THERE IS SOMETHING YOU WANT TO SAY, I'M NOT ASKING

Midnight on last Wednesday. I was at Mercury Lounge enjoying my favorite New York band White Rabbits, tits deep in vodka and anticipation for a somewhat spontaneous long weekend in LA. There were your traditional New York indie industry wanks claiming the opener was something special and my traditional take-your-pants-off catcall. White Rabbits killed it, even with their predominantly unknown new material. There goes that whole "I hate all things indie" mantra.



4:00 am last Wednesday. I was at JFK with the usual suspects of grumpy early morning travel. It didn't even occur to me that it was Oscar weekend, but the revelation and abundance of potential celebs lent an extrafun air to my favorite JFK-LAX bored game - "Who's that and what have they done to their FACE?"

Now, in the past, I've declared myself an LA-hater. Found it lonely, alienating, boring. So imagine my trepidation boarding a flight with few set plans and a host stuck in studioland. Turns out my fears were unwarranted. I have amazing friends in LA (and in the case of Sarah Nir, an amazing friend with perfectly timed coincidental travel plans).

A lot of specific memories have been rendered private - mainly because the combination of Brooke Dulien, Ollie Stone, Adam Bravin and the power of suggestion resulted in me becoming quite friendly with an unfortunate mix of vodka and tequila, also known as the "did I do that?" So let's explore my trip in pictures. This will be just as revelatory for me.


That's me and Dez at Toast. My expression is either excitement over finding Spongebob, tasting Not yo Mamas Grilled Cheese, or spotting Chris Noth. I'm gonna go with the latter because Dez is clearly hogging the Spongebob book and I am clearly holding a menu. Whatever the case, we saw Chris Noth. And Ollie paparrazzied. That's my girl.

After lunch, we head over to the Grove for my first visit to the farmers market. I like hot sauce. I was stoked.


You know what I don't like though? Candy apples. I don't really get candy apples. I mean, they're awesome to look at, clearly:


But try eating one. You end up covered in goo with nuts in your hair. That's what she said.

Another night, Ollie and Caleb took me on a downtown adventure.







Those can be labeled: Karen n' Coles, Ollie n' whiskey, Caleb n' rye, dunno, dunno part deux, and what you doin' Bar 107 bathroom.

Somewhere amidst this excitement, Brooke decked me out in the coolest fucking jewelry on the planet, Adam and I failed to find the best bloody mary in LA, and Ian had a dream about me, a tutu-bottomed cocktail dress and a bunk bed.

Yeah, LA is one helluva trip.