Los Angeles, I love you.

Two seasons: Summer and Death. 9 months out of the year the weather is absolutely gorgeous, sickeningly beautiful. For 3 months during December-February everything has a general sense of dying. The hills become brown and people wear UGG boots because they’re bored with their summer wardrobes. It’ll rain a few times, the ill-preparedness of Los Angelenos for any sort of weather hits you in the face like Heidi Montag’s implant dropped from the top of the Empire State Building. You could actually drop a quarter and it would drop at the same velocity and hurt equally as much, fuck you physics! Once my car filled with water in my driveway even though I was parked at the top of a hill. It was total bullshit.

I went to LA last week, I have an apartment there with my 2 best friends from Kalamazoo (it’s a room in Koreatown with only a bed, nintendo, and my 1960 Magnavox record player, oh and my car racing trophies) so it makes traveling/sleeping convenient. My cat Kitler lives there so technically I’m paying that spoiled pussy’s rent. Landing in California for the first time since March felt familiar and comfortable (the xanax and 4 bloody marys helped). It felt like more of a home than Michigan. Since moving to New York in January, I was certain I would spend the rest of my life here. It has almost everything! Pizza, employment for models, insane people, pizza, public transportation, endless entertainment, pizza… but it doesn’t have my friends or sister. I’ve flown them out here multiple times and had an amazing time (I’m talking Sex and the City amazing) but when they’re gone I feel slightly destitute.
“Oooooh so sad! You’re a model in NYC boohoo! Your life is SO hard!” Hey, fuck off! (Who am I talking to?)
I feed off energy from my friends. If I go too long without seeing them I turn into an agoraphobic mess- I pee in bottles and drink lots of milk like Howard Hughes. Effexor can only solve a fraction of your problems.

As much as I rag on being a model, I’m thankful that I am forced to be social and gregarious multiple times a day. No one hires a Negative Nancy. I should win an award for instantly changing my attitude at castings to seem like I’m overjoyed to be there.
“Hi, I’m Melissa! Oh I’m great how are you? Oh really? Wow that’s awesome! Blah blah fart poop I hate you die…” After the interview and photo I leave the room, sit on the cold cement to switch out of my 5 inch heels and back into my normal person boots. I stuff my digital portfolio aka iPad back into my bag along with makeup, a brush, a cliff bar, and some lip gloss. I throw it over my shoulder, get out my iPhone and look up the next casting address. My shoulder hurts from carrying around everything. I’m used to having a car full of headshots, shoes, and snacks. It makes things a little more convenient. I’m certain I would die had that guy Cliff not made it so easy for me to nourish myself when I forget that I’m a human and I need to eat. Hello anorexia! (It’s cool, I’m a model)

LA is easy, to a certain degree. I know the city, I’ve lived there for 5 years. My friends are irreplaceable gems. I have one who hosts a Twilight Zone marathon every Halloween and another one who DJs 90’s R&B weekly at a great dive bar. I go to comedy shows when I’m there, costume parties, birthday parties, art shows, movies, movie nights at friends’ houses, outdoor restaurants, parks, I’m always in some sort of improv class, and I listen to music in my car- most importantly KCRW. My sister lives in one of the most beautiful places in the world- Yosemite, a 5 hour drive north of LA. The pizza sucks but the tacos more than make up for that. Seeing Drive in a NYC theater gave me chills reminiscing about exploring downtown LA at night. There’s nothing quite like listening to LCD Soundsystem driving home at 2am on the 101.

My 10 day vacation to California was one of the best I’ve had. I woke up in the middle of the Sierra National Forest 5 days in a row, threw rocks off a cliff, and played fetch with an amazing dog named Kasha. I drank beer with my friends, talked about music and movies, and I took photographs, which I haven’t done since moving to New York. I had an amazing and memorable connection with a friend that I hadn’t experienced in well over a year, It was appeasing in every way possible. So much that I really did not want to leave. I squeezed every minute out of that trip and seriously considered a move back.

Fuck you for doing this to me California.

On the other hand, you can get shit hammered until 4am anywhere in NYC and not have to worry about driving home. Yay!

3 thoughts on “Los Angeles, I love you.”

  1. Melissa,
    I really enjoy your blog, ended up here because of O&A/LATC and have to say you are a very good writer.


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