Don't know that I've blogged about life in LA for a while, and I've been experiencing a lot of that recently, so let's just jump right in.
For starters, I have to come out and say it: I love living here. And that is not a popular opinion. People who have lived here a year hate it. People who have lived here 15 years hate it. The people who run it, hate it. Everybody hates LA. That's just a thing about it. It's the Gary Gergich of metropolitan cities.
But in the same way that I've always managed to befriend the one socially awkward homophobic racist in the room, so too have I found my common ground with Los Angeles. I get why some people aren't into it. But I love
every minute of my existence out here. As a knighted honorary of the ADHD community, I am always looking for something new to try. Maybe it's Chinese food. Maybe it's a reggae-death-electro-folk concert. Maybe it's a bar inside a renovated doll head factory. Maybe it's Chinese food in Beverly Hills. No matter what that something is, it's here. And the absolute best part is, I don't always know what I want. I'm just as cool with margaritas in Malibu as I am with tagging an underpass. Los Angeles is full of things that I never knew I wanted.
I get why this doesn't work out for everyone. Yes, you do have to fight for what you want out here. Yes, you have to balance the things you want with the things you need. Yes, you have to be open to change and patience (often at the most inconvenient times). And yes, you do have to accidentally sit in urine on a bus bench at least once. Otherwise it's like you were never here. But I would much rather fight tooth and nail for a way of life that is exciting and invigorating, than hit up Target and call it a day.
Of course, I say this like I've got it down pat and LA has never been a bother.
.:Fuck no, y'all!:.
LA is riddled with inconveniences and absurd surrealities that I often have trouble stomaching. Like the homeless guy on Hollywood Blvd who whenever I pass calls me a bitch-cunt and calls my friends the N-word. That guy totally sucks! But I walk past him because he is posted up along the most walkable route to the Thai massage parlor with this amazing happy hour deal.
And honestly, I think there's some annual mattress migration that takes place here because there are seriously like 20 mattresses on my block right now.
I don't always appreciate the traffic, the crazies, the odors, but that doesn't blind me from the fun destinations, the kind strangers, the (good) odors... and the zillion other cool things I get to experience out here.
Like, last week I went to an escape room for the first time. Was not invented in LA and exists in many countries (but the earliest known room was created in Silicon Valley and that's close enough). I swear this supports my argument somehow. It was so freaking fun! If you've never heard of them, an escape room is a game designed in a room with all sorts of puzzles hidden in it. You and a small team have to work together to solve the puzzles, which will ultimately lead you to figuring out how to escape the room. Hence: escape room. Casey and I hit up Escape Room LA's "The Cavern," which was really really hard, and we didn't make it out in time. But it was an hour of getting to play and poke and explore. My inner lab rat was overjoyed. The whole thing was kooky. I love kooky things!
In the vein of less kooky and more drunky, I went out to The Abbey for the first time last weekend. The Abbey is an infamous West Hollywood nightclub that's just about as gay and neon as they come. Needless to say, the drinks and dancing are far more enjoyable than most other clubs. But gay club or no, I always seem to hit on the same types of unavailable men.
I even got a fieldtrip a few hours out of LA in the mysterious Salton City, a ghost town that was built around a mandmade lake that eventually became too salinated ("Why can't we just say 'salty'?") for fish or humans to live off of. The present-day town is a total anomaly of old homes that are abandoned and old homes that just LOOK abandoned. The beach is covered in millions of dead fish carcasses. There is no sand; only fish bone sediment. Random relics of the past (old chairs, clothing, photographs) haunt the beach. Graffiti reigns supreme. It's incredible to walk around. You get a sense that this was once the place where Johnny first asked Peggy May to go steady, but now it's this corroded post-apocalyptic wasteland clinging to life by the beams of its banisters. My ASS and I had an eerily good time.
And we got a drink at the best bar in Bombay Beach!
"Silly Jessica, it's the ONLY bar in Bombay Beach."
No kidding. Small, divey, intimate, quirky (right down to the jar of pickled eggs), and populated by a few old timers who were more than happy to talk about their town. You sat down and felt like a welcomed outsider.
The whole thing was wallpapered with dollar bills, from visitors who had probably been there and had the same experience as us. It was only fitting that we leave our one trace behind.
In conclusion, LA is great because it locks you inside of rooms for fun, makes you question your sexuality, and is just a few hours away from a bunch of decaying mobile homes and dead fish.
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