August 2008

When I was 10 one of our field trips was to the Shipleys Donuts. My friends dad owned it so we got to behind the scenes. Talk about impressive, we sat and watched as the pretty little things came out of the hot oil and took the conveyer belt to icing city. Warm and gooey right off the highway to heaven, we ate as many as possible. Milk was essential, regular or chocolate. There was something so perfect about it all, it’s one of my happiest memories.

Even today, warm donuts make everything better.

Of course she’s living the high life and has someone come to her house and spray tan her skinny ass. My tan in a can is the next best thing. Forget the gruesome Mystic tan where you stand naked, like a weirdo in shower cap while the too dark paint sprays you. It starts rubbing off in 2 days, and not in a natural way.

A friend told me about this and I think it’s the next best thing to a real tan. Neutrogena spray mist, about $9 at Target. I go out on my patio, dried off after a shower and spray away. It takes 1 minute, it’s easy and almost goof-proof. I blow dry my hair while it dries, then get dressed. It starts looking like something after a couple hours. A few quick coats and I looked like a less freckled, darker version of myself. I’ve tried most of the tanning lotions and potions, and this is the easiest. It’s my favorite. Gotta go hit the beach, on my back porch.

Mr mid-life crisis in gold chains pulls up to the repair shop in his Honda S2000. It’s the color of cheap mustard. Ick. Why do they even make cars in that color? I feel bad for his wife, mistress, girlfriend, one night stand, all of them.

Now I have a craving for corn dogs. I really want to tell him he looks like a huge weiner in that tiny clown car. And he actually tells the repair guy “I love it, and so does everyone else”

Dear Weiner,

Everyone else is lying.

Living in LA did take some getting used to. I’m pretty sure I used to be nicer. Just another girl from Austin, I moved here 13 years ago. It was 1995 and I swore to never own these 3 tools of the devil: a black leather jacket, a cel phone, a car alarm. My second year I really needed the jacket. And the phone. But steal my Honda, see if I care.

Here’s my list I like to call Hey Dumbass, WELCOME TO LA:

Grow bigger boobs. Or install fake ones.

Tan is better.

Excess weight is acceptable only for tourists.

Grey hair? What grey hair.

Teeth were made to be white.

The newer your iPhone/car/husband the better.

An RSVP yes, only means maybe.

Enjoy that martini, it was 23$.

The weather is either sunny or fucking sunny again.

Flaky is the new black.

Share personal information with everyone: your rent, your mortgage, your unresolved childhood issues.

Have a therapist, or talk like you do. (see above)

Some days I really wonder why I live here? My boobs are just normal sized and I enjoy sunscreen. But wait, there’s plenty of reasons I live here. And lucky for me I’ve made lots of friends like me, totally inadequate by LA standards.

It only seems right that I start out my shiny new blog with a big Thank You.

To my encouraging friends and family who helped me get this together. And listened to me talk about starting a blog, the domain name, the design, the photo to use so I look nice.

thanks you guys!

Chris, Mara, Terry, Kendrick, Julie, TC, Phil, Andrea, Amber, Daniel and a few others that I just don’t feel like mentioning.