(Continuation of Duped)
Holy crap, y’all! That was the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. And I shit you not, the headache I’ve had all day is GONE.
Is this why everyone out here is happy?
Point L.A.
Fuck it, TWO points LA– I FEEL GREAT, GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LA 5; NYC 4
For the next two nights, I get to stay in this chic, Jeremiah Brent-designed room, snuggled in this adorable, cozy day bed. One point L.A.
But I have a roommate. She sleeps in THIS bed:
One point New York.
LA 3; NYC 4
This awesome coffee from this awesome coffee shop, one point LA.
The fear of getting a jay-walking ticket as I strolled to said coffee shop, plus the ungodly amount of time I waited for said coffee: one point NY.
Draw.
Current score: LA 2; NYC 3 (yes, NYC received 2 whole points for the pressed juice incident. I don’t like being duped into healthy choices, LA.)
I’m in LA right now. And in typical me fashion, when I booked this trip last month, I put absolutely no thought into it. I just knew my seasonal affective disorder needed sun, so I just kind of bought a plane ticket after a few too many glasses of wine, and hoped some friends would house me once I got there.
I arrived yesterday to my dear friend’s Santa Monica beach house. She and her husband are going out of town on Wednesday, so I was only going to stay a few days, then hop over to two other friends’ places who graciously agreed to host me, even though it’s not terribly convenient for them right now. But now my friend and her husband are insisting I stay here while they’re out of town, and to invite any friends I want. So instead of dragging a suitcase to 3 different parts of LA, I’m going to stay in this gorgeous, beachside oasis and have my other friends come to me.
So the lesson here is that if you’re a total spontaneous, haphazard spaz who puts little to no thought into what you’re doing, you will constantly find yourself in the most ideal of situations.
Or something about maintaining lifelong relationships with totally amazing, generous, awesome people.
I don’t know I’m drunk.
Yesterday my L.A. friends took me to a “pressed juicery,” where I refused to purchase anything kale. Or anything juice, really. I don’t do juice. They INSISTED I get SOMETHING, and I didn’t want to be rude and close-minded. I craftily noticed, by the grace of god, that they had coffee on the menu, so I conceded to getting that (even though everyone knows, thanks to a meth-like addiction, I only drink Starbucks).
Just now…
Me: “I’ll have the coffee we got yesterday after I go for my morning run.”
Friend: “You mean the juice?”
Me: “No. I got a coffee.”
Friend: “Well, it’s a coffee-juice.”
WHAT.
Point New York.
LA 1, NYC 2
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