My cab driver didn’t say one damn word to me during the entire 40 minute ride from JFK to my apartment.
200 points NYC.
Final score: LA 581; NYC 354
(In case you’re unfamiliar with this game, which is played every time I visit LA, Spoiler Alert– NYC never wins. We have piles of garbage on our streets, guys. We’re disgusting.)
“I’ve been reading your blog all week and you know what? Fuck you.”
— New York, to me.
#homesweethome
— homeless person on Santa Monica beach, to me.
50 points L.A.
The only thing an NYC homeless person has ever called me is “White bitch.” (And she was white! I don’t know why that made it worse, but it did.)
LA 81; NYC 9
I strolled back into the Pressed Juicery this morning (shut up), ready and willing to try something of the green variety. Whatever, when in Rome, right? (Rome = Kardashian Town). I encountered a helpful man who was happy to guide a juice novice.
Me: “I had a coffee one the other day and I swear it cured my headache. But it was really high in fat, so I’d like to try one of the green ones. Are any of these known to help headaches and fatigue?”
Helpful Man: “Do you get headaches often?”
Me: “Yes.”
Helpful Man: “Do you have any allergies?”
Me: “Not that I’m aware of…”
Helpful Man: “Wheat?”
Me: “No.”
Helpful Man: “Gluten?”
Me: “No. No allergies. But I often feel headachy and dehydrated, even though I drink lots of water.”
Helpful Man: “Hmmmm”
Me: “I think it’s just because I’m Jewish.”
Helpful Man: “Yeah. Unfortunately we don’t have anything for that.”
Damnit.
20 points LA. This changes everything.
LA 31; NYC 8
LA:
NYC:
Point L.A.
LA 11; NYC 8
“No. Why would we?”
Five points LA.
LA 10; NYC 7
(Side note: “Point LA!” — Libby, after every single thing that happens. No. It doesn’t work that way. I decide how points are allotted, and there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to any of it. You know what? Point NYC for people in LA thinking they can influence the point system.)
New score: LA 10; NYC 8
This L.A. meteorologist just referred to these Wrightwood, CA temps as “frigid” and issued a “freeze warning.”
No. Buy a fucking cardigan, Wrightwood. You’re fine.
Point NYC.
LA 5, NYC 7
My friend Alex, dad of My First Guest Blogger, just turned to me and said the following:
“Emily, look! If you actually read [the baby’s] blog post, the first line actually says ‘Hi! You suck. I’m in LA!’ And at the bottom she gives her coordinates!”
As a reminder, the post said this:
Point NYC. Just because. No.
LA 5; NYC 6
Here in LA, my friend Libby suggests a place for lunch.
Libby: “Look up the menu for Earth Cafe.”
Me (typing into my phone): “Ok, on it.”
Libby: “It’s spelled U-R-T-H”
Of COURSE it is.
Point NYC.
LA 5, NYC 5
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