Random chick at the beach, so West Side.
“When I first moved to L.A.” is like a boring fucking way to start any post, but never the less, “When I first moved to L.A.” I actually didn’t really have any pre-conceived notions of how it was going to go. I hadn’t heard anything about like “East side rules,” “West side is for yuppies,” etc., because I never really cared that much about L.A. Being from San Francisco, I just saw myself inevitably moving here, eventually, and thought I would figure it all out when that inevitability came to pass. And it has. And I’m here. And I actually live on the East Side (Hollywood, to be exact – about a half block from the cemetery [obviously] – come say hi.) but my boyfriend, who is the most “East Side ONLY, FOREVER” person I have met since I’ve been here, recently relocated out West. So here I am. In Culver City or something. At his place. And, whatever, I totally dig it. Before you get your East Side 4EVA panties in a twist, here are some justifications to my current thought pattern listed numerically, but in no particular order.
Five Reasons Not to Hate the West Side
1. It’s Close to The Beach – Yeah, I said it. And fuck off! The beach is fucking cool. To be honest, I haven’t even been there yet since I moved down here. But the fact that it’s nearly tangible and I can practically hear the junkies of 90’s Venice Beach begging me for change is comforting. And we live by the beach, so the air is way cleaner.* (*Note that this is in no way based on anything but my instincts, which are generally totally wrong.)
2. It’s Safe – This is really fucking hilarious that I was just thinking this (ha ha), because literally seven minutes ago or something, we heard three sporadic gun shots right outside of the house. Cool. But, that’s what’s up generally right? The West Side is full of highlighted hair and white BMW convertibles. So it’s super safe. I don’t know why I’m shaking right now.
3. There is Honesty in the Dishonesty – Okay, what I mean is that when you go to those fun fun funny art gallery-themed drug fests on the East Side hosted by Lindsay Hilton’s BFF’s personal assistant or whatever they try and trick you into thinking they are “started from the bottom now they here” type of people — and listen, I don’t really care if you have money or you don’t, but I find it easier to have conversations with people that are like, even unconsciously self-aware. Much rather hang out with a “I’m so stressed because my Xanax prescription ran out and my therapist is getting married to his boyfriend in this remote location in South America this week so I have THREE FUCKING DAYS before I can even get to him via email and get a refill called in” than a “Life is a dark pit of misery and my parents will never understand” 30-year old slowly chipping away at their trust fund while living in the biggest loft on Skid Row to get some attention. I just mean, if you’re Hollywood as shit, be Hollywood as shit. Wear sunglasses at night and do cocaine. Who cares? Be a pre-med. Fuck your art show. * (*I should have prefaced this with 1. I recently went to a Unif sample sale and had a major self-awakening moment about almost being 30 and wearing inverted crosses and 2. I am on my second glass of red wine)
4. Grocery Stores – My boyfriend (why do I feel so SATC when I say that? I want to look in the mirror and say “shut up, idiot” for using the phrase “my boyfriend more than once in any conversation or blog post) lived in Boyle Heights and I was over Smart & Final. I’m one of those delusional people that wants to “eat organic” or whatever. It was getting pretty annoying to sit in 30+ minutes of traffic to buy credible meat products.
5. It’s Closer to My Office – I think this one is self-explanatory. Come on. When you live here, an extra two miles = and extra 32 minutes on Monday morning.
Do you love the West Side? Do you hate the West Side? Are you a ride or die East Sider? Leave it in the comments. Let’s talk.
I like you.
Words: Chloe Newsom
