Los Angeles

Los Angeles

November 17, 2005

Driving down Wilshire, horns honking continuously from Mercedes cars with cell phone drivers. Negotiating six lanes of traffic like you’re sipping coffee. Getting your hair done with Charlize, your hair dresser is your friend and your facialist is on speed dial. Lunching with Jennifer, giving Tori Amos advice at the grocer, getting advice from Ellen on not waiting for anything, running into Orlando so much he starts to say hi. Stepping out of the building on Rodeo late at night to jam packed streets and 70F weather while wondering what you bought that sweater for. Flip flops on the beach, expensive health drinks from Fred Segal and always carrying bottled water that costs $2.

Feeling comfortable because wearing skirts all the time doesn’t make you stand out but realising you kind of do because you don’t have “the look.” Having credentials not matter so much as who you know and being thankful you know a lot of people but also bothered that you do. Knowing that you can plan for that party outside in a month because the sun will shine and when it does nothing beats driving up the coast no matter how many times you’ve done it before. 3AM becomes the favourite time because the homeless don’t go through your trash and the streets are finally quiet though early mornings seem strange because the lean, tan and beautiful are all running like it doesn’t hurt.

Being on set just to sing a song and being treated like a rock star – only to feel bad about it all when they bring you something you could have gotten yourself. Eating dinner in Melrose with the star of Melrose Place and recognising Mr. Sheffield even though you’ve never seen the Nanny. Private screenings, the need for several party dresses, and learning how to small talk with just about everyone only to feel like you need a shower when you get home.

Spending far too much on a tiny flat like everyone else and not being able to afford much for it inside like everyone else. A new kind of poor is happening in one of the poshest neighbourhoods. Seeing how $600,000 buys just an ok one bedroom flat and that $7,000 can buy a purse.

Everyone assuming you belong because you just happen to be at the party or can hold your own with the waiter or the millionaire but knowing that even though sometimes it’s fun, this isn’t home. For every day is the same, the people fast talk, connections are lost, everyone’s nice to everyone but no one trusts a soul. And the scariest thing seems to be starting to accept the surrealness of it all and not blinking twice that Kinkos has valet.

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