don’t mean maybe
When I move to LA, I’m going to have to declare some ground rules:
- It is possible to have too much fun. I am only one person.
- I will have to make a rule where I’m only allowed to go out four nights a week.
- I will begin drinking more water than whiskey. Whiskey seems to be more expensive in LA.
- I don’t care how good the song is. If I can’t feel my spine anymore, stop dancing. My body will thank me tomorrow.
- Don’t drive. Be a professional passenger. Get by on free rides with my sparkling personality and never-ending wit.
- I am only allowed to go into Samuel French once a month.
- Stop looking at menu prices. I end up looking at a BLT and asking myself, “But am I really like nine-dollar hungry?”
I had a blast. People kept asking me if I was having fun, and the entire time I kept thinking, “I’m never going to have this much fun here again. It’s not possible. I don’t have to drive, I’m not paying rent, and sometimes I’m not even paying for my drinks. I’m meeting people I never thought I’d meet and hanging out with some of my best friends in the world. There’s no way.”
What if that was the pinnacle of my LA experience?
And Austin seems warmer than when I left. And the crickets seem louder. The air conditioning is really noticeable. The cats looked cleaner than when I left them. Everyone here looks different than what I remembered. I went to a party last night where I just had to walk across my parking lot. That seems unreal after having driven the night before fifteen minutes to go down a few streets. I’m overreacting, I know. But it was like looking at a life that you don’t really have, but you could have, if you made the right choices. Then you’re back in your current life, and you’re seeing the differences.
I’m very lucky to be moving to a city where I already have a large number of friends who have been there long enough to be able to offer me advice and some much-needed assistance. I’m not going to run out of couches to crash on, or people to spend time with.
It feels like it’s going to be forever before I’m there again, but I know that this summer is going to breeze by. With the upcoming shows, traveling, and preparing for the move, I’m sure it’ll be late summer before I know it.
I really hate that it’s so far away. I just got on a plane Saturday afternoon and sat between two kids arguing over Kid Rock and Eminem (the ten-year old girl asked how much I “dropped” for my iBook), and a few hours later I was two time zones away. Too far to call up and go get coffee. Too far to talk on the phone all night long. Too far to see movies together. Or go dancing. They’re just over there and I have to make the next move to see them again, because they aren’t all coming here. It’s up to me if I want to see them. And once I get there, I’m just going to miss the people here even more. All of this flying around I’ve been doing and am about to do makes me think sometimes, “This country isn’t all that big. I can just get in a plane and go see them.” But it’s all the planning that makes it so different. Asking off work. Getting enough money for plane fare. Packing. Finding a place to stay. Paying to eat out every evening. Renting a car. Depending on someone else to have a shower or watch television. You can’t just stop by some bar and see everyone.
This is why I don’t do entries late at night. Sorry. I just miss my friends.
New Webhead for ya (where I get all nostalgic and show you my sensitive paranoid side), and here’s a new gig of mine, Ironminds. I have a little break-up with MTV. One day up and someone already thinks I’m an idiot on their forum. Rock.
(Oh, and I just wanted to thank Laura for showing me LA’s liquid crack: The Coffee Bean. Lordy, I think I’m still wired.)
It’s the next day now, and I just finished shooting a commercial for Bad Dog Comedy Theatre. Now I’m swamped at work.
But I just wanted to thank everyone for the Diarist Legacy Award. Now that I’m out of the running for any more awards from diarist.net ever, I’m just happy to step out of the fire.
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