Some of you may be wondering what I've been up to, since I haven't written anything in a while (hi Grandma!). Most of you, however, probably forgot I existed (fuck you). And still some of you are wondering how you ended up on this page after googling the phrase "hot, naked pre-teens." (In case you weren't aware, everything you google that leads you to my column, I can see. Congratulations, most of you have unknowingly been put on several government watch lists!)
Life for me has continued on as normal, or as normal as life can be, living in Los Angeles. I'm learning that most conceptions people have about living in Hollywood aren't that far off: everyone drives a ridiculously expensive car they can't afford, everyone buys ridiculously expensive clothing they can't afford, and everyone is an asshole. (I think I may have discovered why California is one of the most in-debt states: metrosexual men and wannabe actors, aka the people who serve you the bread basket at Cheesecake Factory.)
Don't date anyone who aspires to be in front of a camera or manages people who want to be in front of a camera. Perhaps it's the Midwesterner in me, but I'm still a little surprised when someone turns out to be a complete douche (it really shouldn't surprise me, since, like I said, it's a town full of actors). I guess I should've wised up to this right away when, one day at my Starbucks in Beverly Hills, a guy with immaculately groomed eyebrows said to an employee, "Hey Apron, who said you could make eye contact?" If I wasn't so pissed, I would've asked the question I'm sure is on all of your minds (as it was the first one on mine): Where'd you get your brows done? Because seriously, finding a waxer who can get mine to arch as awesomely as his is like pulling teeth.
Being in Los Angeles isn't a complete nightmare, I must say. I've experienced some truly awesome moments that I never would've gotten the opportunity to experience in Ohio. For example, serving coffee to Renée Zellweger. And serving coffee to Mark Wahlberg. And serving coffee to Al Pacino. Okay, maybe serving coffee to celebrities isn't all that glamorous, but every so often you get to talk to someone you've idolized since the age of 12: Sarah Michelle Gellar. Granted, I couldn't actually acknowledge that it was her (we're not supposed to let them know that we know who they are), but I fucking made Buffy's latte. And she was really nice. And her kid was cute. And I don't care if I'm name-dropping right now, I got to talk to Sarah Michelle Gellar. Who is married to Freddie Prinze Jr. Who, lest we forget, made one of the most influential, life-changing movies of our time: She's All That. It was an epic moment in my life, which will only be topped by Taylor Lautner walking through my store's doors. At which point, I will climb over the counter and mount him.
I've also had the opportunity to enjoy some of LA's most famous sites: for instance, Skid Row. Compton. The bus depot. The subway. Chino. You know, all the places you'd find on one of those touristy map things.
The LA dating scene, which is a lot like the Cincinnati dating scene but with more plaid and less substance, is another situation I've encountered. Basically, what I've learned: don't date anyone whose shoes cost more than your entire outfit. Don't date actors. Don't date men who shave their arm hair. Don't date men who call themselves a "Background Artist" (you're a professional extra, let's be real). Essentially, just don't date anyone who aspires to be in front of a camera or manages people who want to be in front of a camera. So that really leaves, like, maybe three guys in this city that I'd date. Out of five million. So, yeah, pretty good odds.
Other than the public intoxication and occasional public indecency, the celebrity stalking and the constant marijuana-haze, life in Los Angeles is relatively the same as being back home in Ohio. No, wait, if we're going by those standards then it is exactly like living in Ohio, but with more traffic and smog. But at least here, the marijuana is legal.