I want you to be my boyfriend!
I love NY. I do. Even with the half assed customer service, the stinky and hot subway rides, the mysterious pools of slime on the sidewalk and the crazy woman in a business suit who talks to herself And NO she is not on her handless cellphone.
But like all the things I love, NY does NOT love me back.
I don't know why. Maybe it's my sunny Californian disposition , my constant need to have sand wedged in areas it shouldn't be or my need to drive my gas guzzling SUV to the mailbox while drinking my half caf half decaf coffee. **
When I"m in LA , my hair gets full and curly. My face clears up. The boys worth looking at twice are looking at ME twice. Every outfit I put on, I love. Every meal I order is amazing. The coffee baristas are always sliding me something extra on the house.
I"m not in love with LA though. LA is like my family. I love them and it but I don't really LIKE them. I visit because I feel like I have to and not because I want to. When I decide to finally go, I spend months tossing and turning and pulling out my hair at all the stressful scenarios I know are in my future. I spend money I don't have looking neat and presentable and then end up wearing the same stuff I wear in NY. LA acts happy to see me even while I'm giving it double fingers and a sneer. LA is so nice, it makes me want to vomit.
I rush back to NY, ready for it to embrace me and instead it barely acknowledges me with a "Oh, were you gone? I didn't even notice."
In honor of my return, it blesses me with extremely flat and greasy bangs while puffing out the rest of my hair like I accidently stuck my finger in the socket. A zit, the size of a quarter flanked by two nickel sized zits. I put on outfits just to toss them back on the floor and then scramble back into my first choice when I realize I am running incredibly late and still need to slap on war paint to cover the orphans I"m housing on my face. I then spend the rest of my day, pulling, tugging and annoyed at the outfit I"m wearing, wondering if I should run to Old Navy and replace it all at lunch.
It's as though, NY wants me to leave. It wants me to run back to LA, who's nice but boring.
In the past, I always said NO WAY! I"m going to make NY love me as much as I love it, but in this past week, I"ve been thinking more and more about going back to LA. Nice and predictable and safe LA. Maybe I don't need the hustle and bustle and the excitement of NY. Maybe what I really need is commitment, happy smiles and a free shot of espresso in my drink.
** sarcasm. people, this is sarcasm. none of this could be used to describe me. Well, at least *I* don't think so.
But like all the things I love, NY does NOT love me back.
I don't know why. Maybe it's my sunny Californian disposition , my constant need to have sand wedged in areas it shouldn't be or my need to drive my gas guzzling SUV to the mailbox while drinking my half caf half decaf coffee. **
When I"m in LA , my hair gets full and curly. My face clears up. The boys worth looking at twice are looking at ME twice. Every outfit I put on, I love. Every meal I order is amazing. The coffee baristas are always sliding me something extra on the house.
I"m not in love with LA though. LA is like my family. I love them and it but I don't really LIKE them. I visit because I feel like I have to and not because I want to. When I decide to finally go, I spend months tossing and turning and pulling out my hair at all the stressful scenarios I know are in my future. I spend money I don't have looking neat and presentable and then end up wearing the same stuff I wear in NY. LA acts happy to see me even while I'm giving it double fingers and a sneer. LA is so nice, it makes me want to vomit.
I rush back to NY, ready for it to embrace me and instead it barely acknowledges me with a "Oh, were you gone? I didn't even notice."
In honor of my return, it blesses me with extremely flat and greasy bangs while puffing out the rest of my hair like I accidently stuck my finger in the socket. A zit, the size of a quarter flanked by two nickel sized zits. I put on outfits just to toss them back on the floor and then scramble back into my first choice when I realize I am running incredibly late and still need to slap on war paint to cover the orphans I"m housing on my face. I then spend the rest of my day, pulling, tugging and annoyed at the outfit I"m wearing, wondering if I should run to Old Navy and replace it all at lunch.
It's as though, NY wants me to leave. It wants me to run back to LA, who's nice but boring.
In the past, I always said NO WAY! I"m going to make NY love me as much as I love it, but in this past week, I"ve been thinking more and more about going back to LA. Nice and predictable and safe LA. Maybe I don't need the hustle and bustle and the excitement of NY. Maybe what I really need is commitment, happy smiles and a free shot of espresso in my drink.
** sarcasm. people, this is sarcasm. none of this could be used to describe me. Well, at least *I* don't think so.