I didn’t really start freaking out until Dad asked me to drive. It’s interesting how it’s easier to not be behind the wheel.
“Can you drive for a couple hundred miles?”
For about the first hundred, I white-knuckled the steering wheel as all the implications of what I was doing roared up in my head.
To Los Angeles.
I think I’m still sneezing out desert.
I’m sure some of you are sick of me talking about this, so I’ll keep it brief. I still don’t have a place to live, so this post comes to you from in between roommate inquiries. That’s where most of my anxiety is focused. After I get an apartment, I’ll find the next thing to lose it over.
Here’s a quick list about things in Hollywoodland.
1. Oh my God, the smell.
I know that sounds like a bad thing, but it’s not. Not at all. Los Angeles has this smell that’s sort of intoxicating. We got to the hotel, which smelled like Indian food, then we opened the door and…
Oh, my God, the smell. It’s maybe the beach? California? Pot? Is it pot? It might be pot, but it doesn’t matter because it’s here and it’s everywhere and it’s delicious.
Between Yelp, Foursquare, and the maps app on my iPhone, you never lack for places to go, and you always know how to get there. Dad keeps asking ‘What’s the address?’ and my answer is ‘It doesn’t matter. You just ask the iPhone and it knows.’
There’s a coffee shop (Bourgeois Pig) that stays open until 2 am on weekdays, 2:30am on weekends . Yes, please.
Last night, we got pizza for dinner. Along the strip of road were 4 coffee shops, 3 pizzerias, 2 pinkberry’s, and a partridge in a pear tree.
You can walk places. There are places that you can walk to. I suppose my standards weren’t very high when I decided to move. I wanted a city where places didn’t close at 10 pm every night, a city where you could walk. I’m still really excited.
4. Time zone
I have no freaking idea what time it is ever. If you get a text message at some weird hour, I’m sorry. I’m just confused. And, I don’t go to sleep until strange times, either. So, if you get something from me at WTF-o’clock, just pretend it came at a normal time.
On the other hand, I don’t think Dad is enjoying himself. People drive crazy, things are expensive. He is less likely to get swept up in this place than I am, so I’m trying to be patient. I appreciate that he came here with me, but I think he’s stressed in his own way.
Can you imagine he’s not comfortable in hipster/writer settings?
Well, off to try to get things under control.