Time is Tight

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Even though I still feel like an asshole every time I go to Trader Joes and forget my cloth shopping bags, I think I’m really starting to assimilate to LA culture. I was involved in my first fender bender (total bummer), got hooked on Pinkberry (heaven in a paper cup), and gave it my all in yoga (whatta drag). I’ve also grown to appreciate, and love, avocados and Fleetwood Mac, two things I never used to tolerate before my move. And I still find myself defending the city on a daily basis to friends who do not understand the capriciousness of living here.

Ice cream trucks and candy vehicles circulate daily, no matter the time of year. Most of the cars are shiny, and people drive manically, like they’re operating bumper mobiles at the local carnival. It rarely ever rains and, when it does, the palm trees sag down resembling sheep dogs. You have to pay very close attention or you'll miss the change of seasons, but for the most part it’s always summer. Each neighborhood is its own little world, and the highway system has no designated rhyme or reason to its pattern. The bulk of the people you meet are working on their own little make believe project, or movie, and they all get really excited when talking about it. Women are not afraid to wear pink, birthdays are celebrated with great reverence, and entire errands are centered on the retrieval of cupcakes.

It’s kinda like living in a city that was designed by a troop of 10-year-olds.