There is a certain secure insecurity about this city; an overwhelming sense of need to impress everyone; to leave a lasting mark that will cut straight through the throngs of designer bags, hair extensions, faux tans and purchased smiles; to spear through it like a searing bow cast through soft flesh, cauterizing an image of their constantly changing perfection.
In an instant, you can tell who belongs here and who doesn't. I doesn't.
In my pinstriped business shirt and black capris, I am a sharp contrast to the sea of carefully distressed denim, billowy tank tops and carefully coordinated flip flops. The local Starbucks (one of the many) runneth over with men wearing pastels and women wearing skinny jeans, all of whom are ordering drinks with titles longer than my own.
Dusk decends over the city, wrapping her cool grey blue satin blanket across the skyscrapers (most likey desinged by Valentino) and palm trees. It is a place where the chocolate cakes can put you into diabetic comas and alcohol is every season's must have accessory in order to feel like you belong.
Waiter, I'll have another....
Me, at Starbucks: "I'll have a white tea on ice."
ReplyDeleteBarista: "But it's a hot tea."
Me: "I know, but may I have it on ice please?"
Barista: "But I would have to brew it first, and then chill it. It will take a long time."
Me, getting confused: "I know, and I'm totally okay with waiting. Don't worry about it. As long as it takes."
Barista: "But it's hot."
WHAT I SHOULD HAVE SAID
Me: I'll have an iced venti low-caf non-milk berry blossom white tea, no espresso."
I'm obviously not LA enough either.
Very few of us are... and thank goodness for that!
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