From the Jersey shore to Malibu shores
It was a year ago this week that I consciously made the decision to move out of New York and out to LA. This was meant to be the subject of last Saturday's post, pre-Frankenfinger, but really, I could blog a day for each thought that went through my mind that week. I took the week before Labor Day off for vacation, the one week of vacation Loving + Co. alotted to its first year employees, and that week changed my life. Or came at a time that I was ready to make a change.
It started on Friday, when I left the office at 1, and hopped on a 3PM flight to visit Ted in LA. We had rekindled our friendship earlier in the summer, and since he had come to visit me in NYC, I thought I would reciprocate. Friday night we went out with his friends, first to Toppers, and then to Gaslite (now, I know where all these places are; then, I had no clue). It was just a crazy fun night, fueled by nothing more than the good energy I had about being in LA.
Saturday, he had a whole day planned: we'd drive down to meet his friends in Laguna Beach, where we'd switch cars and drive down to the horse track in Del Mar, near San Diego. The ride took four hours and gave me my first sour taste of LA traffic, but once I got there, I couldn't get enough. I'm not a gambler, and couldn't have cared less about the horses; all I wanted was to sit in the sun and look at the hills and marvel at beauty of the day. I remember sitting outside, telling his friends about my job and my life, and realizing as I was telling them how miserable it all (and I) sounded. I was so jealous that they all got to live this life and I had to go back to the concrete confines of New York Shitty.
Sunday night was the clincher. Ted took me to Duke's in Malibu (now one of my favorite spots) where we sat outside and watched the sun set over the Pacific. All I could think was that it was like being on vacation, except this is what people actually DO in LA -- not watch football in bars or eat crappy sushi on Third Avenue, but they can actually watch the sun set over the ocean on a Sunday night and still only be 20 minutes from home.
I flew back on Monday, and had a layover in Cleveland. Because of storms (there are always storms in August on the East coast) the second flight was delayed for a few hours, and I sat at the bar and thought about how much more I would rather spend the night at the Cleveland airport than set foot on New York soil that night. Not only was California the "end-all be-all" in my mind, but New York had been downgraded to a lifestyle worse than that of the Midwest.
Tuesday I was so depressed I didn't leave my apartment. Wednesday I summoned up the energy to go Madison Square Park, which depressed me even more and I went back into hiding. It needs to be said that this was also the week of the Republican National Convention in New York (and only a few blocks west of me), which added more fuel to the claustrophic fire that the city had become.
Thursday I headed to my beach house in Point Pleasant. I took the train with my friend Amy, who grew up in LA, and spent the whole time telling her I thought I needed to move there. It was the first time I said it out loud. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night I slept in a bunk bed (on the top bunk, of course), and swore there was no way in hell I was doing this again next year.
Monday, Kris and I schlepped all of our crap from the entire summer onto the New Jersey Transit heading back to the city. During the two-hour commute, I made my decision. I didn't want to be in NYC this time next year. In the city you are forced out for the summer. But for me, the Hamptons are too pretentious and too expensive, the Jersey shore is too trashy, and Fire Island is too annoying to get to. And why SHOULD I be forced out? Couldn't I just be happy where I was? Not if I stayed in New York. But what would I do in LA? Go back to school? Um, no. It occured to me how many contacts I had out here and how it was actually the perfect time to move. But where would I live? Again, I had contacts and knew people, and nothing was going to be harder than I could handle. What about friends? What would I do? Well, I loved my friends in New York but wasn't crazy about our social options which usually consisted of getting wasted every weekend, and it wasn't exactly where I wanted to see myself at 29, let alone 30. I actually LIKED the idea of being responsible in LA, forced to stop at two drinks because you have to drive home. And what about driving? I hadn't done that in years - could I do it in LA? And that's when it hit me that most of the country doesn't live like I live, and NORMAL PEOPLE DRIVE! That's what people do! Why was I living like a non-normal person? Why were any of us!
I turned to Kris on the train and told her. I had lunch with Heather that afternoon in the city and told her. A week or two later I told my mom, and once I told her, it was a done deal.
I miss my friends, I miss them every day. But I don't miss the lifestyle, and am constantly surprised at just how nice things are out here. Things like tonight, driving home on the freeway, admiring the fuzzy outline of palm trees against the mixture of smog and sunset. It's a look that belongs only on a T-shirt, or maybe the opening credits of some TV show on Fox. A friend of mine recently told another friend that "LA really suits" me. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment.
It started on Friday, when I left the office at 1, and hopped on a 3PM flight to visit Ted in LA. We had rekindled our friendship earlier in the summer, and since he had come to visit me in NYC, I thought I would reciprocate. Friday night we went out with his friends, first to Toppers, and then to Gaslite (now, I know where all these places are; then, I had no clue). It was just a crazy fun night, fueled by nothing more than the good energy I had about being in LA.
Saturday, he had a whole day planned: we'd drive down to meet his friends in Laguna Beach, where we'd switch cars and drive down to the horse track in Del Mar, near San Diego. The ride took four hours and gave me my first sour taste of LA traffic, but once I got there, I couldn't get enough. I'm not a gambler, and couldn't have cared less about the horses; all I wanted was to sit in the sun and look at the hills and marvel at beauty of the day. I remember sitting outside, telling his friends about my job and my life, and realizing as I was telling them how miserable it all (and I) sounded. I was so jealous that they all got to live this life and I had to go back to the concrete confines of New York Shitty.
Sunday night was the clincher. Ted took me to Duke's in Malibu (now one of my favorite spots) where we sat outside and watched the sun set over the Pacific. All I could think was that it was like being on vacation, except this is what people actually DO in LA -- not watch football in bars or eat crappy sushi on Third Avenue, but they can actually watch the sun set over the ocean on a Sunday night and still only be 20 minutes from home.
I flew back on Monday, and had a layover in Cleveland. Because of storms (there are always storms in August on the East coast) the second flight was delayed for a few hours, and I sat at the bar and thought about how much more I would rather spend the night at the Cleveland airport than set foot on New York soil that night. Not only was California the "end-all be-all" in my mind, but New York had been downgraded to a lifestyle worse than that of the Midwest.
Tuesday I was so depressed I didn't leave my apartment. Wednesday I summoned up the energy to go Madison Square Park, which depressed me even more and I went back into hiding. It needs to be said that this was also the week of the Republican National Convention in New York (and only a few blocks west of me), which added more fuel to the claustrophic fire that the city had become.
Thursday I headed to my beach house in Point Pleasant. I took the train with my friend Amy, who grew up in LA, and spent the whole time telling her I thought I needed to move there. It was the first time I said it out loud. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night I slept in a bunk bed (on the top bunk, of course), and swore there was no way in hell I was doing this again next year.
Monday, Kris and I schlepped all of our crap from the entire summer onto the New Jersey Transit heading back to the city. During the two-hour commute, I made my decision. I didn't want to be in NYC this time next year. In the city you are forced out for the summer. But for me, the Hamptons are too pretentious and too expensive, the Jersey shore is too trashy, and Fire Island is too annoying to get to. And why SHOULD I be forced out? Couldn't I just be happy where I was? Not if I stayed in New York. But what would I do in LA? Go back to school? Um, no. It occured to me how many contacts I had out here and how it was actually the perfect time to move. But where would I live? Again, I had contacts and knew people, and nothing was going to be harder than I could handle. What about friends? What would I do? Well, I loved my friends in New York but wasn't crazy about our social options which usually consisted of getting wasted every weekend, and it wasn't exactly where I wanted to see myself at 29, let alone 30. I actually LIKED the idea of being responsible in LA, forced to stop at two drinks because you have to drive home. And what about driving? I hadn't done that in years - could I do it in LA? And that's when it hit me that most of the country doesn't live like I live, and NORMAL PEOPLE DRIVE! That's what people do! Why was I living like a non-normal person? Why were any of us!
I turned to Kris on the train and told her. I had lunch with Heather that afternoon in the city and told her. A week or two later I told my mom, and once I told her, it was a done deal.
I miss my friends, I miss them every day. But I don't miss the lifestyle, and am constantly surprised at just how nice things are out here. Things like tonight, driving home on the freeway, admiring the fuzzy outline of palm trees against the mixture of smog and sunset. It's a look that belongs only on a T-shirt, or maybe the opening credits of some TV show on Fox. A friend of mine recently told another friend that "LA really suits" me. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment.
Labels: Los Angeles, New York
posted by Lori @ 9:10 PM
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