— 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
Tag Archives: NYC
My Hair Has Never Looked Less Jewish!!!!!!!!
20 points LA. This changes everything.
LA 31; NYC 8
Things That Line The City Streets
LA:
NYC:
Point L.A.
LA 11; NYC 8
My Friends In L.A. Don’t Own An Umbrella
“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
LA is Stupid
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
Duped, Part 2
(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
Another Draw
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
Draw
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.)
Duped
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
Taxi Cab Sex is the Least of My Concerns
A friend just told me he read a Gawker article about the prevalence of sex in NYC taxi cabs, and he warned me to “consider the history of that seat” next time I’m in a cab.
Great. Let me add that to my list of taxi cab concerns, a list that already includes:
1. Bed bugs
2. Nausea
3. Contagious B.O. (you all saw the Seinfeld episode)
4. Accidentally leaving umbrella on cab floor
5. Fatal crash. Head detaches from body. Rolls into pothole. Resides for eternity with rats.
6. Stuck in middle of Puerto Rican Day parade. No way out.
7. Driver is actually serial killer; drives out of Manhattan without me noticing, as I’m not great at noticing things. Kills me in dark, deserted Long Island field. Dumps me on LIRR tracks. Body resides for eternity with rats.
Obviously those concerns are not listed in most-concerning order.
If that were the case, the umbrella thing would go first. That shit is the WORST.
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