That goop article you’ve been slaving over can wait until Monday, so put down your hemp seed detox smoothie and pick up a cold glass of Sauv Blah because it’s the weekend, Gwyneth!
I’m excited, too!
BTW Gwyney, you fill out a snake skin bikini like a dream.
I’m working today, but I started my weekend festivities yesterday at a party celebrating the opening of a Warby Parker store in The Standard Hotel in West Hollywood. Was it worth staying out so late when I had to wake up so early for work the next day? Well, I got a free canvas tote bag containing a one-size-fits-not-me pair of slippers, so you be the judge (and duh. Of course it was worth it because all women inexplicably love free tote bags that we pack our lunch in once and then never use again).
Plus Mischa Barton was there. It was coolish to have Mischa Barton at that party, but maybe not cool to be Mischa Barton at that party. Like I said, free tote bag, but basically the event was just a bunch of hipsters in affordable glasses and skinny ties standing next to a pool. And wasn’t it just The OC’s 10 year anniversary? Surely there’s some Buzzfeed article about it floating around that might give her popularity a little resurgance granting her access to cooler parties. Or maybe she could just stay home. I’m not a fan of hers or anything so I don’t know her substance abuse history like I do Lindsay Lohan’s or Laurie Forman’s from That 70’s Show (RIP), but she definitely feels like someone who shouldn’t be drinking. Regardless, being in her presence is just cool enough to my hipper East Coast relatives that when they point out that I could be a secretary in New Hampshire too, I can counter with the lie that I live a fabulous LA lifestyle.
Plus, I can’t be a secretary in glamourousBeverly Hills in New Hampshire, can I? Uh-no.
You stare at any thin person wearing sunglasses trying to figure out if they’re a celebrity. And you know what, often times it is a celebrity! Other times it’s the woman from the Wendy’s commercial! God, I love this city.
In case you get pulled over, you already have a lie ready for the cop as to why you haven’t gotten a California driver’s license yet. Though, as of yesterday, this one doesn’t apply to me anymore. And my new picture is AWFUL. When I passed my test, I was pretty excited to take a new photo for my license, and not because it was a bad picture — that picture was taken on my 21st birthday when I had that natural, happy glow you only get on your wedding day and when you can legally drink. TSA agents across this great country have given that photo rave reviews. But because I’m blonde in the picture sometimes I get a little trouble from bouncers, so I was happy to get a new one with my red hair. UNTIL I SAW IT. It’s like some sort of Biggest Loser “before” photo where you think “oh, she’s going to be so beautiful when she loses the weight.” The picture is so close up. I look like a bowling ball with horse teeth.
Up until this week, someone has tried to sell you a Coachella ticket. No, thank you! I don’t want to pay $500 to get date raped in a teepee!
You don’t know that when someone asks what you do, “unemployed” or “temp/waitress/receptionist/etc.” are never the right answers. You are either “in between projects” or you’re an “actor/writer/editor/whatever” regardless of whether or not you’re getting paid for it. For the second answer, they will inevitably follow up with, “well, who do you ______ for? Anything I might have seen?” and at that point you can just start exaggerating. While at The Den in West Hollywood a couple weeks ago, I found myself out and out lying about what I did to some guy. Then he told me he was a student at UCLA, and I said BYYYYYYEEEEEEEE as I moonwalked out the door.
You get endless delight from reading street signs and freeway names in a The Californians voice. La Cienegaaaaaaa. That’s really how they talk here!!!!!!
Since I’m no longer on my mother’s couch watching the Jodi Arias trial when my mom gets home from work everyday (instead, I’m on my couch in LA watching the Jodi Arias trial when my roommate gets home from work everyday), I’ve been getting a lot of texts from her checking in.
You are about to read original texts from my mother, complete and uncut:
For a little background, I sent my mom home with the brand new GPS my dad bought me because I thought it was defective. Apparently, a quick once over of something called “directions” would have proven that the GPS was, in fact, completely functional.
This next group of messages occurred after I told my mother I was going to a bar called The Den, an establishment once frequented by my confirmed (by my mother) soul mate, Jason Segel.
Please take note of the fact that it is 3 hours later than the time stamp where my mother is in NH:
So, besides the text I got from my brother the other day informing me that my mother was crying over my inevitable death in an earthquake, I think she’s doing okay. Until she remembers about California brush fires.
Now that it’s March 1st, the countdown really begins for my road trip to LA. There’s so much to do in order to get ready for a move, particularly one that involves driving across the country, so I’m trying to be really organized and keep my priorities in order. I’ve accomplished some important things so far, like:
1. Lost 2 pounds. I’m trying to subsist on a diet comprised of primarily kale and alcohol, so I’m prepared when I actually get to LA. My goal is that by the time I get there, I’m able to complete a Soul Cycle class on just a belly full of vodka and Pressed Juicery.
2. Bought a really cute floppy brimmed straw hat because I needed it because the sun! And I’m on a never ending pursuit of being a hat person.
3. Went back to the orthodontist to get a removable retainer for my bottom teeth because last year I had my permanent retainer taken out. My teeth shifted, and every time I looked in the mirror at my janky teeth, I was overcome with the anxiety that if I was ever in a movie, people would see my crazy crooked bottom teeth while I was talking during a close up. Now I just have to wear this retainer 24 hours a day. If you’ve figured out that when I’m writing about how I’m a loser who drinks wine by herself while I watch SVU, I’m really scraping the bottom of the comedy barrel. But now I’m 24 with a retainer that gives me a lisp, so I’m somehow an 11 year old nerd and45 year old divorcee, both with no life. A whole new set of things to talk about!
4. Took all my shorts out of my bureau and onto the floor so I’ll know where they are when I have to pack up the car.
5. Bought a Clinique daily wrinkle cream with SPF 25 to wear during the road trip.
The important things are pretty much out of the way, I just need to get my hair done and buy make up while I’m still in tax free NH. Still no job or place to live, but I’m pretty confident that if I hang around West Hollywood in my new hat someone will just approach me with a job offer or something.