blame it on la

There comes a time in everyone's life, when you realize that maybe it's time to stop complaining and maybe just suck it up. You say to yourself, "I'm just going to make the best of my current situation." Maybe you like music and you want to start throwing out Fred Durst aka Wordsworth quotes, "Time can change me, but I can't change time, so F it!" Yes, I know that's not how the original song goes, take it up with Fred! In this particular case, I came to that conclusion a few weeks ago. I felt as though I'd finally run out of negative things to say about Los Angeles, which I took as a bit of a breakthrough. I felt myself moving past my initial anger and bitterness and I felt a big smoggy, dusty weight being lifted off of my ever so slight shoulders. Not gonna lie, it felt kind of good, if not a tad bit on the fleeting side. While I knew never to allow myself to get complacent, I did maybe allow myself to verbally compliment the city or at least something about it once or twice.

Now, I'm not the most trusting person in the world, in fact I like to proceed with caution. Yet, because things had been running so smoothly I didn't look at the break in my string of bad luck as the "Calm Before The Storm" that it was. Instead, I skipped and frolicked along as though I'd finally won the battle of LA and I was now enjoying the spoils of my victory! I was getting the peace and clarity I so richly deserved, since I'd never done anything to make LA hate me the way it does. I felt triumphant in the fact that I'd finally made this city my bitch or at least my booty call. So you can imagine my surprise Tuesday morning, when I bounced out of my apartment, Vitamin Water and yogurt in hand, off to spend another fine day breaking up marriages. While whistling a happy tune and bounding down the sidewalk toward my beloved car, I began to make a mental list of all the ways a wife can call her husband a loser. It was only then that I happened to catch a glimpse of my car across the street. My car is silver, but i couldn't help notice that the silver seemed to be complimented by some specifically placed industrial orange that just shouldn't have been there. I knew immediately what it was, in fact it was so obvious and inevitable, I don't think I even bothered cursing about it. My car had sooo been booted!

Ok. Seriously. I know that there are parking issues in pretty much every major metropolitan area. New York is a meter maid's wet dream, Boston keeps its workers in shape by having them run outside every two hours to feed the meters. But there is something shady about the way LA does it's ticket business. You may be thinking "Hey Jackass! Quit bitching, you should have paid your tickets." To that I say "whatever dude." I'm like OJ Simpson and I don't believe the rules apply to me. Besides, half my tickets were bogus. Um, a ticket for not having my car registered? Not true. A ticket for not having my parking pass on display? What's that in the window douche bag? The fact is the system is backwards and I just can't get with their big dumb "ticket you for no reason policies." As far as contesting the bogus tickets? I already said the rules don't apply to me! Maybe I did owe for the other three tickets, but that's neither here nor there. The fact is I guess the boot saved my life, because I was starting to get comfortable, at least now I remember, LA will never be my friend.

BIt's been a slow week. Ok, sure, there were a few earth shattering events. Britney Spears taught us that you really can't go home again, at least not if you've just polished of an Ambien, Xanax, and Oxycontin cocktail or two. I've certainly learned a few things about bikini sizing, which I appreciate. We were also treated to a new season of "The Biggest Loser" which NBC inexplicably debuted on September 11th, random? Only if you say so. But hey, that's all kid stuff when you think about what really happened this week! The world's most famous aquitted celebrity Killer, OJ Simpson came crashing back on the scene! That guy's publicist is clearly working overtime. First, his extraordinary and flawless "fictional" account of Nicole Brown-Simpson and Ronald Goldman's brutal, foresicaly prestine murder has managed to climb to the number one position on Amazon.com! Way to go OJ! It just proves that with hard work, a stunning lack of self-awareness, bad knees, and a kitchen knife, you can accomplish even the what may seem at the time to be the most impossible of goals.

The thing with OJ, is that as a professional athlete, he clearly has the heart of a champion. He's no Britney! Oh no! OJ knows that you have to go big or go home! If you didn't come to win, don't come at all, and I have to say that I admire that about him. When you want a proper comeback, you can't just lethargically wander around a stage lip-syncing in your underwear, heck no, especially if your not new to the fame game. Established stars need an event, something hot, something no one else at your level has done before. I've certainly had my share of wacky ideas, but wow OJ. I have to say that breaking into a hotel room with two thugs while running your own "Sting Operation" falls just this side of genius. Quite honestly, if I heard someone had one of my suits and was planning to sell it, I might be tempted to do the same. Go big or go home people! Sure, OJ may be a double murderer, with a funny limp, a pumpkin head, and a loose grip on reality, but seriously I have to admire his tenacity. I'm just waiting for his next project, I hear it's an album of ballads produced by Phil Spector.

Ok, whoa! Let's start by saying that I'm not afraid of a little warm weather. I'd also like to state that even though I don't use Compact Fluorescent Bulbs, I do live a "mentally" green lifestyle, I've thought about recycling and I even stayed home and watched the "Live Earth" concerts all the way through. Point is I like to think I've done my part to combat global warming. Which is why I was so caught off guard by the Mercury-esque temperatures that have been baking Los Angeles all this week, broiling both small animals and senior citizens alike.

I thought that my African heritage, coupled with my generous endowment of melanin would have helped prepare me to endure what others might call "extreme" temperatures. But triple digits?! That's taking it to a whole new level which by the way is bordering on unnecessary. Seriously, it's enough to make me wish I hadn't hosted all of those Styrofoam bonfires back in the eighties.

Before I came to the West Coast, I had some preconceived ideas of what the weather here was like. I was led to believe that the temperature in LA, this city with no personality, no natural water source, and most conspicuously, no seasons, was always a balmy 77 degrees. What I wasn't told is that there would be weeks I would be trapped in my apartment because going outside would nullify my medical insurance for ignoring the heat advisory. Turns out they don't tell you everything in those travel brochures!

Warm weather is nice, fire and brimstone, not so much. Heat doesn't bother me, but feeling like Hell just opened up a theme park does. It's times like these that it occurs to me that global warming is a real thing. Even worse, it makes me wish I'd gone a little easier on the "Brut" in the eigth grade. What have I done?