How was my summer, you ask
Ah loyal readership. Last you heard of my faltering existence I was heading off, tearfully, into the sun of Los Angeles, city of douchebags and dreams. This is a tale of the lowest lows and the highest highs, followed by mediocre lows.
The first few weeks in LA were as I am sure you can imagine complete misery. I spent my nights watching all the channels of TV in my sublet. Things that made me cry: “300,” “Knocked Up,” Tila Tequila’s “Shot at Love,” and greasy men in fedoras. (By the end of the summer, the first three had lost their emotional impact. The same cannot be said for the...
You are so awesome. Seriously.