If We Get Bored, We'll Move To California

A year has passed since I moved to West Hollywood, California, and so much has happened…

Lindsey went to rehab.
Paris chopped her hair off into a bob.
The Intermix store opened on Robertson.
Slash published his G ‘n’ R memoir, aptly titled “Slash.”
Britney missed several depositions.
Her sis, Jamie-Lynn became preggers.
Fred Segal had a 90%-off sale.
And it almost snowed.
(Wait…that was somewhere else.)

Amidst the chaos, I’ve adjusted to LA, with all of its good and bad, but never boring, attributes. I’ve also absorbed a lot of useful knowledge. Here are some key findings:

Online Comedy Traffic School, while thorough and informative, is not as funny as one would hope.

My upstairs neighbors (three male Swedish triplets) seldom wear shirts.

The hookers who used to live in my apartment had a fondness for French hook
earrings.

There are four public restrooms on or near Melrose: The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf, Johnny Rocket’s, Antonio’s, and The Fairfax Senior Citizens Center.

Apparently, Ron Jeremy and I hang out in the same circles.

The Coronet Pub’s signature drink “17 Days In a Crackhouse” is quite savory. (I would say it’s probably better than spending 17 days in a crackhouse.)

Tokyo Delves is, indeed, the Japanese equivalent to Chuck-E-Cheese. No Jasper T. Jowls or skee-ball, though.

The ratio of collagen lip augmentations to frozen yogurt stands is, oddly, about the same.

If you wish to save cash on your next colonic, there’s always a valuable coupon in your weekly Money Mailer.

There are often times when it would be useful to speak Spanish. At the gas station, for example. Or Target.

The tiniest, nondescript place in West Hollywood can become immortalized on an episode of “The Hills.”

Sunset Tan, for some reason, is fascinating enough to garner its own show on E!

Give a homeless man a Slim Jim, and you have a friend for life.

If your parking space is located next to a dumpster, your car will be the hot make-out spot for stray cats.

Raccoons are about the size of Shelties. They, too, tend to loiter near your car (if your space is next to a dumpster.)

If you’re at The Belmont in West Hollywood and a 30-something British man in a woolen scarf asks you if you’ve ever seen uncircumcised penis before, regardless of your answer—you are about to see an uncircumcised penis.

Sometimes, after 12:30 a.m. in Hollywood, you can talk a $10 parking lot attendant down to a more reasonable $5.

With the high number of dogs in LA, one could step in dog excrement at any time, anywhere. Even on a date.

It is perfectly acceptable to wear platform stripper shoes in a step aerobics class.

To entertain yourself while stuck in traffic, learn all of the words to Snoop Dogg’s “Gin & Juice.” Later, apply this knowledge at your next karaoke outing.

You’d think that dried palm tree leaves wouldn’t hurt if they smacked you in the face when you ran under them. But they do.

A fishnet body stocking makes a suitable Halloween costume.

Sometimes, a public establishment is safe. Then you hear about the gang-related shooting that took place the week prior.

If it’s 54 degrees, weather-appropriate attire in Los Angeles might include any of the following: flip-flops, a hoodie or an Eskimo-esque winter coat.

Uggs: fashion’s great question mark.

An orange face does not equal a tan face.

El Pollo Loco means “the crazy chicken.”

My friend’s friend’s uncle was The Hamburgler in the McDonald’s commercials.

In addition to g-strings, fishnets, dildos, vibrators, lubes, XXX films and “Officer Naughty” ensembles, the Hustler store also sells pipin’-hot, fresh coffee. (‘Cause hey, no one wants to fall asleep in the dildo aisle.)

To sum up the 6 p.m. commute from the Westside to West Hollywood in a word: clusterfuck.

And lastly—
after a year in LA, I still get excited when I see someone in a Cardinals’ baseball cap and must immediately strike up a conversation.