VirginiaEddie

I decided to change the title of my blog to I HATE Los Angeles. It’s official. I really do. Now that I have a job here, I have to stay. This is a bad economy. A negative, economic downturn. A minus sign instead of a plus sign. Check my bank account for evidence. Fuck that, check your bank account. So I stay in L.A., the most expensive city in the world, just barely getting by on a mousey hourly paycheck. Sure the stats might say different but the point is it feels that way here, and when something feels a certain way, that’s really all that matters. Like for example, I felt like my last boyfriend didn’t love me. And even though he’d say he did, and even though he insisted I was paranoid and insecure the point is I felt that way. And so I feel like L.A. sucks. And so it does

When you’re not paying another parking ticket, you're shoving your car full of expensive gas or taking forever at the supermarket to buy things that you can both afford and eat. Going out is stressful because nobody wants to get so drunk they forget they’re poor and start offering to buy their friends drinks. You know, like in the good old times when you picked up the tab?

This time I don’t have boyfriend keeping me here, this time I have a job. A low-paying, hard-working job. So not a day goes by that I’m not reminded how my work is unappreciated by the very fact that people who do much less than me, make much much more. To leave, I would have to figure out what to do with my car. I do not want to drive it alone, across this country. I would, but only if I was with friends and we were making a documentary about it. And everyone is so busy being stressed out and working that those kind of important, creative experiences just don’t happen anymore. You don't even dare propose them to avoid getting slapped in the face or the evil eye. We’re all just sitting at a desk somewhere or having a meeting, with the hopes that this will all get better. And if you could just please respect that please thank you!

I’m stuck here at this job getting to touch Chanel all day and write about it, or Gucci or Missoni or Marc or Jacobs or Tiffanys or my god are you panties wet yet? Mine aren’t anymore cause see, I can’t afford any of the stuff I advertise on the site. The stuff that I make sell, I can't even afford with the markdown. I have to say really great things about, and the girl who’s going to wear it, “how chic she is!” "How modern!"and in doing that I have to completely lose my identity and pretend I am her. Then she goes away and leaves me there, in my big black desk chair that stopped being "comfy" like a Sahara Wrap Scarf, three hours ago.

It's to the point where I don’t even know if I like clothes anymore. I just want a leather, one-piece slim fitting suit with metal hooks for my keys and and discreet buckles for dressing here and there. I want protection. I'm thinking Edward Scissorhands outfit before the ladies in town dressed him. I wasnt pure utilitarianism. Especially in a town like this.

You could argue that it’s a cool job in this really successful recession. You could argue that it’s better than going back to Connecticut to walk the dog and dinner with you mom, at least here there are endless things to do and see. But I’d like to see my mom. Or my brother. More than I’d like to see anything else any weekend. And they’re all thousands of miles away. And I’m stuck here, again. I keep ending up back here, dreaming of New York City or the east coast. My dad. It would be fine only I have a feeling that I’m not supposed to be here, like I’m making some kind of mistake by staying here. I feel like I'm missing out on something back home. Maybe I’m wrong. A friend last night said, “Well you don’t know now, why you are here. But you will in time. Some time will pass and you’ll realize why you were here and it will make sense.” We were sharing a Philly steak sandwich at the shortstop and I was ketchuping my like I always do before I eat them.  I gave it some thought, staring at the wet red stuff, then looking at his face. And I suddenly felt at ease. Anyways, I had to believe him because we had just left the funk soul night next door at the Echo and anyone that can move that quickly, yet that smoothly has got to be right about things. He was very soft-spoken and when he finished his bite, he nudged me and said, “You’ll see." I smiled.