lala land

I went to LA over the weekend with all kinds of preconceived notions based almost exclusively on the reality-show line up of the Bravo network. i've lived in California for almost two years, but I've purposely avoided the journey south for several reasons.

1) I have kind of a bad attitude. Alright, I don't really, but i do like to hate on easy targets--vegans, leisure wear by Juicy (and I'm sorry, but I can't bring myself to put the word Couture after Juicy), cougars. And since I'm fairly certain those are the three horseman of LA culture, I've always placed it squarely in the "meh" category of travel destinations.

2) Its nightlife frightens me. I like dressing up as much as the next girl, but I have visions of being forced into something by Herve Leger and then given a cocktail by a man in his late 40s and made to dance on a banquette. I'm sure that doesn't actually happen, but it's what I imagine. Why else would every party photo of LA feature an identical scene?

3) The thought of traveling everywhere in mind-numbing traffic doesn't sound that appealing. I lived in NYC for several years. I haven't owned a car since college. I like public transportation. Drivers bopping around to top 40 hits in their own little steel bubbles reminds me of something out of I, Robot. And you know how that turns out.

Nonetheless, I have a lovely friend who lives there who fits none of the stereotypes. Plus, I wanted to see if the majority of LA's female population was truly besotted with fake boobs/eyelashes/hair/nails/tans, and either "auditioning" or working as a stylist. So there I was. Although no one forced me into designer goods, almost exactly what I feared in reason-not-to-visit-LA #2 started to unfold one evening at the Chateau Marmont.

First of all, it was after midnight when we made our way there and we sat in quite a bit of traffic. Rush hour is one thing, rush hour to the bar is another. We hadn't been there for more than 20 minutes when a man in his late 40s (how did i know?!) sauntered up and said he would be buying our drinks. Well, that's nice, but we all know that free drinks never come without a price. It turned out that our new friend was "terribly successful." He lived in the neighborhood (being Hollywood). He made people very famous. These are all proclamations he's made while I put on my best "thanks for the drink, please back away from me before I put you in a headlock" face. He, however, was not getting the hint. In fact, he's starting to become very angry that I wasn't as impressed with him as he thought I should be. It became increasingly more amusing for me, and for the people around us. Eventually he skulked off, but not before declaring that he preferred to date younger women anyway (I'm 26!) and my boyfriend will never be as successful as he is. Really charming.

My friend and I had a few good chuckles over his Botox-ed face and hostile approach with women during our 45-min drive home. In the end, LA lived almost entirely up to expectations, which is not to say that I didn't have a fantastic time--I did--only that I found further evidence that a cliché is often a cliché because it's true.