I Don’t Belong Here
As is almost always the case, I am going through severe vacation withdrawal right now. I am not really sure if this is due to the fact that Maya seems to think we are STILL on vacation and asks me, “What should I do now Mama?” every 5 seconds, or if it’s due to the fact that every time I return to Los Angeles I realize again how much I really don’t like living here.
Blasphemous, right? I mean, how can anyone in their right mind possibly hate Los Angeles – a city known for perfect weather and beautiful people? Well, allow me to list just a few of the negatives of living here:
- Skanky girls are a dime a dozen. I was hanging out at Coupa Cafe with my brother last night and we saw girl after girl attempting to emulate Dita Von Teese, except they were walking down Canon instead of performing at a burlesque show. Why is it that a good half of the girls out here find it so difficult to put on clothes?
- The traffic bites. Factor in an hour to go pretty much anywhere and you’ll find it is much easier to stay at home.
- Parking bites even more. It is nearly impossible to get around valet parking your car in this city – this includes having to valet at my doctor’s office, shopping malls (unless you want to drive around aimlessly for 30 minutes), and of course 99% of the restaurants here only offer valet. This is a HUGE problem when my husband refuses to let anyone else drive his car.
- There are strange/creepy people everywhere. Just five minutes into the script analysis class I took at CBS yesterday, a guy who knew I was married with a child asked me out, and an obviously stoned lady told me she was attending the class to learn how to “spend less money.”
- The Beverly Hills plastic surgery clichés are in full force. In addition to having coffee next to a girl with a freshly bandaged nose, I had the pleasure of dining at Porta Via last night while listening to two ladies compare notes on surgeons as they attempted to chew and swallow without breaking their botoxed faces. (Note: I have no problem with people getting plastic surgery if they want it, I just have a problem with the whole cliché of them sitting in Beverly Hills chatting about it like they are discussing the weather.)
I am a conservative person in a sea of liberals. I am a brunette in a sea of blondes. I am a slightly less shallow person in an ocean of fake people. I was born on the East Coast and I belong on the East Coast. Now all I need to do is convince my husband that he doesn’t belong here either so we can finally move out of this city.
Any ideas how to do this?