Why is it that every car I get behind in LA has no brake light? I mean seriously people, get that fixed! It's so dangerous, especially when you have people like me who are texting or looking at their phones for info and all the sudden, you stop and I don't see that you stop because in my peripheral vision there's no bright light that comes on alerting me that you stopped forcing me to slam on brakes. And it's like a joke everyone is playing on me- "Oh my brake light is out, let me get in front of that car that has a bullseye on its front." I thought I was being paranoid, but last night alone, I counted, and for the total of probably five cars that I was behind, 3 did not have brake lights! I mean really! Especially when you're in a crowded city driving at night. And the one that irritated me the most was the one that was packed full of people, driving well below the speed limit, on a 2 lane road where I couldn't pass, and my general strategy of riding the persons bumper until they realized they were being an a-hole, only put me in more danger of not being able to stop when they would ride their brakes slowly, making it almost imperceptible to me that they are stopping. I know what your thinking, I'm the pot calling the kettle black on the whole a hole thing cause I'm riding their bumper, but this is LA, and when you're in a 35 zone, at least have the decency of going 30 so people who are using shortcuts to avoid traffic jams can actually come out feeling victorious in their knowledge of secret roads. And maybe since you don't have a brake light, you should at least put a blinker on when you turn so you're at least putting up a front that you care about the person behind you not slamming into you. And that's another thing, people need to learn how to use their freaking blinkers in this city. Someone literally cut in front of me the other day from the lane to my right to do a u-turn in front of me, just as I was, with blinker alerting my fellow drivers I was doing so, merging into the left hand turn lane, and this car had no blinker, completely disregarding that they were not the only people on the road, and when I honked at them, they had the audacity to look at me like I was doing something wrong, which is maybe the most ludacris thing I've ever seen. And I might not be the best driver in the world, and yes, I have little patience sometimes, but if you're going to drive around oblivious to those around you, don't come near me because I've had my fill of no brake-light, no blinker-using, speed limit driving people who probably don't have insurance, and who will probably just leave the scene after me or some other impatient driver fails to stop because they haven't signaled, like the kind of people in LA that don't ever stop for fender benders, despite the fact that it was clearly their fault, because they could give a crap that their $400 car got yet another scratch on it, and...yes I'm bitter. Some dude the other day, slammed into the back of my friends car at a stoplight, and then, proceeded to go around them and leave the scene. Well they messed with the wrong people, because my friends cousin who was driving, pulled out and followed the guy, getting his liscense plate number and then proceeding to pull in front of him, forcing him to stop, only long enough for them to get a visual on the guys face, who looked like he could care less that this was going on, and then my friends pulled over and were taken to the hospital for major whiplash and possible fractures on their body because they were in so much pain. LIterally. Anyway, I sound like a bitter old lady, but driving in LA is the most ridiculous thing ever. I mean for the most part, people are generally pretty good about being respectful and if you put your blinker on, someone will let you over. I even have patience for people that cut me off if they're using their blinker, but no signal jerks, are on my list.
Whew. That was a rant. Excuse my negativity it just gets me all annoyed. The word pet peeve comes to mind. Okay have a good day and don't forget to signal!
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Woe!
So as a good friend of mine keeps saying--karma owes me big. I've had a kinda hectic couple of weeks. Between trying to scrounge up enough money to register my car in California before my 30-day grace period is up, and trying to play peacemaker in my home between the two dogs, who think they are both dominent, things have been a little stressful lately.
As far as the car thing goes, little did I know when I was buying my car in NC, that when I brought it into California less than a year after purchase, I would have to pay sales tax on it, which roughly estimated is 1000% percent. I've had thirty days to get the sixteen hundred dollars together, and all was going well until the tooth incident of 2007.
The two dogs in our house have been fighting pretty frequently. It's been stressing me out enough, but It all came to a head on this past Saturday night. Several things were unusual about this fight. I was outside and the two dogs were hanging in my roommates room. Usually when the fights occur, we are both present and it seems to be a fight over attention or food or something. But I hear the tell-tale yells from my roommate who is friutlessly trying to seperate the transformed beasts. I come in and rush to help. We hadn't done much research on the matter, so we were still grabbing their collars trying to seperate them. Wrong move, I now know. As I grabbed Hopper's collar and started pulling her towards me, the collar snapped flying back into my face, breaking off a large piece of my bottom tooth.
I was horrified, but kept my cool, (well as far as the tooth thing goes), until we had sucessfully broken up the fight. Immediately afterwards, I broke down, having enough of the fights and suffering the trumatic loss of a large piece of tooth. It was painful and had me just at a loss at how something like that could happen. I saved my tooth and after some good pep talks and sympathy pains from friends, we set out to Walgreens where I could get something for the pain, and/or, discomfort.
Once again, this financial burden increased two-fold. How in the world could I afford to get this fixed when I have a hefty bill to pay for my car, that coincidentially is due this week. I called some emergency dentist, not having a dentist in the area, who offered to call me in some painkillers and said he could see me first thing on Monday. I passed on the painkillers, and stuck to Tylenol, but counted down the hours until I could find some relief. The Tylenol worked pretty good, but the whiskey worked a little better. On Saturday night, with the dogs locked up for the night, I sat back and through a straw drank some whiskey that eased the pain quite nicely. I just wish that in my gum-numbing fun I would have realized just how painful it would be to brush my teeth. But no, not then. It felt fine and I brushed, carefully, but still with enough fervor to have me up at six am on Sunday crying for my mommy.
Monday came and I went to see the dentist. He was able to glue to portion I had broken off back on, but not without shooting me full of novicane first. (Little did I know, you aren't supposed to drink coffee on mornings before you visit the dentist in which you are going to be numbed. Now you know.) Five shots later, I was finally numb enough for them to start work. It went off without a hitch, and after expressing my financial concerns, they gave me a discount that although made thing easier to handle, still took enough out of my account to not have enough to pay my bill at the DMV.
Long story short, I got some help from the parents, which at this point in my life, is a little humbling, but much appreciated. And today, finally, on the day that marks the end of my grace-period, I can go and register my car.
So everything seemed to work out, as things usually do. Now I'm just trying to find a way to keep the peace with the dogs. I've been absolutely horrified about another fight, and have started to keep the dogs seperate almost every moment I am home. I have to get some sort of advice from some dog professionals about how to handle this correctly. If you have any advice, please share. I'm at a loss right now, so scared to even attempt any methods of defusing a situation, not even wanting to let them get close enough to each other to try.
But, other than that, things are just great! Heh! I perhaps had a quarter-life crisis last night, in the startling realization that all the women editors I know are single and without children, and that one of the assistants I work with is way older than I thought. Her solace was no help, "Time flies!", "I still feel like I'm twenty," "It was only yesterday---"
Whew. So lots going on right now. My computer battery is dying and I'm about to go to the DMV to take care of this pesky robbery thing that I feel I am a victim of. But I was just checking in and sharing my latest with you fine folks.
Aliens in America review to come!
As far as the car thing goes, little did I know when I was buying my car in NC, that when I brought it into California less than a year after purchase, I would have to pay sales tax on it, which roughly estimated is 1000% percent. I've had thirty days to get the sixteen hundred dollars together, and all was going well until the tooth incident of 2007.
The two dogs in our house have been fighting pretty frequently. It's been stressing me out enough, but It all came to a head on this past Saturday night. Several things were unusual about this fight. I was outside and the two dogs were hanging in my roommates room. Usually when the fights occur, we are both present and it seems to be a fight over attention or food or something. But I hear the tell-tale yells from my roommate who is friutlessly trying to seperate the transformed beasts. I come in and rush to help. We hadn't done much research on the matter, so we were still grabbing their collars trying to seperate them. Wrong move, I now know. As I grabbed Hopper's collar and started pulling her towards me, the collar snapped flying back into my face, breaking off a large piece of my bottom tooth.
I was horrified, but kept my cool, (well as far as the tooth thing goes), until we had sucessfully broken up the fight. Immediately afterwards, I broke down, having enough of the fights and suffering the trumatic loss of a large piece of tooth. It was painful and had me just at a loss at how something like that could happen. I saved my tooth and after some good pep talks and sympathy pains from friends, we set out to Walgreens where I could get something for the pain, and/or, discomfort.
Once again, this financial burden increased two-fold. How in the world could I afford to get this fixed when I have a hefty bill to pay for my car, that coincidentially is due this week. I called some emergency dentist, not having a dentist in the area, who offered to call me in some painkillers and said he could see me first thing on Monday. I passed on the painkillers, and stuck to Tylenol, but counted down the hours until I could find some relief. The Tylenol worked pretty good, but the whiskey worked a little better. On Saturday night, with the dogs locked up for the night, I sat back and through a straw drank some whiskey that eased the pain quite nicely. I just wish that in my gum-numbing fun I would have realized just how painful it would be to brush my teeth. But no, not then. It felt fine and I brushed, carefully, but still with enough fervor to have me up at six am on Sunday crying for my mommy.
Monday came and I went to see the dentist. He was able to glue to portion I had broken off back on, but not without shooting me full of novicane first. (Little did I know, you aren't supposed to drink coffee on mornings before you visit the dentist in which you are going to be numbed. Now you know.) Five shots later, I was finally numb enough for them to start work. It went off without a hitch, and after expressing my financial concerns, they gave me a discount that although made thing easier to handle, still took enough out of my account to not have enough to pay my bill at the DMV.
Long story short, I got some help from the parents, which at this point in my life, is a little humbling, but much appreciated. And today, finally, on the day that marks the end of my grace-period, I can go and register my car.
So everything seemed to work out, as things usually do. Now I'm just trying to find a way to keep the peace with the dogs. I've been absolutely horrified about another fight, and have started to keep the dogs seperate almost every moment I am home. I have to get some sort of advice from some dog professionals about how to handle this correctly. If you have any advice, please share. I'm at a loss right now, so scared to even attempt any methods of defusing a situation, not even wanting to let them get close enough to each other to try.
But, other than that, things are just great! Heh! I perhaps had a quarter-life crisis last night, in the startling realization that all the women editors I know are single and without children, and that one of the assistants I work with is way older than I thought. Her solace was no help, "Time flies!", "I still feel like I'm twenty," "It was only yesterday---"
Whew. So lots going on right now. My computer battery is dying and I'm about to go to the DMV to take care of this pesky robbery thing that I feel I am a victim of. But I was just checking in and sharing my latest with you fine folks.
Aliens in America review to come!
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Since I've Lived In LA...
I arrived on the west coast roughly twelve days ago, Monday, March 19th. It is now the first of April, officially I guess, but it's the night of the 31st. I can't say the first week (plus) has been uneventful. In fact, I've seen and done and experienced more in these past few days than I ever expected I would. So officially, I've gone through every emotion possible. I've been horrified, exuberant, scared, confident, happy, uncomfortable, nervous, stupid. I've felt important, felt like a nobody, felt like I was out of place, felt like I was exactly in the right place.
++Mini Chapter 1: It's all fun and games until somebody gets SHOT++
That's right, shot. So here I was, loving LA, thinking it's heaven on earth. I felt comfortable here, conforted here. It felt like a vacation. And I'm riding around with one of the many crazy drivers that I've riden with since my arrival, and we are cruising down Sunset, after a horrific dinner mentioned in Mini Chapter 3. The dinner may have been bad, but the ride was great. Wind through my hair, a beautiful night. Being able to see the scenery instead of riding through a dark tunnel after waiting 30 minutes for a subway car that smells like urine. Oh, the difference a 3,000 mile drive makes.
Well, the important part of the story is that I was in a great place. I didn't know what people could possibly not like about this place. And then I see the flares. Traffic is stopped and cop cars are blocking our way through. I think to myself that that must be some nasty accident if they've blocked off three (give or take) blocks of Sunset, inarguably a main drag through Hollywood.
I turn to my friend and oh-so innocently ask, "You think it's an accident?"
He responds nonchalantly, "It looks like somebody got shot or something."
Shot?
This is when my mind tells me that, duh, I'm in LA, and that's when it registers. It's not all fun and palm trees and sand and famous people. People get shot here. Lots of people. And car-jacked and murdered. Shot. Guns everywhere. That guy there? On the corner? He's probably packing heat, and I visibly squirm in my seat. The rest of the night, when I'm forced to walk two dark, lonely blocks to my car, my shoes click Phoebe-style. Do-n't get shot, do-n't get shot.
And then icing on the cake, tonight, as I'm driving home from a social event, I get two blocks from my street and I see those damn flares again. No kidding. Right in front of my street. A cop blocks the road, and horrifically, I sigh at the annoyance of having to go residental streets the rest of the way home. (LA has hardened me already.)
I know what you are probably thinking. "Didn't you live in New York?" Shouldn't I already be hardened? Well no. That's not really the case. You see, New York is big in a different way than LA. You see where you walk, and that's about it. Above the ground, you don't end up covering very much ground. LA, you're all over the place in any given day. A lot more ground is covered and there's a much larger opportunity for you to see the evil around you. Also, NY looks like it's dangerous. On the filthy streets and people-packed avenues, something bad going down isn't all that surprising. But here, here where the streets are lined in palm trees and sweet tarts, you don't expect to see these things. But, I did. And apparently, subconsciously, already learned to not be surprised at the inconvience. I'll have to start factoring in shooting detours into my travel time.
++Mini Chapter 2: Celebrity Sightings++
That Paris Hilton girl sure gets around. In two consectutive nights, I've been stopped by a flashlight holding police officer, trying to stop traffic so Paris Hilton's car can pull out onto the road so the paparazzi can stop with the flashbulbs already. The first night was the best, as I was the first car stopped, (front row seats), as she jumped in her convertible, (that's a great way to avoid the cameras), and be-bopped in the front seat. My roommate's sister was in the car and had been talking about seeing Paris Hilton since she had arrived. (I guess I'll have to start factoring in being stopped my the paparazzi into my travel time as well. No wonder it takes so long to get places here!) And all this after...
...THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER. What is more amazing than seeing Paris Hilton be-bop in a convertible as she gets hundreds of photos taken of her? Me seeing my number one lady. Lauren freaking Graham, minus the freaking respectively. My number one. The number one. You know, the person who you hope you're going to see, but know that it won't happen for no other reason than you wanting it so badly. And she was the, count it, second famous person I saw. In my first week. And it was completely random. Is there such a thing as meant to be? Because if so, this experience told me that I was "meant to be" here. That's for sure. On with the story...
I'm sitting in a bar with some friends from college. We had planned this get together for Friday evening, but after a different, and unchangable party appeared on our schedule, we bumped it to Thursday night instead. Act of fate number one. Said Friday night party was cancelled, and though we toyed with changing it back to Friday, we decided that we'd stick with Thursday so the place wouldn't be so crowded. Act of fate number two. The place is not crowded at all. And I'm sitting in a booth. I choose the booth instead of the wall-facing wooden chairs because primarily, I was wearing low rise jeans and would be less likely to not show off my underwear by sitting against the wall. (Act of fate number three?) Sublime is on, and I remember this clearly because as Sublime is one of my favorites, I always make mental notes of bars that put them on their mixes. Ten times out of ten, I'll love the bar if this is the case. So I smile at the music, and a couple walks towards the back, where we are sitting. They walk past us, and this is when, I swear, things click into slow motion. Her face is clear to me. The profile, and she is laughing at something the unidentified man is saying, and her arm is in his, and she looks so different, and I swear that my jaw had to of been on the floor. Just so unexpected. I wasn't prepared. I stare. Just stare like I have no manners at all. She doesn't even glance at us, and I know this because I watch until she goes throught the doorway to the hall, and continue watching the doorway until I am snapped out of my slow-motion stupor by my friend who leans over excitedly, "Did you see that?"
I don't even know what to say. I'm stumped and I think I sit in silence for five whole minutes before I realize that I should say hello. This is usually a move I don't like to make, talking to a celebrity while they are trying to lead a normal life, but I had to make an exception here. The Laws of the Universe say that I wasn't supposed to see her. She's my number freaking one. How did this happen, to me, the most unlucky, "you just missed the coolest thing ever", person in this world? It would never happen again. Lightning doesn't strike twice. So I should say hey. For the universe. But as I go to stand, I can't balance because I'm still so shocked. I finally stand and walk towards the hallway she went down, towards the bathroom and valet parking. I go to the bathroom, take a deep breath, and enter. Empty. Damn. I walk the rest of the hallway, and nothing. A few doors for either secret celebrity hang-outs or the much more likely, janitor closets. And then the back door. I pick up my pace and open the door, thankful no one was one the other side as they probably could sue me for a broken nose. It swings open to no one. Nothing. A parking lot with a lonely valet man bouncing a ball up and down and up and down. She had gotten away. It didn't wipe the smile from my face though. I didn't care. I had seen her. In real life. She did exist. And she was happy and seemed so carefree and I had seen her in my first week of living here.
Pure unadulterated exhilaration.
And then there was also that Sharon Osbourne thing too!
++Mini Chapter 3: It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.++
How do you rationalize going out a lot while you're unemployed and broke? Networking. Yes. It is a hard job, but a very necessary one. So socially, I've had an exciting time. Meeting people, and going to my friend's sets, and bars and clubs and such.
Last night we actually went to a LA strip club. Yes, a strip club where ladies dance for the money. A bikini one sort of, I guess. No one got completely stripped down anyway. I thought it was a joke when my friend pulled in, and maybe it was, but we went. And I got to sit across from a guy who, had I seen him on the street, I'd have been very attracted to. I watched his face in horror as he watched these girls. These girls shaking their butts directly in his face while he drooled. Literally drooled. And then I felt bad for being the girl in the strip club who was there watching people who were there to watch, so I stopped looking the guys, and focused my attention on the girls. Their shoes mainly, because there's nothing more uncomfortable than trying not to be disrespectful by not looking at a person's, ahem, money-maker. If that makes sense. It's like, you're supposed to be watching them dance, and you don't want to avoid the whole stage because that is rude in this weird way I can't explain, but really, it's nothing too interesting to look at. Not to mention I feel bad googling, or I feel like I'm googling by looking at all. And I just hope that they like what they do and don't do it to feed their kids or something. So I focused on the boots. The tall, ridiculous boots. And some of the dance moves that they used. Just a strange thing.
One girl really impressed me when she climbed the pole to the ceiling. It was pretty impressive and I had to give her props! That had to be difficult. And she has to look graceful too. I can't do a pull-up with a smile. Must less, climb a pole in six inch heels, doing it so it appears that you are a graceful and gentle creature, still smiling at the people below. No grimace. Nothing. When this dancer was done with her routine, someone snuck out of the shadows and threw what had to have been one hundred single dollar bills onto the stage. At first, I was like, good for her. Then she started picking up her money and I got sad. (Sad at a strip club. Only a woman.) She was crawling. The purpose of the dollars is so the person can get a peep show as she picks up the money he throws at her. It felt so primordial to me. These guys being like "here's my money, now pick it up woman. And oh yeah, it's in ones so have fun with that. I'll just watch." I hated that.
After that uncomfortable experience, we decided to try and get into a roped off club near Sunset. It's three of us girls and one guy. He walks up to one of the ropes and slyly says to the guy, "I've got three women with me." Amazingly, he tells us to wait at the side as people stand in this line, waiting to get in. Then he opens the rope for us and we get to go right in. Awesome.
Tonight I was invited to a "house party in the hills" where there was sure to be "hundreds of people". I go to my friends apartment, and she says that it will be impossible for me to find parking and to just put on my flashers and E brake, because this hill was more like a vertical mountain, and to come up and hang out. I had never seen such a large hill before in my life. We never had stuff like this in good ol' NC or NY.
When we go to the party, parking is ridiculous. There's one spot on the hill that is probably the exact length of my car, give a couple of inches. Now I have a new car so I'm not so great a judging it yet. And this spot was on a hill, (going up), and a curve. So this is not an easy parking spot. It's very apparent why it's still open. My friends insist I can do it. So with the assistance of a bear, (or my friend in a bear costume), I inch my way in, trying only twice before successfully, (yes successfully), getting into the spot. Without as much as tapping the other cars. I was impressed myself. They crowned me and we went to the party. Which was huge, but nothing to write home about. (The parking was much more interesting.) Although, I did see a guy I had gone to school with and when I asked him what he was doing now, he shuffled his feet and mumbled something. "What?" I ask. "I'm in the paparazzi." I laugh so hard, I get light-headed. Paparazzi??? I knew a guy in the paparazzi? I tell him I kinda hate his people. And he's so ashamed, but defends it by saying he only has to do it for a couple of months to load up on some money. These guys make BANK. In fact, when he tells me how much he is making, it silences my laughs and I consider if I could run fast enough while successfully working a camera.
Also, last week my friend was working on a show and invited me to have lunch with her. Who was I to say no to an offer like that! I get onto the studio no problem but then I don't know where to park. I look around and all the spots seem to be numbered. So I park in one of these spots and make my way to a security guard. I ask him where I should park and he points down to a spot with a smile. "Go between those two cars and that way you'll be exactly where you need to be." I thank him and return to my car. As I approach the spot, I see that all of these spots have names on them. The one he had directed me to said, "WB Ranch VIP Parking". Hells yes! (There's always something nice about being called a VIP.) People walking by mistake me for someone important. I smile confidently and get out of my car.
When I get to set my friend starts introducing me to people. She introduces me to one guy who is a director. We start talking and joking around. They seem to get along very well, talking about mixed cds and such, and I chime in with telling him his shirt is, "very LA". He laughs and welcomes me to LA. As he walks away, his name swirls in my head and I wonder where I had heard it before. Then it hits me that he was the director for the Veronica Mars pilot! Awesome! I had just made the director of the VM pilot laugh. Extremely cool. What was up with me having such good luck here?
++Mini Chapter 4: Now if only that luck could come through for me getting a job.++
I made the mistake that every single "getting a job" seminar warns you not to make. I got too cocky and ruined my chances at a job before I even had it. (Or so I think.) You're at least supposed to do the interview first! People started telling me I should forego assisting and go straight for the editing jobs since I was an editor in NY. I'm young and typically people my age get the assistant jobs. But I'm applying for everything, as I just wanted to see what I could get. Within a day of my job searching I hear back for an assistant job on reality tv, (something I would rather avoid, but it seems inevitable.) Through email, I try to keep him interested while I wait and see if I hear back from any of the other gigs. And then he calls...
My phone shows a LA number that I don't recognize so immediately, I answer. It's the reality guy. He asks me if I'm interested and I assure him I am. He asks what kind of job I'm looking for, and I hmm and haw stupidly saying that I don't know yet. He asks if I'm looking for an editing gig or assistant one. Again, like a fool, I say I'm waiting to see what's out there. Somehow sounding like I'm passing on this job. I tell him I've been here only for a day so I'm just testing the waters. Doh! He says he'll get back to me if anything comes up, and thereby probably removing me from the running for this particular job. I try not to beat myself up too much, that is until I get a call from my friend who says she had just gotten an assistant job on a reality tv show and is looking for night assistants. We chat and as it turns out, her boss, and the guy who would effectively hire me to be HER assistant, is the one I spoke on the phone with. Yes, small stupid world indeed. I hear the pay, and the fact that I'd be working with my friends, and want it. Need it. It would pay the bills and every other lead I had gotten, turned up dry.
I tried to back petal in my email to him, cursing myself that now I was begging for a lower position, (figuring he had probably been wanting me for the position my friend got-a day position with better pay). Yikes. These things do come back to haunt you. Still waiting to hear about that one...
++Mini Chapter 5: Driving++
Oh driving in LA has been interesting. My first trip to the freeway, after my cross-country trip of course, landed me lost in the middle of somewhere. Trying to make it to Burbank, I finally give up after thirty minutes of not finding the 101. I call my friend with my tail between my legs, and find my way there. On the way back, I have no problems, which is impressive only because it was rush hour, I had no map, and my second destination was somewhere else I had never been. Some how, some way, I get there rather quickly. Only after seeing one car accident happen, (a woman rear-ending a not so pleased man because a car pulls out in front of her, causing her to have to slam on brakes.)
I also tried to venture into Beverly Hills one afternoon, getting there fine, but when I tried to return home, I ended up in Santa Monica. I got the feeling I had gone the very wrong way.
I've been riding with my roommate, who has lived in LA for almost two years now, and effectively said my Hail Mary's about seventeen times. (She wasn't even that great of a driver in NC, and this is self-proclaimed.) Hail Mary's also came into play when another of my crazy-driving friends decides one night to take me on Muholland. Muholland, if you don't know, cuts across the top of the mountain. Beautiful, gut-wrentching views. I felt like every turn should have been labeled, "Dead Man's curve". I saw my death like five times on that trip.
A couple nights ago, we saw a freshly-hit fire hydrant. With water shooting so far into the sky, I couldn't really even tell where it stopped. The street was flooding so fast, you would think that it had been raining in LA for weeks. Which was obviously not the case, as I had witnesses LA burning to the ground earlier in the day...(nice segue-way Thompson).
++Mini (and last) Chapter 6: Why do I get the feeling this is going to be blamed on me?++
We're driving back from Ikea on a highway with a clear view of the hills. I see a billowing smoke cloud and show the others. It's huge. Freaking unbelievably huge. Never in my life had I seen a smoke cloud this big. My friend calls her boyfriend who works near where the fire appeared to be coming from. She asked him what was on fire, and I braced myself for the inevitable "the terrorists bombed LA" response that I just knew was coming. He seemed confused and then she could hear the whole office realize something near them was on fire. He went to his roof and said that it was in the hills, and was heading towards the WB lot and Universal! Not to mention the Hollywood sign! Both lots had been evacuated, and my heart dropped as I pictured Luke's Diner going up in flames. I was so sad! It couldn't be! He then reported that it was heading towards the Hollywood sign, and I just knew that this was it. LA was going to burn to the ground.
Seeing a fire that huge is so unsettling. I was terrified, as I've never witnessed such a thing in my life. I was assured we lived far from it, but my mind was just racing with terror that it was going to burn up the GIlmore sets. Not even to mention the obvious, possibly killing hundreds and ruining homes by the second.
We race home, in some of the worst traffic ever, (as people were obviously trying to get home ASAP), and turn on the news. I felt a huge wave of relief as I heard that it was under control and the Hollywood sign, nor either of the two studios, were damaged. Whew.
So to recap this lengthy post I hope you made it through, since I've lived in LA I've, seen my number one celebrity, Lauren Graham, gone to a strip club, seen two different (possible) shootings, saw one of the largest fires I've ever seen, witnessed the possible demise of the Hollywood sign, gone to a large house party in the hills, illegally parked, seen a fire hydrant shooting water towards the sky, gotten lost twice, seen a car accident happen, seen three car accidents after they happened, felt like I was about to get in a car accident, been allowed access into a roped club while others waited in line, seen Paris Hilton twice being followed by paparazzi, talked to a guy who's in the paparazzi, parked vertically on a large hill, did the tightest parallel parking I've ever done, probably ruined a pretty good job opportunity, got VIP parking on set, and met the director of the pilot of Veronica Mars.
Not too bad for my first week (plus). I think I'm ready for my membership card now!
++Mini Chapter 1: It's all fun and games until somebody gets SHOT++
That's right, shot. So here I was, loving LA, thinking it's heaven on earth. I felt comfortable here, conforted here. It felt like a vacation. And I'm riding around with one of the many crazy drivers that I've riden with since my arrival, and we are cruising down Sunset, after a horrific dinner mentioned in Mini Chapter 3. The dinner may have been bad, but the ride was great. Wind through my hair, a beautiful night. Being able to see the scenery instead of riding through a dark tunnel after waiting 30 minutes for a subway car that smells like urine. Oh, the difference a 3,000 mile drive makes.
Well, the important part of the story is that I was in a great place. I didn't know what people could possibly not like about this place. And then I see the flares. Traffic is stopped and cop cars are blocking our way through. I think to myself that that must be some nasty accident if they've blocked off three (give or take) blocks of Sunset, inarguably a main drag through Hollywood.
I turn to my friend and oh-so innocently ask, "You think it's an accident?"
He responds nonchalantly, "It looks like somebody got shot or something."
Shot?
This is when my mind tells me that, duh, I'm in LA, and that's when it registers. It's not all fun and palm trees and sand and famous people. People get shot here. Lots of people. And car-jacked and murdered. Shot. Guns everywhere. That guy there? On the corner? He's probably packing heat, and I visibly squirm in my seat. The rest of the night, when I'm forced to walk two dark, lonely blocks to my car, my shoes click Phoebe-style. Do-n't get shot, do-n't get shot.
And then icing on the cake, tonight, as I'm driving home from a social event, I get two blocks from my street and I see those damn flares again. No kidding. Right in front of my street. A cop blocks the road, and horrifically, I sigh at the annoyance of having to go residental streets the rest of the way home. (LA has hardened me already.)
I know what you are probably thinking. "Didn't you live in New York?" Shouldn't I already be hardened? Well no. That's not really the case. You see, New York is big in a different way than LA. You see where you walk, and that's about it. Above the ground, you don't end up covering very much ground. LA, you're all over the place in any given day. A lot more ground is covered and there's a much larger opportunity for you to see the evil around you. Also, NY looks like it's dangerous. On the filthy streets and people-packed avenues, something bad going down isn't all that surprising. But here, here where the streets are lined in palm trees and sweet tarts, you don't expect to see these things. But, I did. And apparently, subconsciously, already learned to not be surprised at the inconvience. I'll have to start factoring in shooting detours into my travel time.
++Mini Chapter 2: Celebrity Sightings++
That Paris Hilton girl sure gets around. In two consectutive nights, I've been stopped by a flashlight holding police officer, trying to stop traffic so Paris Hilton's car can pull out onto the road so the paparazzi can stop with the flashbulbs already. The first night was the best, as I was the first car stopped, (front row seats), as she jumped in her convertible, (that's a great way to avoid the cameras), and be-bopped in the front seat. My roommate's sister was in the car and had been talking about seeing Paris Hilton since she had arrived. (I guess I'll have to start factoring in being stopped my the paparazzi into my travel time as well. No wonder it takes so long to get places here!) And all this after...
...THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER. What is more amazing than seeing Paris Hilton be-bop in a convertible as she gets hundreds of photos taken of her? Me seeing my number one lady. Lauren freaking Graham, minus the freaking respectively. My number one. The number one. You know, the person who you hope you're going to see, but know that it won't happen for no other reason than you wanting it so badly. And she was the, count it, second famous person I saw. In my first week. And it was completely random. Is there such a thing as meant to be? Because if so, this experience told me that I was "meant to be" here. That's for sure. On with the story...
I'm sitting in a bar with some friends from college. We had planned this get together for Friday evening, but after a different, and unchangable party appeared on our schedule, we bumped it to Thursday night instead. Act of fate number one. Said Friday night party was cancelled, and though we toyed with changing it back to Friday, we decided that we'd stick with Thursday so the place wouldn't be so crowded. Act of fate number two. The place is not crowded at all. And I'm sitting in a booth. I choose the booth instead of the wall-facing wooden chairs because primarily, I was wearing low rise jeans and would be less likely to not show off my underwear by sitting against the wall. (Act of fate number three?) Sublime is on, and I remember this clearly because as Sublime is one of my favorites, I always make mental notes of bars that put them on their mixes. Ten times out of ten, I'll love the bar if this is the case. So I smile at the music, and a couple walks towards the back, where we are sitting. They walk past us, and this is when, I swear, things click into slow motion. Her face is clear to me. The profile, and she is laughing at something the unidentified man is saying, and her arm is in his, and she looks so different, and I swear that my jaw had to of been on the floor. Just so unexpected. I wasn't prepared. I stare. Just stare like I have no manners at all. She doesn't even glance at us, and I know this because I watch until she goes throught the doorway to the hall, and continue watching the doorway until I am snapped out of my slow-motion stupor by my friend who leans over excitedly, "Did you see that?"
I don't even know what to say. I'm stumped and I think I sit in silence for five whole minutes before I realize that I should say hello. This is usually a move I don't like to make, talking to a celebrity while they are trying to lead a normal life, but I had to make an exception here. The Laws of the Universe say that I wasn't supposed to see her. She's my number freaking one. How did this happen, to me, the most unlucky, "you just missed the coolest thing ever", person in this world? It would never happen again. Lightning doesn't strike twice. So I should say hey. For the universe. But as I go to stand, I can't balance because I'm still so shocked. I finally stand and walk towards the hallway she went down, towards the bathroom and valet parking. I go to the bathroom, take a deep breath, and enter. Empty. Damn. I walk the rest of the hallway, and nothing. A few doors for either secret celebrity hang-outs or the much more likely, janitor closets. And then the back door. I pick up my pace and open the door, thankful no one was one the other side as they probably could sue me for a broken nose. It swings open to no one. Nothing. A parking lot with a lonely valet man bouncing a ball up and down and up and down. She had gotten away. It didn't wipe the smile from my face though. I didn't care. I had seen her. In real life. She did exist. And she was happy and seemed so carefree and I had seen her in my first week of living here.
Pure unadulterated exhilaration.
And then there was also that Sharon Osbourne thing too!
++Mini Chapter 3: It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.++
How do you rationalize going out a lot while you're unemployed and broke? Networking. Yes. It is a hard job, but a very necessary one. So socially, I've had an exciting time. Meeting people, and going to my friend's sets, and bars and clubs and such.
Last night we actually went to a LA strip club. Yes, a strip club where ladies dance for the money. A bikini one sort of, I guess. No one got completely stripped down anyway. I thought it was a joke when my friend pulled in, and maybe it was, but we went. And I got to sit across from a guy who, had I seen him on the street, I'd have been very attracted to. I watched his face in horror as he watched these girls. These girls shaking their butts directly in his face while he drooled. Literally drooled. And then I felt bad for being the girl in the strip club who was there watching people who were there to watch, so I stopped looking the guys, and focused my attention on the girls. Their shoes mainly, because there's nothing more uncomfortable than trying not to be disrespectful by not looking at a person's, ahem, money-maker. If that makes sense. It's like, you're supposed to be watching them dance, and you don't want to avoid the whole stage because that is rude in this weird way I can't explain, but really, it's nothing too interesting to look at. Not to mention I feel bad googling, or I feel like I'm googling by looking at all. And I just hope that they like what they do and don't do it to feed their kids or something. So I focused on the boots. The tall, ridiculous boots. And some of the dance moves that they used. Just a strange thing.
One girl really impressed me when she climbed the pole to the ceiling. It was pretty impressive and I had to give her props! That had to be difficult. And she has to look graceful too. I can't do a pull-up with a smile. Must less, climb a pole in six inch heels, doing it so it appears that you are a graceful and gentle creature, still smiling at the people below. No grimace. Nothing. When this dancer was done with her routine, someone snuck out of the shadows and threw what had to have been one hundred single dollar bills onto the stage. At first, I was like, good for her. Then she started picking up her money and I got sad. (Sad at a strip club. Only a woman.) She was crawling. The purpose of the dollars is so the person can get a peep show as she picks up the money he throws at her. It felt so primordial to me. These guys being like "here's my money, now pick it up woman. And oh yeah, it's in ones so have fun with that. I'll just watch." I hated that.
After that uncomfortable experience, we decided to try and get into a roped off club near Sunset. It's three of us girls and one guy. He walks up to one of the ropes and slyly says to the guy, "I've got three women with me." Amazingly, he tells us to wait at the side as people stand in this line, waiting to get in. Then he opens the rope for us and we get to go right in. Awesome.
Tonight I was invited to a "house party in the hills" where there was sure to be "hundreds of people". I go to my friends apartment, and she says that it will be impossible for me to find parking and to just put on my flashers and E brake, because this hill was more like a vertical mountain, and to come up and hang out. I had never seen such a large hill before in my life. We never had stuff like this in good ol' NC or NY.
When we go to the party, parking is ridiculous. There's one spot on the hill that is probably the exact length of my car, give a couple of inches. Now I have a new car so I'm not so great a judging it yet. And this spot was on a hill, (going up), and a curve. So this is not an easy parking spot. It's very apparent why it's still open. My friends insist I can do it. So with the assistance of a bear, (or my friend in a bear costume), I inch my way in, trying only twice before successfully, (yes successfully), getting into the spot. Without as much as tapping the other cars. I was impressed myself. They crowned me and we went to the party. Which was huge, but nothing to write home about. (The parking was much more interesting.) Although, I did see a guy I had gone to school with and when I asked him what he was doing now, he shuffled his feet and mumbled something. "What?" I ask. "I'm in the paparazzi." I laugh so hard, I get light-headed. Paparazzi??? I knew a guy in the paparazzi? I tell him I kinda hate his people. And he's so ashamed, but defends it by saying he only has to do it for a couple of months to load up on some money. These guys make BANK. In fact, when he tells me how much he is making, it silences my laughs and I consider if I could run fast enough while successfully working a camera.
Also, last week my friend was working on a show and invited me to have lunch with her. Who was I to say no to an offer like that! I get onto the studio no problem but then I don't know where to park. I look around and all the spots seem to be numbered. So I park in one of these spots and make my way to a security guard. I ask him where I should park and he points down to a spot with a smile. "Go between those two cars and that way you'll be exactly where you need to be." I thank him and return to my car. As I approach the spot, I see that all of these spots have names on them. The one he had directed me to said, "WB Ranch VIP Parking". Hells yes! (There's always something nice about being called a VIP.) People walking by mistake me for someone important. I smile confidently and get out of my car.
When I get to set my friend starts introducing me to people. She introduces me to one guy who is a director. We start talking and joking around. They seem to get along very well, talking about mixed cds and such, and I chime in with telling him his shirt is, "very LA". He laughs and welcomes me to LA. As he walks away, his name swirls in my head and I wonder where I had heard it before. Then it hits me that he was the director for the Veronica Mars pilot! Awesome! I had just made the director of the VM pilot laugh. Extremely cool. What was up with me having such good luck here?
++Mini Chapter 4: Now if only that luck could come through for me getting a job.++
I made the mistake that every single "getting a job" seminar warns you not to make. I got too cocky and ruined my chances at a job before I even had it. (Or so I think.) You're at least supposed to do the interview first! People started telling me I should forego assisting and go straight for the editing jobs since I was an editor in NY. I'm young and typically people my age get the assistant jobs. But I'm applying for everything, as I just wanted to see what I could get. Within a day of my job searching I hear back for an assistant job on reality tv, (something I would rather avoid, but it seems inevitable.) Through email, I try to keep him interested while I wait and see if I hear back from any of the other gigs. And then he calls...
My phone shows a LA number that I don't recognize so immediately, I answer. It's the reality guy. He asks me if I'm interested and I assure him I am. He asks what kind of job I'm looking for, and I hmm and haw stupidly saying that I don't know yet. He asks if I'm looking for an editing gig or assistant one. Again, like a fool, I say I'm waiting to see what's out there. Somehow sounding like I'm passing on this job. I tell him I've been here only for a day so I'm just testing the waters. Doh! He says he'll get back to me if anything comes up, and thereby probably removing me from the running for this particular job. I try not to beat myself up too much, that is until I get a call from my friend who says she had just gotten an assistant job on a reality tv show and is looking for night assistants. We chat and as it turns out, her boss, and the guy who would effectively hire me to be HER assistant, is the one I spoke on the phone with. Yes, small stupid world indeed. I hear the pay, and the fact that I'd be working with my friends, and want it. Need it. It would pay the bills and every other lead I had gotten, turned up dry.
I tried to back petal in my email to him, cursing myself that now I was begging for a lower position, (figuring he had probably been wanting me for the position my friend got-a day position with better pay). Yikes. These things do come back to haunt you. Still waiting to hear about that one...
++Mini Chapter 5: Driving++
Oh driving in LA has been interesting. My first trip to the freeway, after my cross-country trip of course, landed me lost in the middle of somewhere. Trying to make it to Burbank, I finally give up after thirty minutes of not finding the 101. I call my friend with my tail between my legs, and find my way there. On the way back, I have no problems, which is impressive only because it was rush hour, I had no map, and my second destination was somewhere else I had never been. Some how, some way, I get there rather quickly. Only after seeing one car accident happen, (a woman rear-ending a not so pleased man because a car pulls out in front of her, causing her to have to slam on brakes.)
I also tried to venture into Beverly Hills one afternoon, getting there fine, but when I tried to return home, I ended up in Santa Monica. I got the feeling I had gone the very wrong way.
I've been riding with my roommate, who has lived in LA for almost two years now, and effectively said my Hail Mary's about seventeen times. (She wasn't even that great of a driver in NC, and this is self-proclaimed.) Hail Mary's also came into play when another of my crazy-driving friends decides one night to take me on Muholland. Muholland, if you don't know, cuts across the top of the mountain. Beautiful, gut-wrentching views. I felt like every turn should have been labeled, "Dead Man's curve". I saw my death like five times on that trip.
A couple nights ago, we saw a freshly-hit fire hydrant. With water shooting so far into the sky, I couldn't really even tell where it stopped. The street was flooding so fast, you would think that it had been raining in LA for weeks. Which was obviously not the case, as I had witnesses LA burning to the ground earlier in the day...(nice segue-way Thompson).
++Mini (and last) Chapter 6: Why do I get the feeling this is going to be blamed on me?++
We're driving back from Ikea on a highway with a clear view of the hills. I see a billowing smoke cloud and show the others. It's huge. Freaking unbelievably huge. Never in my life had I seen a smoke cloud this big. My friend calls her boyfriend who works near where the fire appeared to be coming from. She asked him what was on fire, and I braced myself for the inevitable "the terrorists bombed LA" response that I just knew was coming. He seemed confused and then she could hear the whole office realize something near them was on fire. He went to his roof and said that it was in the hills, and was heading towards the WB lot and Universal! Not to mention the Hollywood sign! Both lots had been evacuated, and my heart dropped as I pictured Luke's Diner going up in flames. I was so sad! It couldn't be! He then reported that it was heading towards the Hollywood sign, and I just knew that this was it. LA was going to burn to the ground.
Seeing a fire that huge is so unsettling. I was terrified, as I've never witnessed such a thing in my life. I was assured we lived far from it, but my mind was just racing with terror that it was going to burn up the GIlmore sets. Not even to mention the obvious, possibly killing hundreds and ruining homes by the second.
We race home, in some of the worst traffic ever, (as people were obviously trying to get home ASAP), and turn on the news. I felt a huge wave of relief as I heard that it was under control and the Hollywood sign, nor either of the two studios, were damaged. Whew.
So to recap this lengthy post I hope you made it through, since I've lived in LA I've, seen my number one celebrity, Lauren Graham, gone to a strip club, seen two different (possible) shootings, saw one of the largest fires I've ever seen, witnessed the possible demise of the Hollywood sign, gone to a large house party in the hills, illegally parked, seen a fire hydrant shooting water towards the sky, gotten lost twice, seen a car accident happen, seen three car accidents after they happened, felt like I was about to get in a car accident, been allowed access into a roped club while others waited in line, seen Paris Hilton twice being followed by paparazzi, talked to a guy who's in the paparazzi, parked vertically on a large hill, did the tightest parallel parking I've ever done, probably ruined a pretty good job opportunity, got VIP parking on set, and met the director of the pilot of Veronica Mars.
Not too bad for my first week (plus). I think I'm ready for my membership card now!
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