The Good Doctor and I made our pilgrimage to the City of Angels last weekend to attend the very last wedding where we only know the couple that is getting married. Originally, I felt compelled to write about all of the silly reasons people have weddings, and how tiresome it is to go to a wedding where you have to make single-service friends (thanks, Fight Club) that you know you’ll never see again. But rest assured, I try not to bore you to the point of suicidal ideation. Instead, I think I’ll complain about how truly terrible LA is! A place that is touted for its beautiful blonde women (actresses), and the appeal of Hollywood and all that it promises (crack), I hadn’t been for a very long time, and forgot how miserable it is there. Why, you ask? And I know you didn’t ask, but I’m talking, so SHEKET BAVAKASHA (HEY)!
This is always something that people complain about in every city, and about this city in particular, but LA has a real fighting chance to win the competition. The freeways remind me of Houston – gigantic, looping, 6-lane freeways that you are absolutely required to use if you want to get anywhere, and that are consistently bumper-to-bumper full of traffic. And the driving skills? Everyone does whatever the hell they want at any given moment, no one has learned how to indicate, and watching people attempt to parallel park their Range Rover is almost as hilarious as watching the anorexic women stare longingly at the In-N-Out line.
I went to my niece’s school fair on Sunday, and it was like a parallel universe of proto-douchery. Note – she is almost in middle school, and if the producer of Gossip Girl did not get every single story line from this exact location, I no longer trust anything in life. Every girl was carrying a designer bag, exasperatedly exclaiming how “over it” she was about whatever, and every boy was wearing sneakers that were more expensive than my college tuition. They all have their own cell phones, which they are glued to almost as if they rely on it for energy or neuronal connection, and they are all completely disrespectful of the parents who pay for their love and attention. These children have no hope in life whatsoever, unless they want to become the real-life people in Entourage that we love to hate.
West Hollywood – which, from what I can tell, is just an excuse to overpay for disgusting beer in a strip-mall-like environment. I had an amazingly complex interaction with a dude whose brains were dripping out of the side of his head:
Dude: Hey, I like your dress
Me: Thanks – I just came from a wedding
Dude: [making his best Bill & Ted impression] Uhhhhhh, did you just say you came from a wedding?
Dude: Uhhhmmmmm [semi-chuckle], yea, OK…
Did I lose him somewhere? What the fuck is WRONG with people here? STOP HUFFING PAINT.
- Bare Necessities
You have to have a car to get around. You have to brag about how often you exercise; if you don’t exercise, you have to complain as often as you might exercise and point out what you have purposefully cut out of your diet to counteract your lack of exercise. You have to be busier than everyone else (phrases to convince include: I never have time to eat; I was so busy that I forgot to put on make-up; I had to get my clothes altered and, since I was wearing them, had to rush to buy new ones [I heard all of these verbatim]). You have to be woefully unaware of current events (my niece and sister-in-law are convinced that ebola is an air-borne virus. Just…just kill me). You have to be constantly on your phone, while simultaneously constantly apologizing for being on your phone. And you have to own a certain percentage of very obvious designer clothing (every one of my brother’s belt buckles was apparently a person).
Couldn’t find any. Apparently celebrity sighting is a hobby for some, but you have to pretend to care very little. Quote from my niece after I sighted Heidi Klum: Oh, Heidi Klum? Yea, I see her all the time, I used to play tennis with her daughter. Whatever. [BAH GODDAMIT]. Also, people don’t really seem to DO anything. The weekend events could have included going to the beach, if we had time – which is admittedly awesome and something we don’t get in New York (no, Eric, Coney Island does not count as a beach). But otherwise, it seemed like people can never think of what to do, even to show us out-of-towners around. Oh, have you had In-N-Out yet? Yes…hm…how about seeing the Hollywood sign? Don’t care? Um…have you driven 30 minutes to get 3 miles so you could shop somewhere? Yes? Welp, that’s about it, I suppose.
So, there you have it. A scathing Yelp review of LA, its people included. Even though my brother and sister-in-law kept trying to convince the Good Doctor and I to move there, I think we’ll do just fine in a city where people read the news, take the subway, subtly wear their clothes, and are actually busy because they work. But, hey, that’s just me. This is Kitty, signing out.