Why You’d Want to Live Here
Everyone has an opinion on California. The red states hate us because we have the most electoral votes and apparently we’re all granola eating, vegan hippies that smoke pot. The longest I’ve been Vegan is two months. But these red state dwellers also like to come here on vacation. So, do they hate us because they ain’t us?
Possibly. I have my own opinions on California, being a native of this seismic activity plagued paradise.
There’s three universes within the Golden State: San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego. San Fran is crunchy and granola. Los Angeles has god awful traffic and everyone there has an ego. San Diego has just the right mixture of chill vibes, hustle and bustle and superficiality. What about the O.C.? That’s just L.A. junior. We’re all in the same state but couldn’t be more different, save the homelessness epidemic.
But for all of the love of the Golden State...I’ll leave it to Death Cab for Cutie to explain my feelings on the City of Angels by way of discussing a surprise opportunity for myself.
Alexa play “Why You’d Want to Live Here” by Death Cab for Cutie…
“And I can’t see why you’d want to live here. Billboards reach past the tallest buildings. We are not perfect but we sure do try. As UV rays degradate our youth with time.”
I always feel out of place in Los Angeles because of my laid back demeanor. But nothing made me feel more out of place than when I drove up to Burbank for a test shoot with Playboy. Yes, that Playboy. It’s always shocking to people because I don’t fit the mold of a typical Playboy bunny. But, yes it happened.
We’ll start with the fact that it did not make anyone in my family nor my boyfriend at the time happy. I had zero support from the people in my life when I decided to give it a shot. My mother thought I was doing some sort of porn casting couch thing. My stepdad couldn’t fathom me being naked on camera. My boyfriend at the time was just like “Meh. I’m stoned. Whatever”. I was the only one who thought “Hey, this could lead to other things but if it doesn’t, at least it’s a good story someday”.
Everyone else be damned, I drove my ass up to Burbank and sat in 4.5 hours of traffic in the sweltering summer heat without air conditioning. The air conditioning had gone out in my ex-boyfriend’s Jeep and we were sharing a vehicle because my Volkswagen Beetle shat on me again at that time (I got rid of it a year later*).
“And it’s a lovely summer’s day. I can almost see a skyline through the thickening shroud of egos. Is this the city of angels or demons?”
After sitting in traffic for almost 5 hours, I was flustered. My hair was a little too tight after leaving in my hot rollers in my hair most of the drive to Los Angeles. I wanted looser curls. So not only was my hair not functioning the way I wanted to, but my makeup was starting to break up from sweating the whole drive up there. Needless to say, the security who was to escort me up to the test shoot site had to wait for me to freshen up.
I thought I was all to the good until I saw the other two girls sitting in the lounge area taking selfies on iPads for our model profiles. I’m a 32D which is not small by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m not gigantic. These girls had bigger boobs and looked the part of a Playboy model: Blonde. Oh no.
Also, I was 28 at the time. These girls had to have been in their early 20s. One was actually 19. The 19 year old asked myself and the other girl if we were doing nude. To which I replied: “Well, it is Playboy. I kind of expected some nudity involved. But I brought a bikini and lingerie in case they want those shots too”. The other girl replied, “Um, I didn’t shave. So, no”. It had occurred to me that maybe they were so young, that they never came across their father’s Playboy magazines by accident. My friend’s dad growing up kept them in his bathroom for entertainment purposes, I’m sure. The lotion on the counter was just in case your hands got dry.
So, while I came prepared physically to be naked having worked out twice a day leading up to the test shoot — I was not prepared mentally for how fucking awkward it is to talk about yourself naked while being videotaped. It’s all a blur now, but I’m pretty sure I gabbed about how much I love football and how cool of a girlfriend that makes me. I may have mentioned something about protesting that summer and being politically active. Whatever it was that I said, it probably came out shaky because I was also focused on not falling in my 6 inch heels while doing the model spin. Why should you expect me to walk and chew bubblegum at the same time?
“The vessel keeps pumping us through this entropic place. In the belly of the beast that is Californ-I-A…”
After everything was done and I was getting dressed, my stepdad decides to call and give me his blessing. Oh, NOW you’re ok with it after stressing me out and making me feel like a trash person for doing this? I guess his friends helped him see that it could open doors to other things. He had a “Come to Jesus” moment.
Needless to say, I didn’t get picked. But I thought about all of the hopefuls who come to Los Angeles by Greyhound or one way plane ticket to try to make it happen in a city consumed by perfect outward appearances and façades. I thought about how my mere few hours in Los Angeles was damaging to my already fragile psyche regarding how I saw myself in a mirror.
“And I can't see why you'd want to live here. Billboards reach past the tallest buildings. You can't swim in a town this shallow, as you will most assuredly drown tomorrow…”
Overlooking the 405 from the Getty Center. Photo by yours truly