My friend Kat has a theory that I am much funnier when I dislike Los Angeles. According to her, being attacked by raccoons, feral cats, or lobotomized drivers on the 101 is what brings out the best in me. I’m not going to disagree. That special combination of fear for my life and animosity towards my immediate surroundings naturally lends itself to a tone that a sophomore creative writing student might refer to as “my voice.” It’s an emotional state where I feel most comfortable expressing myself, for better or worse. The problem is that I’m finding it harder and harder to hate LA. She’s beginning to woo me. So, in an effort to appease Kat and exercise “my voice,” I have decided to make an attempt to strongly dislike the
Great City Godforsaken Cesspool of Los Angeles at least once a week on this blog. See? I’m already getting better at it.
Let’s start with LA’s dire lack of dinnerware purveyors. In New York, I loved a little place down the street from my apartment called Fishs Eddy. And while the store’s creative spelling for the plural of “fish” is definitely suspect, they had the BEST selection of unique tableware and other kitchen cookery that I have every had the pleasure of over-purchasing. In LA? I’m pretty sure the best we have is some guy selling used soup cans out of the back of a broken down van. Maybe I just haven’t stumbled along the right place yet, and maybe I’m lying about the soup-cans-from-a-van thing, but that’s my half-baked story and I’m sticking to it. So THERE, LA, how d’ya like them apples? Huh?
While we’re on the topic of Fishs Eddy, my friend Jamie sent me a care package this week with a few gifts from that store. I got SUPER excited, because, deep down, I’m really a 50-year-old woman. So what’s the problem? Why should getting a lovely present from a lovelier friend make me hate LA? Because I had to go all the way to the post office to pick up the package. BAM! Take that LA! Woah… And not only did I have to go once, but I had to go TWICE! Because I have TWO really good friends who both happened to send me tableware, the second being Kat, who sent me plates. Also, my mother coincidentally sent my belated birthday gift – a set of knives, odd, I know – that arrived on the same day as Kat’s plates. I mean, just pour the salt in the wound! The horror of having to drive 3 minutes down the road to have a more fully furnished kitchen! And then when I got home this evening from spin class, another mail notice saying I have a fourth package to go pick up from the post office. I mean, will my life ever stop being unlivable??? And all because I live in Los Angeles, the place where people get lots of plates and bowls and cutlery mailed to their local post office by the people they love.
Hey… I tried.