Open Letter To An Asshole #1

Bubbles from The Wire. Not a douche.

Since I started this blog, I dreamed of a special type of post called "An Open Letter to an Asshole I dreamed of conversations chock full of stupidity overheard at The Coffee Bean and camera phone shots of inconsiderate parking and awful boob jobs. It turns out I don't get out of the house enough to discover any of those. But finally, here's my moment. Ladies and gentlemen, my first “An Open Letter To a Douche” post.

Dear Asshole that Smashed the Passenger Side Window of Car to Steal Our GPS Holder and Battery Charger: What the fuck? Seriously? Really? What other expressions of exasperation regularly used by white people can I say right now? I'll even throw in a “What Would Jesus Do?” Would Jesus smash the front passenger side window of a car to steal a plastic GPS holder and charger? No. No, he would not. Since I have a particular knack for taking everything personally, I can't help to think this "random" act of theft was somehow targeted at me. Were you hanging out around the bend of Boston Street behind that weird construction site garbage bin waiting for an asshole to pull up? Did you catch a sight of my off the rack Banana Republic sweater and Factory Store Coach bag and think, "This bitch is going down."? I might appear to be The Man. Perhaps to you I am The Man. I assure you in the grand scheme of this "Bank and Auto Industry Bailout " World, I am not The Man. I was returning from an audition for a non-paying local commercial. And it's the first audition I had in weeks. When I discovered the glass shard ejaculate sprayed throughout inside of the car, the result of your ne'er-do-wellness, I was on my way to shakedown the guy I subletted from for the deposit owed to me because mommy needs some new headshots and Unemployment is running out. You smashed the window of a Nissan Versa. A Versa. Do you know what a Versa is? Take a perfectly fine Sentra and then add a John Deere lawnmower engine. The Versa is made for people who drive like they live their lives: in the right lane at a crisp 45 MPH. Trust me, I am not The Man. Did it piss you off that the Hope Diamond of this scheme, the actual Garmin Nuvi GPS was nestled safely in my Factory Store Coach bag? Are you in bed right now, staring at the ceiling wondering if procuring a battery charger that goes to nothing is worth committing a crime? Was it worth it? For us, it wasn't worth the $180 for a new piece of glass. Now if you stole the whole pane of glass, and just the pane of glass instead of destroying it, that would be impressive. It would be take me a day or two to figure out why the A/C isn't working. What exactly is the street value of a plastic GPS holder? What do you get for that? I've seen The Wire and Bubbles worked hard for his dope. He knew how took to fuck The Man and still get his fix. He made counterfeit money, stole copper piping from condo construction sites and sold it to a scrap shop at a competitive price, and snitched on drug dealers to the cops for extra cash. Bubbles knew to not bother with the Straights and earn his keep. If he wanted a consumer product, he shop lifted it from Wal-Mart like every other respectable person and stoned college student. Perhaps it's unfair to insinuate you have a substance abuse problem gone awry. Perhaps you're a modern day, Angeleno Heights version of Les Miserables and need baby formula. Times are rough. Regardless of personal property, we're all in the same neighborhood together, a neighborhood that I have to explain to people who have lived in LA for years. We're all trying to get through the day and hold on to hope for a better day, a better week, a better year, a better audition. Don't be an asshole. Don't make me draft a sternly worded letter to the local police precinct on my new Crane stationery and hold Community Watch Meetings as a thinly veiled excuse to serve wine and make human contact. And if you're going to break a car window and ransack a glove box, at least steal a DMV registration or insurance card and steal the car owner's identity. Our credit history will get you a lot further than a charger that retails for $29. Our credit scores have increased since buying that shit Versa you broke into. Warmest Regards, Laura

Big Decision Announcement: Stylin' it up

Yes, Alex must wear the same shirt in every picture.

This weekend Alex and I walked around Venice. Venice Beach is basically Coney Island meets Chinatown. It's gross and dirty and there's a lot of shitty merchandise that hasn't moved since it was shipped from Taiwan. Abbot Kinney Blvd is great and we loved this wine bar/shop, Venice Beach Wines. We drove along the PCH to Santa Monica and Malibu. During our journey I decided I'm going to have a...lifestyle. It's kind of what you're supposed to do out here. I've known working to pay bills so you can do the work that you don't get paid for, not getting work to pay bills and freaking out about it, not even getting the work you want to do that doesn't pay, trying to figure out how to get paid for work you want to do, talking about work, hating work, wanting work. Work. I don't know what exactly what it means to have a lifestyle. I think you need to have very strong opinions about food and food preparation, read a lot of magazines, walk and hike and invest in a lot of accessories to help you walk and hike, keep a wine journal or a scrapbook or a scrapbook of your wine journals, say "hi" to people you don't know, be really into your pet, make weekend plans, take an assortment of cooking, yoga, Pilates, and meditation classes, ingest vitamin supplements regularly, make the bed, and grow stuff. I draw the line at wearing Crocs and doing a Master Cleanse. I don't know what led to to this decision. It happened sometime around my busy schedule of finding reasons to go to CVS down and signing up for a Slow Food Nation Club to make friends. So here's to you: Career That's Chugging Along at a Snail's Pace While I File for Unemployment! I won't spend a sleepless moment white knuckling my road to success and questioning if moving 3,000 miles away from everything I knew was a mistake. Instead, I raise my glass of Sauvignon Blanc I read about in Sunset Magazine's feature on "Bargain White Wines for Spring" and toast to you. Keep moving along, Career. I'll lubricate your gears by writing nervous emails to my manager and agent and signing up for temp agencies. Right now I'm busy taste testing my free range Olive Tapenade for the next meeting of my Decorative Throw Pillow Swap Club.

I was waiting for that one LA thing to make my head explode and here it is

While sitting unshowered at noon finding any reason to not go outside and attempt to exercise, I found this little ad on top of a casting site: http://www.realityu.tv/. It's Reality TV College! A program aimed to give you the tools and resources to be a Reality TV star. The curriculum includes improvisation, how to perform under pressure, conflict resolution, and physical training. Ofcoure it's in Malibu. It's probably wedged in between Promises Rehab and the same McMansion used for every VH1 show. No, it's not a banner ad for a Cosmetology School website, it's an ad on a website for actors. Who better for Reality TV than those emotionally and financially depleted and willing to accept that having a legitimate career in this business is futile. I'd like to propose the following elective courses:

• What to do when a fellow contestant shits on the rug.
• How to defend yourself when a crazy bitch spits on you.
• How to best look like the 90's and the first decade of the 21st century never happened so you can qualify for Rock of Love.
• How to turn years of Daddy issues and be this.

Guess what's the banner ad for Heather's myspace fan site? "Top Acting School", New York Film Academy. Ofcourse.

Camera Phone Files #4: YWD Magazine Party

Alex and I were invited by our wedding photographers, Barnaby Draper and Nicole Steakley to the Your Wedding Day Magazine party at the Ebell Club of Los Angeles. We didn't know what to expect. We first thought it could be a Bridal Expo with booths. If that was the case, we were prepared to remove our rings to get free crap. It would be free crap that we wouldn't need but free crap is free crap. Who couldn't use samples of personalized cocktail napkins and matchbooks. It turned out to be a gorgeous cocktail party with Marie Antoinette brides floating about. I kinda wish now we had a French Revolution themed wedding complete with a Guillotine photo booth. Barnaby recently moved his studio to Santa Barbara around the time we moved to LA. Unlike us, he has a thriving business in gorgeous Santa Barbara and I'm waiting around for a callback for a student film I auditioned for a month ago. In the spirit of being invited to a fabulous party by a professional photographer, I took some shitty camera phone pics. I'm sure these strangers totally appreciate having their pictures taken and appearing on this blog. I woke 3 am this morning with a raging case of booze sweats from the champagne and Blue Curacao cocktails. I don't know why you'd add Blue Curacao to a perfectly fine glass of champagne. It was like drinking a Windex-tini. We had a great time and met lots of fun people that I've already stalked on Facebook!

Porn for New Yorkers #3: You can actually walk around a Trader Joe's

After nearly three months of living here, I am no more certain about a career than when I was living in New York. But this what can never be taken away from me: wide ass aisles at Trader Joe's. I no longer have to cut a bitch for the last box of mini quiches she promised to bring to her ironic knitting club. No longer do I have to stand in a line that extends the length of the store and help others shop their dairy needs, because I'm blocking the entire section. I have multiple Trader Joe's and they're huge and no one can take that away from me...until they randomly burst into flames during fire season, I mean, summer.

See! I have friends in LA! (They just need to travel 3000 miles to see me)

Katie rocking out in our Ford Mustang rental during my trip to LA in December that led to my move. Whooo, Freedom Rock!

Power couple Stacy and Jason on my first day in LA. I've stayed at their house, Stacy edited my stand up reel, Jason is working my web series pilot and I'm returning all those favors by potentially kill their lawn while they're out of town.

Here's former Los Feliz resident, Mimi visiting me while I was in Los Feliz in February.

Fellow NY comic and recent LA transplant, Maria at a lovely dinner she hosted with her roommates

Katina and Sara at our new favorite fantasy land, The Beverly Hills Hotel.

Katina, Sara and my new mentor/therapist/drinking buddy and friend, Allison at Easter Dinner in Chinatown.

Though our wedding is five months in the past, I'm officially qualifying this as our Engagement Picture. Where's that Waterford Crystal frame?

I'm finally sorting out pics from the last two, holy crap, nearly 3 months in LA. So here's a hodgepodge of pictures of me hanging out with actual human beings. Though I'm not going to pretend I haven't had many a night holing up with Bravo and bottle of wine. Cause it's easier than driving. Sort of how it was easier than walking in NYC.

LA Field Trips #5: USC Film School is so unaplogetically LA

I wonder if USC did an episode of Cribs when the new Film School building was finished.

USC's version of displaying an official portrait of our elected officials.

I had an audition at the USC Film School. The brand new building is a cross between a Marriott Resort and Vegas' version of collegiate architecture. My audition was in the Steven Speilberg wing, right across from the George Lucas wing. No, I'm not kidding. That's higher education in LA. We lunch at The Ivy, our institutions aren't covered in it.

Camera Phone Files #3: A little bit of Grand Central and Ave A in Echo Park

Two Boots opened an LA restaurant in my neighborhood! I remember taking two hour lunches to meet Cathy at the Grand Central Station location and cramming a slice of Cleopatra Jones before a show at Mo Pitkin's on Avenue A. Here's some Two Boots mural art from LA.

LA Lessons #2: The Master Cleanse

Master cleanse. You need to know about it. You need to read the book. You need to be doing it. You need to be talking about it. All the time. And you need to put all social plans on hold because of it. What's a Master Cleanse? A crime prosecuted at The Hague? No, it's a way to spend a week shitting your eyeballs out while you malnourish yourself in an attempt to feel...healthy. I'd love to watch a LA douchebag in head to toe Ed Hardy explain to an Ethiopian child who watched his siblings die needlessly of diarrhea and dehydration why anyone with a Trader Joe's, Gelsons, Ralphs, and Albertsons down the street would make the choice to live on Maple syrup and Cayenne pepper. I've never in my entire life and time in New York heard of the Master Cleanse. The second I come to LA, it's the center of my social life and I know approximately 3 1/2 people here. The first day I'm out there, some girl is talking about it with my friends over sushi. Then it's the center of conversation at a dinner party. Then it got in the way of drinking plans and that's when I got pissed off. Friend, Katie recommended the New York Master Cleanse: Start drinking at Happy Hour. Don't stop. Keep drinking. No really, don't stop. Blackout before realizing you forgot to eat dinner. Go home to an apartment with an empty fridge and pass out. Weigh yourself the next day. At least four pounds will magically disappear.

By the way, I really thought I was the first one to think of this

So I was hanging out with fellow ex-pat NYers, Ben and Dustin. Dustin mentioned he's seen an "I Stomach LA" t-shirt. So kudos to the person smart enough to think of this phrase originally and make money off it. I had no idea this phrase was out there already and thought I was being really clever about swapping internal organs and major cities. So as long as I don't get a cease and desist and it's really my mom and three friends reading this, I'll keep this as the name of my blog. Having come from the comedy world and being very neurotic about joke stealing or no longer telling a joke because there's a similar, possibly funnier joke coming from a far more successful comic - I feel like I have to acknowledge I'm now aware that this phrase existed before I started this blog. In preparation of possible hate email about plagiarism: I open the floor to suggestions for new blog names. Mom?

LA Lessons #1: The water tastes like a staph infection

It hit me last week: "I've been in LA for two months." And then the less positive, "I haven't seen any of my close friends in two months." My posts have somewhat waned because my tourist-y, "I'm in a new land" energy has waned. Our apartment is settled (we're in the midst of hanging pictures and I'll post pics of a relatively decorated apartment soon), I know how to drive a car again and I'm taking palm trees and sunshine for granted. I've spent the past few weeks trying to career shit together. I don't want this to be a career blog - I have a website, Facebook, Myspace (which is I sort of want to boil myself after checking), Twitter and mass emails for shameless promotion. At the moment, I actually don't have anything promote. So to mark my first 68-ish days, I'll focus my posts on "What I've Learned in LA" so far. In the spirit of the rules of my first post, I'll offer my lessons one post at a time. It's also 12:33 in the afternoon and still need to shower. Speaking of water.... Lesson #1: Water You have to request water at a restaurant. Waiters rarely walk around filling glasses after every sip as a display of their service ability. In fact, be happy if you get the food and drinks you actually do order in a reasonable amount of time or correct order. It's weird and I spent a lot of time pissed off at the service industry. How else am I supposed to dilute the effects of my three glasses of wine? Then I connected the dots when the weather guy on the local news freaked the f out because it might drizzle the following week. Oh right, I live in a desert now, that's why I haven't seen a cleavage zit in weeks. Also, LA tap water tastes like lead poisoning. It's awful. Everyone spends a lot of time filtering water (our household method: filling our Brita pitcher via a Pur filter attached to the faucet), buying bottled water, ordering jugs of water, creating cocktails in its honor, but no one seems to put energy into actually fixing the problem of why water here tastes like a tire iron. LA is so passive aggressive, no one wants to hurt water's feelings about how bad it sucks, but will put on a full display about avoiding it.