even make it outside I’m all balmy and my hair is limp. I love this city, but jeez New York, calm your tits.

Here’s where my inner Patrick Bateman comes out: you’ll know I’ve given up on life if I move to Brooklyn. I do not adore Brooklyn. It’s far and empty and spooky at night and nothing is open and there’s no cabs. And hark, nature’s cruel joke — all of my friends, save one (love you Kelly) have moved to Brooklyn since I was last here. Which was only a year ago. All of them. Just the whole lot, off to Brooklyn. My dad lives in Manhattan. Do you not understand my unyielding pain here? I’m faced with a long subway ride or a $20 cab fare. This is debilitating and even thinking about it makes me want to place one of my childlike chubby fingers to my temple and let a single tear fall from my sweaty cheek.

I get it — Brooklyn is cheaper than Manhattan. At least that’s what you’re all telling me. Though I’m not convinced. But some of you insist that you live in Brooklyn because Brooklyn is better, which is hilarious. That’s like insisting that “Home Alone 3” is the best of all of the “Home Alone” films. Don’t insult me, comrade.

Yes, I am an asshole. I totally get that. But Oh My Kanye I hate having to haul ass to Brooklyn. You’re all worth it, I’m not saying that. But there’s nothing nearly as awesome where you live that we couldn’t do here in Real New York. Trust me, we can find your beloved independent vegan coffee guitar store here in the city. Your homemade soda shop/tattoo parlor. Your 80’s themed organic whiskey bar. We have those here too. I swear. And we have more. And we have transportation that will take you there.

Again, I’m an asshole.

And I live in Silver Lake/Los Feliz so I get it. I get wanting to live in a cool area where you can walk everywhere, where all your friends live, and where rent is cheaper than somewhere else more glamorous. I’m being a dick and a half, because where I live I can rent a one bedroom for half of what you rent in NYC for a studio. New York rent is crazy. So we all do what we can, and we’re all lucky to live in any of these places.

It’s really hot here.

I’m all not all cynical snobbery though. I’ve had some very lovely evenings in Brooklyn since I’ve been here. Very wonderful. Magical, even. Like Truman Capote shit. I love all of you BK friends. I just wished you lived closer. So, literally and figuratively, come at me.

 

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Life is weird.

Oh hay just posing at a fast food BBQ joint, no big deal. Instagram @apocalypstick

This going to sound like the musings of an incredibly stoned person, who is in bed eating Trader Joe’s snack mix while watching “Breaking Bad” but having to constantly rewind because they’re ironically too high to understand it, but I swear I am not stoned. Currently.

Life is so very weird. For example, I now both drink and enjoy iced coffee. You get what I’m saying? Big news. Life is weird, it’s like, one minute you’re the hottest bestest newest thing and the next minute you’re fat and bald and starring in a remake of The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3. You know? The weird thing about life is that things don’t seem to change day by day. You wake up and think, I have to do this same stuff again. But when you think really far back, there was a time when you weren’t doing that stuff. Somehow everything changed. And look at your friends, what are they up to? One minute they’re there, the next minute they’re gone, or sick, or incredibly famous. Usually all three, if you live in LA. Life is weird.

A lot has changed for me within the past year. A complete turn around. I even look different physically, in that I have never looked more like Mick Jagger in my life. And my stomach is constantly upset. I think it’s because beneath my skin is a fine layer of stress. Someone suggested I meditate. Sit in a chair and set a timer for 10 minutes and just sit there and breathe. I’m sorry, sir, but no. I can’t sit in a chair for 10 minutes and do nothing. I’ll just be thinking about the timer going off. I’ll start with one minute. Even that seems really hard. Heating up Hot Pockets in the microwaves seems to take hours.

I should eat less Hot Pockets.

I just want to know what’s going to happen. Where will I be next year? Actually, no, that’s too far ahead. Where will I be next month? Can someone spoiler alert my life? I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t want the journey, I want the destination. Fuck the journey, the journey sucks. No one on the Oregon Trail was like, “This is so awesome how we’re running out of food and dying of dysentery, it’s all gonna go downhill once we get there.”

Kids, help.

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