City of Nightmares

It's been almost five unofficial years here. And I LIKE IT OKAY. But I do not love it and fear I never will.

It's March 1st. The last couple weeks of February were challenging, and I had a bad attitude. PP is in town briefly in the midst of her whirlwind tour. Her star is rising, and I couldn't be happier for her. But I'm busy too. We carve out exactly one hour to catch up. I'm too aware of this and dive right into all of my angst. My oat milk cappuccino quivering as I grip the table. I express how dramatic I know I sound, but how distressed I feel! Both are true! Much later she texts me: "And I am sorry you are going through this moment of extremely warranted anger and also I know that there are so many good exciting things coming for you."

Last night Puhg and I bailed on the second half of The Secret Garden. We had great seats, but were so bored. We'd preordered intermission ginger beer so we drank it on the patio clobbering the writing in the drizzle before driving home. "Tomorrow is March!" I announced, "I'll have a good attitude in March and use my moisturizer every day and not be on my phone before ten!"

It's 11:42. I woke up early, journaled, read, haven't been on my phone yet. I did a dance workout, I MOISTURIZED, went to my writers' group. I decided to really put a spring in a my step and do some writing at a cafe. But there was street cleaning where I usually park. And wouldn't you know, after several circles, there simply was no where to park in what seemed like the entire neighborhood. I was determined not to complain, but I also did change my mind--actually my second favorite cafe is where I'm supposed to be. I feel so personally attacked by LA. Like even getting coffee is a reminder there's no room for me here. And what's even worse is while I'm in my feud with this place, she doesn't even know who I am.

So now I'm here. After paying for parking and dodging rude drivers and having too many internal conversations about which unhoused people I should or should not try to pass a dollar to with my special little caramel cold brew and fruit and nut toast I've already wolfed and I am HAVING A GOOD ATTITUDE!

Los: Dos

Toasts & latte. Very delightful. Very expensive.

Lunch is weird. Does figuring out where you will sit at lunch ever not feel like high school? I pull up a folding chair into the sun. There are vegan hot dogs in the dinner cart. I am confused about how regular things seem. I knock on a closed bathroom stall and hear the voice of PP grumpily respond.

The 2nd AD called lunch, so I walked a block to a cafe. I had this idea of sitting alone with a grant application. In the ten minutes I was eating a fonut (baked donut) I got three emails and needed to make revisions, copies. My insides rattled, I shoved my junk in a bag, and ran back to set. Later, in the van on the way back to crew parking I heard a makeup artist and tech complain about a mistake I had made with the yellow pages. Cowsk assured me no one cared. I can't get it out of my head and google "making mistakes at work" until I fall asleep. I miss the grant deadline.

Any book about movies could be titled "Where Should I Sit." I sit on an awkward stool. I sit in the writer's seat when she's acting. I sit on the floor across from AG. I am hyper aware of Doing Things Right, and I still print something in the wrong direction.

Call is late. Time to run. Time to walk to the v hip cafe for some work and nosh. Two pieces of toast and a Figeroa espresso is $24. I HAVE to learn to check prices here. There's no wifi. I sweat enough to buy a shirt at Forever 21. It has tiny cocktails on it. I change in the car. Everyone is chipper before a three-day weekend. People all over the country would give up their friends and families to do what they do, and everyone doing it just wants an extra day to have the friends and family back. We go late. The producers buy an adorable cafe truck. A cocoa. I think about how millennials are portrayed in film. I don't remember what happens in chunks of time, namely the chunks before bed.

LA proper: bangs cut, three hour vegan donut writing sesh, a tattoo shop that doesn't tow me, hairs waxed, reading in the sunshine. My temporary roommate is making dinner and I soak up his real pro-ness. A meeting that frustrates me (how do you say you are stupid about X without people thinking you're stupid about Y?) see the show I could join if. It's early and it's Friday, but that's all I have. I try Sneaky Pete, eating donut halves in bed.

7:30 AM SoulCycle in Pasadena. I didn't like it, but I miss vigorous workouts. I'll go again. I worry about this car thing a lot. There are a lot of signs and street parkings and meters. It's about 10-20% of my brain at any given time. I plan to write, but I have to lay down and watch Popstar. I watch every credit. I know many of them. I really enjoy it. At the Echo Park cafe literally everyone has Final Draft open. I meet victoriously. It's hot. I'm in shorts. I drive over to Chicago pals with a lemon tree. I keep asking for advice and everyone says they don't have it, but there's pebbles. Again, what do I do with myself? What is left? I treat myself to Thai while I text Puhg, which is a decent date. I spend a long long time in CVS. When I get home, I crack everything open at once and use it. Face scrub, a nail file, glasses cleaner.

I'm too late to church to sing of Easter gladdness. Oatmilk ginger iced chai. One thing SO LA is all the milks. I love all the milks. We have a girl's brunch. I don't have to think about writing or art or anything. We gossip about dating and gyms and I'm in love with this pink tile and the little bit of grunge here, everywhere. I Yelp donuts. I eat donuts (marshmallow peanut butter and cro-muffin). I send out the draft. I apply for a contest. Did I throw my money in a hole? Someone doesn't. Guy from the past invites me to an improv show. It's seedy but I am happy to go and see this dumb (it is very dumb) thing that will be here if I am. I have to go to sleep but I can't. I purposely didn't buy Easter candy all week. I cave, purchase M & M eggs, munch popcorn, watch Crazy Ex Girlfriend, fall asleep reading scary stories.