Since my boyfriend moved to L.A. a year and a half ago, the one question I constantly get asked is, 'So when are you moving to L.A.?' My initial reaction is always, 'Well, I don't know. I need to finish school first and then we'll see what happens.' I've always been the pessimist in our relationship. I pick apart every little thing. I never really go with the flow and hope for the best, although I wish I was that type of person. I contemplate whether I will be able to get a job there, what if I became deathly ill and didn't have health insurance, what if I just got a cavity and couldn't get it filled, and omg I need to figure out how the fuck to get around in that city without crashing.
On my most recent trip I went for my first hike at Runyon Canyon. Entering the park is something reminiscent of Jurassic Park; large palm trees hovered in the sky and daunting hills in the perimeter. I felt like I was entering an island with no escape. As we hiked the twisted pathways I expected some large creature to come out at every turn and my foot to get stuck in a web of living vines trying to bring me to the mother Venus Fly Trap. Instead, every turn revealed bleach blonde extensions, plastic boobs, bros with their rottweilers, porn stars from the valley keeping fit for their next role and washed up 90210 actors. At one point we got caught up in a group tour of the canyon and just when thought we could escape I almost photo bombed multiple girls bum-fies with the smoggy L.A. silhouette as the backdrop. I can honestly say I wouldn't mind hiking through the Jurassic Park of L.A. every Saturday...perhaps next time I'll run into Kylie Jenner taking Norman for a walk, I'll compliment her on her Yeezy Boost sneakers and we'll become BFFs.
Maybe I will move there? But first I should probably fly a plane, repair a car engine or maybe get a job with California's sanitation department.