Los Angeles is a Martian city, a foreign, strange and plastic place. LA is a place where self-important people come to increase their self worth; it’s a place where beautiful people come to get noticed, and a place where the sun can actually affect a person’s brain capacity. Educated people flock there for one reason, and one reason only, entertainment. There’s nothing more important than the entertainment industry in LA.

I like to generalize. Generalizing allows me to take a large portion of one population and group them into a common category so I don’t have to get to know them individually. In LA everyone is similar, as far as I’m concerned, they all want to be loved and recognized for something, and they all want to be on TV.

Imagine how I must have felt then when I was called “so LA” by some inebriated u25 (under twenty-fiver) at a bar called Sharkeez in Hermosa Beach. I was wearing my bright green dress, the one with white polka dots, and a shirt that read LOWER EAST SIDE, which apparently is more LA than NY, jeans from Target, and pink New Balance sneakers. I am not a fighting girl, but them be fightin’ words.

I know I shouldn’t bad mouth LA because when you want to work in media, on any level, you can avoid it as long as you want, but you inevitably find yourself in LA at some point or another. I wanted to move there all throughout my u25 years, but never did, and now that I don’t want anything to do with a place where blonde is a state of mind, I will find myself out there sooner than I think (although I have no plans to move there and I really don’t want to be there, please, no). If that happens, you can all point fingers and laugh at me behind my back or to my face.

Which will, of course, make me angry. But I’ll have deserved it, for thinking I was so beyond LA.