L.A., I love you
I was slumped on Matt’s futon bed the other night, vaguely paying attention to the new Zach Braff movie he put on, mostly texting on my phone while Matt lay haphazardly on his side, his head using my arm as a pillow. I sent an emoji and put my phone down to face the screen just as a scene panned out wide, showing us the first glimpse of where these characters resided. “Aww,” he said just as I too thought it, “it’s where we live.”
This is my fifth year living in L.A. I’ve written about Los Angeles several times (here, here, and here) and every year I hit this milestone, I think about this setting. We know I’m from San Francisco and I’ll always identify with that, but I’m only now realizing that L.A. is in my identity, too. I still and always say I’m from SF, but it’s just as true to say I’m from L.A. now, too.
Five years ago was 2009. Five years can feel like a blink, you can hold it in one hand but there’s a lot that goes on in a blink. A lot that fits in that hand. I was at the tail-end of 22, and I was so young. You don’t think you’re very young at 22. You don’t think there’s much more that’ll change about you, then. But you do.
I’m currently two weeks away from 28. In between these five fingers, I’ve had 6 jobs, 4 relevant kissers, 3 homes, 2 heartbreaks, 1 relationship and an innumerable amount of comedy shows, red cups, concerts, flat tires, french fries, selfies, self-reflection and other kisses. So much of these experiences in this city have made me drastically distant from who I was at 22. I’m still the same rock, only the socal waves have given me a different shape. I am who I am now because of Los Angeles.
I love L.A. I love driving past long lines of people outside art houses and revival theaters just as there are long lines for a small hip food stand that serves egg sandwiches on any given day and time of the week. I love that a friend I met at an improv show started a podcast series about guys watching Gilmore Girls. I love that even though so many of the neighborhoods are getting more gentrified you can still find blocks of culture— Korean, Jewish, Hispanic zones— untouched by time and space. That you can order a $2 taco from a truck by someone who can’t speak English and simultaneously consume an overpriced juiced kale smoothie across the street. I love all the things I hate about it too.
The movie continues and we watch Zach Braff test drive a car off a dealership in Beverly Hills then is suddenly winding top-down in the cliffs by Palos Verdes. We both laugh. And we laugh because we’re from here.
6:10 pm • 21 October 2014 • 3 notes
Went to the Mojave desert with some girl friends for the first lantern festival in the U.S. It was a transcendent, magical, sincere experience and I can’t properly explain or illustrate all the beauty and emotion felt when you’re surrounded by 20,000 lanterns and 20,000 hopes, dreams, prayers and wishes by all the people around you.
It was unfortunately quickly dampened by poor event organization- a stark slap of reality just as soon we had come down from a spiritual high. But I’ll never forget this and how I felt and how it looked and how I was there and how I’m here.
2:17 pm • 20 October 2014 • 8 notes
I went to a Batman-themed surprise party for a friend’s 30th birthday and it’s great I have people in my life who enjoy things like a Batman-themed party for 30th birthdays.
11:09 pm • 13 October 2014 • 1 note
Very much excited to go to Cabo for NYE if only to recreate this iconic Laguna Beach moment.
11:28 am • 10 October 2014 • 1 note
- I keep thinking about how my family has moved out of our home to a bigger house an hour away from San Francisco. I wasn’t dreadfully attached to our old house, we moved in my senior year and I lived there through college until I moved to LA. I lost my virginity in my room and was also broken up with over the phone in that room, but those memories only came to mind when I scraped for what would be meaningful to me in that house. Still, I don’t like the move, all the same. The distance from my friends, the stale suburban city, the way this new house won’t feel like a home to me ever, just all the newness. I don’t know. You expect the past to stay the same even when you move forward, so when things of your past- your idea of home, your family, are all moving in different directions too, all the meanings shift. Anyway, I told them not to throw away my box of Nsync stuff for god knows what reason.
- October is such a fast month but it’s my favorite month. I spend too much money on sweaters and cardigans I don’t even need in this abnormally elongated 90 degree fall. I spend too much on costumes I only wear once And put ridiculous expectations on myself for the annual halloween party I throw, but it’s still October, and I’m still in love with it. There’s a magic in the crispness of the air. It brews and lingers through the winter, but I prefer the start of it, to feel the colors change.
- I taught Matt what a “call back” meant in comedy the other day and so now every time he makes an appropriate joke he always references that it’s a call back and that’s a dumb joke in itself but also kind of funny.
- I’ve been craving cake every day for the past week. Not that it’s not an entirely abnormal craving for myself to have, but just that it’s abnormal it’s been a full week and I haven’t done anything about it yet.
- I’m going to be 28 in less than a month and it hasn’t been something I’ve been heavily thinking about but it’s a strange age. 27 was when you feel tipped over into the late-twentys zone. 28 is two years away from 30 and 30 sounds old, and I don’t feel ready to be that old. Though a lot can change in 2 years. 2 years ago, I moved back to LA around this time and celebrated Halloween with house parties and Mickey’s Halloween Party at Disneyland.
- I just googled ‘Mickey’s Halloween Party’ at Disneyland to find out if it’s sold out yet because I obviously have to go again this year. So maybe some things don’t change
8:40 pm • 8 October 2014 • 2 notes
“Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.
Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)”
- Gone Girl
3:52 pm • 6 October 2014 • 3 notes
Taylor Swift on Emma Watson’s UN speech and (last 2 gifs) on not “acting up” like Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears (x)
I wouldn’t call myself a Swifty fan, but watching her develop from a teenager into a more aware woman over the years has been pretty beneficial to see in the media, if only for the similarly raised, privileged white females who look up to her.
9:10 pm • 29 September 2014 • 84,750 notes
“Maybe a relationship is just two idiots who don’t know a damn thing except the fact that they’re willing to figure it out together.”
— (via waketheworld)
(Source: c0ntemplations, via samdesantis)
7:36 pm • 27 September 2014 • 244,737 notes
We Fell Asleep
I was already fading, my eyelids heavied and tucked in. I was curled on my side, the first time I’ve felt cold enough in LA in too long. I was wearing your grey sweatshirt as a nightgown because I forgot to pack sleepwear that night. You curled into a comma along with me, your weighted arm draped over my ribs. I had quietly fell into the black. I didn’t feel too far away before my body jerked me to come to. I jolted, awakening the both of us by my sudden spasm. You didn’t stir, you just tightened our space, brushing my hair away from my face and pulling your arm in to hold me closer. It was a small response, the littlest move, but in the dark in your room, your pull tugged me toward a feeling I had forgotten.
When we’re little and we have a nightmare, we instantly wake up our moms or dads to sleep next to. It’s the only way we feel safe enough to return to slumber. The need to have someone there physically, eased our minds into security. A comforting presence. This feeling of safety someone else can give you.
It didn’t occur to me how much adulthood is spent without that. We adjust to weathering moments- both hard and weightless, on our own. It’s not sad, really. Just a normal, natural growth. We just don’t need as much saving when we’re older. You can survive on your own. But, you woke up when I did. You brushed my hair behind my ear, you held me tighter, and pulled a blanket of familiar ease over me. No one has stepped into this role since I was a kid, recovering from my nightmares soothed only by my parent’s breath beside mine. Now it’s you.
This moment, the littlest nothing of a moment, was meant to be felt by me alone, and it became something we met together. That’s what all this is, isn’t it?
I shut my eyes and we both fell asleep.
3:49 pm • 26 September 2014 • 5 notes
Los Angeles-based artist and baker Christine McConnell (previously featured here) just shared a fantastic selection of truly monstrous baked goods over on Reddit.
Here you see a batch of waffle cones that turned into a nest of ferocious be-tentacled beasties, a terrifyingly realistic facehugger made of sugar cookies (glued together with caramel and glazed with milk, sugar and nutmeg), an adorable chicken pot pie (with beak and feet carved from carrots), a fiery Danzig birthday cake, tarantula cookies prepared like Girl Scout Samoas, and a spectacular birthday cake created for a Voodoo-Bayou themed party. The tongue of the snake atop the cake is a handmade candle.
Click here to view even more of Christine McConnell’s awesome edible creations.
10:37 am • 26 September 2014 • 4,409 notes