Dunkin Donuts doesn’t exist!

Ok, so I don’t even drink coffee, but after living 22 years of life never being more than a 5 miles away from a Dunks, you can imagine it’s a little harrowing to move to a place where Starbucks is king and I have to drive all the way to Vegas just to get a vanilla chai latte (literally, the closest one is in Vegas). Hell, in northeastern Massachusetts alone I can think of at least four locations where you can quite literally see a Dunkin Donuts from the parking lot of another Dunkin Donuts. It’s an obsession.

And this is where it gets depressing. California, especially SoCal, is filled to the brim with northeast transplants (where do you think all the asshole drivers come from?). And these people are all desperate. Start to type in Dunkin Donuts into Google and the third suggestion that comes up is “Dunkin Donuts California.” California is the largest importer of Dunks bagged coffee and kcups because the grocery store is the only place these poor addicts can get their fix. And really, it’s just not the same without the charming language barrier struggle with the immigrant worker you’d get in the store (unless you’re in Maine in which case the accent is due to lack of teeth and the worker only immigrated from the trailer park out back). Actually, speaking of immigrants, there’s a pretty good chance that Dunkin Donuts exists in their country since it is an international company with stores in 40 different nations. But not the state of California.

So please, Dunks, buddy, please come to the west coast. I really need my morningtime drive through (In n’ Out doesn’t really cut it at 7am) and to not give up my first born for a “tall” (ironic cuz it isn’t) beverage. Plus, let’s be honest, nobody’s morning routine is complete without some grungy construction worker in front of you in line that’s showing off his plumber’s crack and spewing an accent that’s so Southie you’d swear it was Whitey himself (and since we’re talking about SoCal here that could very well be the case). Starbucks is way too hoity-toity for that. Or for Munchkins. Really, no munchkins. The Worst.  So seriously, Dunks, get in your goddamn cah, drive down Route 405 with the donuts and let’s see that pink and ohrange here in LA. Pissah.

There are a lot of songs about California. Alot of them are even good songs. But it still blows my mind how often I can turn on the radio here and hear a song that pays homage to what apparently all these crazy people think is the greatest place on earth.

Take for instance “California Love” by Tupac and Dr. Dre. Great song. Brings back only the fondest memories of middle school dances at the Emerson Center where they’d play the music video on the projector and we’d stare longingly at our crushes while dancing awkwardly under images of ‘Pac hanging out in a tent in the middle of the desert. (These images swiftly followed always by the memory of later on those evenings where you’d finally get to dance with your crush during the last song of the night and really its pretty cruel to play Stairway to Heaven as the last slow song because seriously its like 7 minutes long and isn’t slow at all in the end and for realz that shit gets maadddd awkward after that long) Anyways, the number of times I’ve heard “California Love” on KDAY alone since I moved here (2 months ago) has more than tripled the amount of times I’ve heard the song since middle school ended. California people love knowing that they know how to party. They love knowing that they will never find a dance floor empty (heavens, no!)

So if you want to meet an LA Woman to Californicate with in a rented room at the Hotel California, If you have Lived and Died in LA or if you’re just now Going Back to Cali, If you’ve just hopped off the plane at LAX or you’ve been getting your kicks on Route 66, If you’ve come Straight Outta Compton to get your fix Under the Bridge Downtown, You too can feel like a California Girl if you just turn on the radio every other song.

Number of LA people who love hearing about themselves over the airwaves: approximately all of them.

Growing up, my family always bought Helmanns Mayo. I’m pretty sure there isn’t another type of mayonaise, or at least its a definite commodity, so who really cares what the brand is anyways. Its like choosing between the donut with the chocolate jimmies or the one with the rainbow sprinkles. They both taste the same (and equally as delicious) and are both going to to make you just as fat so just pick a damn one already.

Anyways, California doesn’t have Helmann’s mayo. Which wouldn’t be wierd at all, California doesn’t have alot of awesome things (like Harpoon beer, seriously get your shit together people!). Except that they have “Best Foods” mayo, which happens to have THE EXACT SAME PACKAGING. Every little detail right down to the little blue bow which can’t even work because two brands couldn’t have possibly both won the blue first place ribbon for their mayo.

Tonight I discovered why. Because there, there on the back side, in the middle of the back side, away from everything else on the back side , in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read the following words: “Known as Helmann’s East of The Rockies.”

WTF West Coast?

Helmann’s Branding: -1

Talking about the weather.

It rained the other day. And by “it rained” I mean it misted for approximately 4 hours while dropping less than an inch yet still somehow managing to leave a 3 inch deep puddle in the middle of my completely covered and enclosed garage (which has by the way managed to dry up completely, also a mystery considering that the garage is again, completely covered and enclosed). And then by the time I went outside to grab lunch it was sunny again.

Anyways, that 1 inch seemed like a whole lot more. Everything flooded. I mean I was driving to work and had to dodge puddles that would have swallowed my car whole. This was very confusing at first because the storm drains around here are set into the side of the curbs and are literally 1 foot high in most places. One would think that the gigantic openings would allow for water to adequately rush into the drain. Then I drove past one of the storm drains and realized that in reality the size of the opening didn’t matter because the water was flowing in the complete opposite direction from it. Another prime example of the excellence of Los Angeles city planning.

One of the “fun” things about working in a cubicle farm, other than the fact that I sit on a balance ball instead of a chair, is that you can hear everyone else’s conversations perfectly. I’ve listened to people talk about all sorts of other stuff that probably isn’t actually conducive to getting work done. But that all stops when it starts raining and all anyone can talk about is the weather. Seriously, it was like this miniature rainstorm was a natural disaster. “OMG where were you when it started? I was in my kitchen, I was washing a dish…”

Ridiculous.

As of today, I feel like a real Los Angeles native. I bought a workout shirt. It’s some weird material not found in nature that doesn’t absorb sweat, or in my case glisten, and so far its awesome.

And really, wearing tye dye tshirts to the gym is just such a fashion faux pas. Like who does that anymore? Not this girl. (Except on the other six days of the week when my awesome new shirt is dirty).

What up 24 Hour Fitness!?

Sunny California is a lie.

Or at least it is if you live within 5 miles of a beach. In this case, the nice cool sea breeze runs smack dab into the hot as fuck desert air (aka disgusting smog from the rest of the city) and you get clouds. ALL. THE TIME.

I can’t tell you how many times so far I’ve been inland and its been sunny and I’ve gotten this crazy idea about going to the beach. (WHAT?! Going to the beach in SoCal? Weird!) So I rush home to put on my bathing suit and as soon as I get off the 405 there’s this line of grey crap hanging there in the sky just to piss me off. That year round tan (burn in my case) I was promised? Lies. Living in a bikini? Also lies. Those beautiful people on the beach? Well there are some but there’s also alot of fat, ugly people and that’s something they don’t tell you in the movies.

What I do get is depressing weather that makes it look like the skies could open up and start pouring at any moment (which would at least be interesting). But that never happens either. I’ve lived here for a month and a half and seen no rain at all…until this weekend. When I was camping. On top of a mountain. And it started pouring and thundering at the exact moment I pulled out the tent to start setting up. Seriously, I can’t catch a break.

LA: 0

Places that don’t try to hide their crappy weather: infinity

They sell liquor at CVS. Like real liquor. You can go to CVS and buy grandma’s depends, the latest Star magazine, yet another home pregnancy test (slut) and a big ol’ handle of Goldschlager. This is pleasantly surprising because they don’t even sell real liquor at 7-11 which is widely considered the drunk haven of, well, everyone (Sidenote: seriously they should consider stocking booze because one stop vodka Slurpee shopping? What about that isn’t awesome? Answer: nothing.) and in my beloved home state, they don’t sell beer, wine or liquor anywhere. Except of course for the “packie” (which, for the record,  I refuse to believe is a Boston term because I’d never heard it in Boston before people started using it to make fun of Boston) and gas stations, because obviously driving and alcohol go together like white on rice.

Anyways, CVS even gave me a coupon for my vodka, so my Friday evening was kicked off more awesomely than expected because I saved three dollars. Woohoo! And they carry chewy adult vitamins…which means that its probably a good idea that they also stock bandaids because vodka/gin/rum gummies are always delicious and always turn out to be a bad idea. My future shopping list just got a bit more interesting.

LA: 1

States that Don’t Sell Liquor to Anyone with a CVS Cares Card:0

There are many things to be said about traffic in LA, but I am going to ponder only one thing. Why, for the love of God, does traffic sit at green lights and not move?

Now I’m not talking about me being impatient, though that could also be true. I’m talking about seeing a green light from three quarters of a mile away, trying to convince the guy driving the rusty 1997 Geo Tracker in the next lane that we’re racing whether he likes it or not, throwing it into 6th and flooring it, only to get to the light and realize that no one. has. moved. AT ALL. Which makes me angry because I have to stop, change gears, and put my fast (anyone remember those VW commercials) back in its cage. And, let me just say that driving a stick in a pencil skirt in traffic is hard. Like really hard. (So is my life.)

Now this would all make sense if, say, this were Boston, and traffic from the previous green light sat in the intersection even when their light turned red and then flipped you off for no apparent reason. But that doesn’t happen here because people don’t sit in the intersection at all. Its bizarre. There must be some heavily enforced law against it because it sure as hell isn’t because people are being nice.

This phenomenon also happens regardless of whether or not traffic is backed up on the other side of the intersection. I routinely drive where there are lights that are spaced by a mile or more, and it still happens. IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.

Thus, the only conclusion that I can come to is that there is some goddamn moron at the front of the line at every single red light who is either on their cell phone, eating a burrito, taking a nap, or some other stupid and unrelated activity to driving and doesn’t realize that the light is green for like two minutes because their a moron and like to waste everyone’s time. And if this were Boston, it wouldn’t happen because sure as shit within 0.003 seconds of that light turning green someone would be laying on their horn as if there were no tomorrow. Its a proven method.

So my solution is that I am sponsoring born and bred Boston drivers as well as general assholes to come to California and saturate the roadways. Resumes may be mailed to me. Serious inquiries only.

Fueled and inspired by boredom, awe at the jungle that is LA, and mostly by my raging narcissism, I present you this, the reincarnate of my internet ramblings. Behold, a blog! I am sure the many fans of my now defunct (unless you’ve got mad google skillz, yes that’s a challenge) livejournal cannot contain their excitement any longer. Here we go…