Sunday, June 22, 2008
The land of sun and tanning spas
I would tell you about the Vegas airport; my first adventures with legal gambling and the overwhelming number of size 16 booty-shorts on orange women who bounced and oozed like prostitutes at a crack convention- I would probably tell you about the eventful trip to the apple store, where I met geniuses, an NFL player and briefly the face of god. Or maybe I’d tell you how fun it is to shoe-watch in L. A. (like people watching but lower). I’d tell you about my day at the Getty, how good it is to be near someone who thinks I’m funny; but it’s too. fucking. hot.
Like -3 humidity, I swear.
see, they even got me talking like them. It’s the sun. And all the smog. It does something horrible to your voice- makes you sound both ignorant and pretentious at the same time—oooooh I love L.A.
My eyes hurt. All I want to do is hide in the shade of smoke from these awesome pink cigarettes and drown myself in iced coffee.