If LA put out a wanted ad, it would go something like this: "Please be insecure."
We nitpick everything about a person, we tell them what to wear, who to date, what to do, and most importantly what your body should look like. This is the land of inflation and deflation, literally. Blow up your boobs, blow up your ass, blow up your lips, but deflate those thighs, that waist, and that brain. This is a city about alteration, about plastic perfection painted on insecure individuals. We take a pretty woman and seek to make her "beautiful" by industry standards, though those standards have become rather skewed. Whose beauty are we trying to emulate? Even LA cant decide. One moment we want that actresses lips, and the next we want her breasts, and her ass, and her eyebrows, and her tan, and her hair, then the next day we have found a new actress to torment over. It has become so bad that we have created a slew of Frankensteins brides. Woman who have done so much to their face that they have a perpetual fish pucker and skin stretched so tight a corpse would be envious.
No one knows who we are suppose to look like in the City of Angels, just not ourselves, never ourselves. African American women are bleached here to look whiter, and Caucasian women are tanned to look darker. Ethnic is in one day, and out the other. Pale is so heroin, but smoke it up because this week its so on. If you don't have long thick hair, we can fix that with extensions, clip ons, and weaves; we can even do this for your eyelashes. Thicker, bigger, more. And please, if you can, be skinny, but not crack whore New York skinny because LA doesn't want to be New York, just be skinny enough to fit in a size 0 because as we all know the camera adds 10 lbs to women, and only women. So you go ahead and eat up that roast beef sandwich boys because it makes you look distinguished, and if those women ask for scraps you just tell them that they look fat...and need bigger tits. That's right girls, you need tits, so raise them up, push them out, tweak them to be bigger, but flaunt them, make them want it, bend over it, strip it down, and please oh please learn how to flaunt a bikini because Snap Snap the Paparazzi are loving you and hating you in their trashy mags. Furthermore, if you so decide that skinny is not your thing, then be fit. Worship that gym, because the city will, and I mean IT WILL, judge you wherever you go in its confines. A heavy set women, whom I use to work with, told me once, "I am so glad that I am obese, because I know I am fat and people just end up accepting that, but for women who are average they have to fight the stigma of being skinnier so much more." Amen, sister. If you are average, then come to LA, we will cure you of that ailment, and if not, well there are a plethora of shrinks here that you can cry to. Just make sure you don't wrinkle your face when you do so. LA hates wrinkles. And LA hates women over thirty. So lets fix that, pass the needle, dripping with botulism. It's pretend time. So lets pretend with Botox. Glorious, glorious botox.
Even I fell into the slump of not-feeling-perfect-enough-for-LA. I had a wrinkle on my forehead and I obsessed about it as I was surrounded by these smooth faces. How dare I look my age. HOW DARE I. The one time I got botox, the pesky wrinkle disappeared within minutes, and I was 100% sold on this miracle in a syringe. Then the next day I couldn't move my eyebrows up, not even a fraction of an inch. I cant even begin to express how absolutely terrifying it is to not be able to move your facial muscles when you have been moving them for thirty years. I called the doctor in a panic, and their response was, " Don't worry about it, its normal, plus its scientifically shown that botox will make you less depressed because now you don't frown." Yeah, that's exactly what I was feeling at the moment, less depressed. Eventually I got use to it. I mean, I did have a perfectly smooth forehead after all, and as my mother would say, "Beauty is pain." Today I think that would translate into, "Beauty is augmentation."
The problem with Botox is that it can be overtly done, and that is where the real fault lies in this pursuit of being flawless. LA allows people to OVERDO things. So much so that people can't smile, can't express, and sometimes end up with wonky eye syndrome (because the Botox disables them from blinking properly). People are so desperate to maintain a facade that they will do anything, even if that anything ends up damaging them. The key is moderation, research, and knowledge. Keep things simple, make sure you know your doctor, and make sure you know the risks. Most everything can be done well and can be done right, but if one doesn't do their homework and rushes into things, disasters can happen. And unfortunately those disasters can lead to permanent disfigurement.
Sometimes I wonder if some of these plastic surgeons are offspring of Nazi Dr. Mengele, because some of these people have mutilated their faces so much in the pursuit of perfection that they no longer look human, and while they obviously suffer from an image psychosis, who are these doctors that continue to operate on them? Who continued to whittle away Michael Jackson's nose, who created the infamous Cat woman? I suppose money talks, and celebrities have hordes of it to spend on being a supposed ideal, but somewhere along the way, someone has to wonder if the doctors themselves aren't somehow sickly perverse. I guarantee you a tenth of them use to cut up little animals as children. I just want to say to them, put down the scalpel already, you took a Hippocratic oath! Or maybe I am wrong, maybe plastic surgeons don't have to, and that is why we end up getting doctors who transform their clients into strange corpse like figures and blow up dolls. Poor blow up dolls, they get such a bad rep for peoples perversions. Mind you, not all plastic surgeons are bad, but in a land chalk full of them, not all of them are good either. And some of them are down right bad to the point of serial.
I wish I could tell these people that we all look beautiful. That ten years ago, and twenty years ago and so on and so forth, enhanced beauty was found through simple things like makeup, and it was OK to be voluptuous, or even "average"; that beauty was found in the natural features of the person, and that aging was a beautiful process of life. I wish I could believe in the theory that "God made us perfect", but Los Angeles society argues differently. Instead, I feel sorry for the youths that grow up in LA and are made to feel that they have to change, for the people who never succeed here but desperately tried to by going underneath the knife, and for the housewives who feel augmentation will help them keep their husbands. I wonder, when all is said and done, if they will love their new selves when they look in the mirror, or miss their old?
Then again, I didn't miss that wrinkle.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
I love my City...wait, what?
So i have decided to erase West Hollywood off the map. Why? Because I can. And that's why I love this city.
Truly the one brilliant and horrific thing about Los Angeles is that it spans over 498.3 square miles. It extends for 44 miles longitudinally and for 29 miles latitudinally. There are 86 cities in Los Angeles County. That means there are 86 places to go, 86 places to fall in love with, 86 places to hate, and if you so desire to completely obliterate one of those places off your map you have 85 more places left.
When someone says Los Angeles they assume its one identity, but they are wrong. Los Angeles can go from the art district of Los Feliz and Silver lake, to the ritzy Beverly Hills, to the seedy Downtown, and the even seedier (but all the actors want to live there) West Hollywood, it encompasses the beach areas past Santa Monica and Venice down towards Redondo Beach, and it can go as far inland as Pomona and Sylmar (which is the black widow capital of California, holy crap!). We ALL live in Los Angeles, and while driving is a complete and utter nightmare here, if you want to escape you just simply have to drive to the next town and seek a completely new experience. Mind you, a lot of it looks like the same hodge podge mismatched spatters with a palm tree thrown in, but the people who live there often create a whole new vibe to the places. It also makes it easier to completely eradicate certain parts of Los Angeles off your map, and thanks to the multitude of streets you never have to enter said deleted zones where said bum actors live. In my case, one in particular, and all of his friends. That's right, you can keep your area Mister, with your too cool for school eateries and dress shops. OK enough of that, but still, having such an expansive city can come in handy when you want to avoid certain zones.
People come to Los Angeles looking for the landmarks. They want to see the Sunset Strip (which is slowly starting to gain its appeal again, for as most of us know who live here, its simply a busy road blotched with a hot spot for the in-crowds, nothing consistent, and nothing I would love to walk on), or Venice boardwalk (which has its brightly colorful homeless characters who want to sell you a badly produced CD or read your palm, although i must admit the guy who read my palm was pretty spot on, even if he smelled). One can go see Mann's Chinese Theater (and the strange super heros that inhabit it, watch "Confessions of a Superhero" to get the full effect of actors doing everything to be seen, even panhandling in a costume), or the Scientology Center (that ones a kicker, I keep hoping to see Xenu but all I get are Mormon lookalikes). People even try to climb up to the Hollywood sign (which I hate to break it to you folks, but that's no longer possible, and is in fact illegal) and some people even love West Hollywood because you get to walk down the Boulevard of Dreams (and smell the piss while doing so).
There are many wonders to Los Angeles, but by and by, people get stuck in the extremely trivial wonders. People see these things on movies and think "wouldn't it be cool to live there, to see that." Some people who live here, also get caught up in living in a particular zone, because they think that's where they need to be, to fit in, or to be found. Truth be told, there are many many great spots to find in Los Angeles, you just have to go off the map. Get a little off the touristy grid. For instance, the best Italian food is in a mall in Marina Del Rey by the name of Antica Pizzeria. One of the best underground bookshops I have come across is open only two hours a day and resides behind a fireman's house in Hermosa Beach. We have a Gaudi like structure that inhabits two blocks in the ghettoist part of Watts (though I recommend only seeing that during the day). Some of the greatest galleries are located on the backstreets of Chinatown and on a block of La Cienega Boulevard in Culver City. And we are home to some of the best Southern Californian Orchid growers whom you can visit at their auctions twice a year in Burbank. If you want to see some landscape, some of the best hiking can be found in Temescal Canyon, and some of the best places to see seals and dolphins is in Northern Santa Monica. Every place has its unique spot, you just have to look through the glittery touristy crap to find it. Even, and I grind my teeth saying this, West Hollywood has its charm.
There is no singular identity to Los Angeles, this can be both a blessing and a curse (definitely a curse when it comes to LA Fashion, which I WILL devote a blog to), but it makes us stand out in a very nonconformist way. And it makes Los Angeles one of the best places in America for both Contemporary Art and Architecture.
I think that's why it attracts a certain type of creature as well. We all seek to find our nest in this craziness, we all seek to find our tribe. It can be a struggle when there is so much difference, but when you can come together through that difference, magic can be made.
Just not in West Hollywood. It's been erased.
Truly the one brilliant and horrific thing about Los Angeles is that it spans over 498.3 square miles. It extends for 44 miles longitudinally and for 29 miles latitudinally. There are 86 cities in Los Angeles County. That means there are 86 places to go, 86 places to fall in love with, 86 places to hate, and if you so desire to completely obliterate one of those places off your map you have 85 more places left.
When someone says Los Angeles they assume its one identity, but they are wrong. Los Angeles can go from the art district of Los Feliz and Silver lake, to the ritzy Beverly Hills, to the seedy Downtown, and the even seedier (but all the actors want to live there) West Hollywood, it encompasses the beach areas past Santa Monica and Venice down towards Redondo Beach, and it can go as far inland as Pomona and Sylmar (which is the black widow capital of California, holy crap!). We ALL live in Los Angeles, and while driving is a complete and utter nightmare here, if you want to escape you just simply have to drive to the next town and seek a completely new experience. Mind you, a lot of it looks like the same hodge podge mismatched spatters with a palm tree thrown in, but the people who live there often create a whole new vibe to the places. It also makes it easier to completely eradicate certain parts of Los Angeles off your map, and thanks to the multitude of streets you never have to enter said deleted zones where said bum actors live. In my case, one in particular, and all of his friends. That's right, you can keep your area Mister, with your too cool for school eateries and dress shops. OK enough of that, but still, having such an expansive city can come in handy when you want to avoid certain zones.
People come to Los Angeles looking for the landmarks. They want to see the Sunset Strip (which is slowly starting to gain its appeal again, for as most of us know who live here, its simply a busy road blotched with a hot spot for the in-crowds, nothing consistent, and nothing I would love to walk on), or Venice boardwalk (which has its brightly colorful homeless characters who want to sell you a badly produced CD or read your palm, although i must admit the guy who read my palm was pretty spot on, even if he smelled). One can go see Mann's Chinese Theater (and the strange super heros that inhabit it, watch "Confessions of a Superhero" to get the full effect of actors doing everything to be seen, even panhandling in a costume), or the Scientology Center (that ones a kicker, I keep hoping to see Xenu but all I get are Mormon lookalikes). People even try to climb up to the Hollywood sign (which I hate to break it to you folks, but that's no longer possible, and is in fact illegal) and some people even love West Hollywood because you get to walk down the Boulevard of Dreams (and smell the piss while doing so).
There are many wonders to Los Angeles, but by and by, people get stuck in the extremely trivial wonders. People see these things on movies and think "wouldn't it be cool to live there, to see that." Some people who live here, also get caught up in living in a particular zone, because they think that's where they need to be, to fit in, or to be found. Truth be told, there are many many great spots to find in Los Angeles, you just have to go off the map. Get a little off the touristy grid. For instance, the best Italian food is in a mall in Marina Del Rey by the name of Antica Pizzeria. One of the best underground bookshops I have come across is open only two hours a day and resides behind a fireman's house in Hermosa Beach. We have a Gaudi like structure that inhabits two blocks in the ghettoist part of Watts (though I recommend only seeing that during the day). Some of the greatest galleries are located on the backstreets of Chinatown and on a block of La Cienega Boulevard in Culver City. And we are home to some of the best Southern Californian Orchid growers whom you can visit at their auctions twice a year in Burbank. If you want to see some landscape, some of the best hiking can be found in Temescal Canyon, and some of the best places to see seals and dolphins is in Northern Santa Monica. Every place has its unique spot, you just have to look through the glittery touristy crap to find it. Even, and I grind my teeth saying this, West Hollywood has its charm.
There is no singular identity to Los Angeles, this can be both a blessing and a curse (definitely a curse when it comes to LA Fashion, which I WILL devote a blog to), but it makes us stand out in a very nonconformist way. And it makes Los Angeles one of the best places in America for both Contemporary Art and Architecture.
I think that's why it attracts a certain type of creature as well. We all seek to find our nest in this craziness, we all seek to find our tribe. It can be a struggle when there is so much difference, but when you can come together through that difference, magic can be made.
Just not in West Hollywood. It's been erased.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Just Drive.
Song of the day: "It Don't Move Me" by Peter Bjorn and John.
Drive left, turn right, left, straight, no right, damnit I said left, oh it doesn't matter now, we are stuck in traffic. Ever oppressing traffic. The automobile should be the emblem around here, a big black Model T Ford with a big FU underneath it. I miss trolly cars.
If you have lived here long enough you know the secret back allies. If you have lived here even longer, you incomprehensibly choose the slow crawl of the freeway. At least its a consistent 35 miles, those natives will tell you. That is unless you are behind the jackass on the phone, the guy laughing hysterically in his car, the woman refreshing her makeup, the dude reading the paper, the bitch screaming at her windshield, the man playing drums on his steering wheel, the half blind and deaf old person, or the kid making faces at you. I can't even tell you how many children I have flipped off, ha I kid, I have only done that to one toddler, and he totally deserved it.
The philosophy Angelinos want you to believe is that at least they have an hour to unwind before going to work or home. Yeah, an hour of never ending traffic. Not even witty talk shows can keep me from wanting to shove my gas pedal up the guys ass in front of me. And what is with no one actually knowing how to use their horn around here (though I will admit that never using your horn is far better then overtly using your horn; Im talking about you Boston! Those people will honk before the light even turns green). Once I watched a Mini Van honk their annoyance at a Big Rig (minus the Rig) as it swerved in front of them. Wrong move, Mini Van. The Big Rig proceeded to reenact "Duel" with the poor Mini Van for three miles, and whenever traffic came to a stop the guy would get out of his Rig and run towards the Mini Van with a crowbar in hand. He must have been new to LA. Or just released from the overflowing Los Angeles prisons. I say former.
Though when the highways are free, which is about one hour every day, you get speed racers. Highways are not racetracks mister, and the spoiler on your car does not make you a racecar driver. Last night, I was privy to a speedracer deciding to make my neighborhood of stop signs his little drifting racetrack. Grinding brakes at two in the morning, yes please! It's almost as delicious as having to listen to my neighbors having nasty pig sex with their windows wide open.
And if you, for whatever reason, decide to use the highway on the weekend evenings, which you will because everyone needs to drive forty minutes to go anywhere cool in this city, you will be privy to drunk drivers. Thats one thing drunk drivers have going for them, they stay clear of local roads because the cops like to set up surprise check points, so instead they keep to the freeways. Smart thinking guys, you live to drive drunk another day. I guess the PoPos feel that if you drunkenly slam into a car on a freeway going 70 mph, more than likely killing a poor civilian and his family, its better than slamming into a parked empty car on a local road while going 30 mph. Priorities. Save the beamer, kill the family.
Perhaps I should say something nice about the highways. Ok. Here it goes. For one, they keep growing, which I guess stimulates the economy in some way. Two, my friend gave birth to his son on two merging Los Angeles highways; rush hour was so bad that it was almost like he was in a parking lot, which prevented him from actually making it to the hospital in time, but did make it safer for him to deliver his kin on the side of the road. Three, umm...hang on I'm sure there is something there...yeah I got nothing.
We do have other forms of transportation. There is the bus system, which could be decent if you didnt have to switch three buses to get to one destination. And we do have a metro system, but instead of pouring money into that mode, thus greatly reducing the dependency of a car and uniting this large city, we instead poor it into the growth of a highway. I mean, if you dont have nine lanes what kind of city are YOU?
So if you plan to move to LA, plan to own a car, plan to drive a lot, and plan to enjoy the brown haze that floats below the beautiful blue of the sky.
Drive left, turn right, left, straight, no right, damnit I said left, oh it doesn't matter now, we are stuck in traffic. Ever oppressing traffic. The automobile should be the emblem around here, a big black Model T Ford with a big FU underneath it. I miss trolly cars.
If you have lived here long enough you know the secret back allies. If you have lived here even longer, you incomprehensibly choose the slow crawl of the freeway. At least its a consistent 35 miles, those natives will tell you. That is unless you are behind the jackass on the phone, the guy laughing hysterically in his car, the woman refreshing her makeup, the dude reading the paper, the bitch screaming at her windshield, the man playing drums on his steering wheel, the half blind and deaf old person, or the kid making faces at you. I can't even tell you how many children I have flipped off, ha I kid, I have only done that to one toddler, and he totally deserved it.
The philosophy Angelinos want you to believe is that at least they have an hour to unwind before going to work or home. Yeah, an hour of never ending traffic. Not even witty talk shows can keep me from wanting to shove my gas pedal up the guys ass in front of me. And what is with no one actually knowing how to use their horn around here (though I will admit that never using your horn is far better then overtly using your horn; Im talking about you Boston! Those people will honk before the light even turns green). Once I watched a Mini Van honk their annoyance at a Big Rig (minus the Rig) as it swerved in front of them. Wrong move, Mini Van. The Big Rig proceeded to reenact "Duel" with the poor Mini Van for three miles, and whenever traffic came to a stop the guy would get out of his Rig and run towards the Mini Van with a crowbar in hand. He must have been new to LA. Or just released from the overflowing Los Angeles prisons. I say former.
Though when the highways are free, which is about one hour every day, you get speed racers. Highways are not racetracks mister, and the spoiler on your car does not make you a racecar driver. Last night, I was privy to a speedracer deciding to make my neighborhood of stop signs his little drifting racetrack. Grinding brakes at two in the morning, yes please! It's almost as delicious as having to listen to my neighbors having nasty pig sex with their windows wide open.
And if you, for whatever reason, decide to use the highway on the weekend evenings, which you will because everyone needs to drive forty minutes to go anywhere cool in this city, you will be privy to drunk drivers. Thats one thing drunk drivers have going for them, they stay clear of local roads because the cops like to set up surprise check points, so instead they keep to the freeways. Smart thinking guys, you live to drive drunk another day. I guess the PoPos feel that if you drunkenly slam into a car on a freeway going 70 mph, more than likely killing a poor civilian and his family, its better than slamming into a parked empty car on a local road while going 30 mph. Priorities. Save the beamer, kill the family.
Perhaps I should say something nice about the highways. Ok. Here it goes. For one, they keep growing, which I guess stimulates the economy in some way. Two, my friend gave birth to his son on two merging Los Angeles highways; rush hour was so bad that it was almost like he was in a parking lot, which prevented him from actually making it to the hospital in time, but did make it safer for him to deliver his kin on the side of the road. Three, umm...hang on I'm sure there is something there...yeah I got nothing.
We do have other forms of transportation. There is the bus system, which could be decent if you didnt have to switch three buses to get to one destination. And we do have a metro system, but instead of pouring money into that mode, thus greatly reducing the dependency of a car and uniting this large city, we instead poor it into the growth of a highway. I mean, if you dont have nine lanes what kind of city are YOU?
So if you plan to move to LA, plan to own a car, plan to drive a lot, and plan to enjoy the brown haze that floats below the beautiful blue of the sky.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Day 766 - Let us begin with Reality
Dear Mr. LA,
Obviously I am writing a little late in the game, but can you blame me, I'm the observant type. The ever watchful before the cobra strikes type. I am the girl that stands on the corner of the street in a trench coat and you wonder if she is about to flash you, mug you, or take racy pictures of you type. Ok, maybe I don't own a trench coat, or actually like to flash people, or mug them for that matter, but I don't mind snapping a picture of this wasteland if the situation calls for it.
The point is, I have had it with you Mr. LA.
Today, I wished to simply sit in a nice coffee shop, and not the kind of coffee shop that is cracked into you like Starbucks, but a gem of a place still locally bred. I falsely assumed I would be able to enjoy my hot chocolate whilst I typed away some story that will most likely never see the light of day, but unfortunately I sat myself down next to a table of jabbers. And not just any jabbers, mind you, "Reality Star" jabbers. Now, its not so much that Reality Shows are demeaning, brain sucking, pieces of crap (because that would slightly be a lie since everyone secretly has a reality show they love, Project Runway I'm looking at you) its that Reality Stars feel they are the creme of the crop.
This I must explore.
And in thusly exploring this so far, I have begun to realize the many many sad juxtapositions that this town has wrought upon itself. So I am now beginning to write down my frustrations. With a blog. Sort of cliche, but a voice needs a forum, and so ensued the blog.
Today....I will simply start with Reality (pun intended).
It is bad enough that this town is chalk full of wannabe actors who come from itsy bitsy hobunk towns where they were either the miscreants or the jocks (because the inbetween people were too smart for this bullshit).
It is bad enough that we all have to be served and waited on by these types while listening to their sob stories (I would have expanded the list of day jobs that actors have, but really the Spaniards, aka the Mexicans, have conquered most of the other menial jobs around here, so all that is left for the the actors are your typical bartender, waitress, and maitre d' gigs). Poor actors, some might think, but that would be folly, don't pity them. That's like pitying a jock who has no college degree because he was picked to be drafted straight out of high school and then he blew out something on his body and could no longer play; and since he is as dumb as a box of rocks (though a box of rocks would still probably have a college education), and more than likely doesn't know how to balance his checkbook, or do anything but throw a ball, they had to take away his McMansion and his corvette, thus making his trophy wife cheat on him with the pizza delivery boy, but I digress...
So mind you, since we will more than likely carp about the wonderful world of actors (I even dated one and that DEFINITELY needs to be expunged, with a large loofah, if possible) we shall just zone in on the Reality Stars, for the moment.
What is REALLY bad, is that now instead of having to simply deal with the onslaught of wannabe can-i-take-your-drink actors, we now have to coincide with their incestuous siblings, their pesky nose picking neighbors, their bullies who burned ants on their hometown streets, and their fat besties who ate mud pies for supper. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, now has the ability to be a Star.
That is...if they are willing to sign their life away. As most of us know, who live in this zip code, and for those of you who don't, those "Reality" contracts are devilishly written and seek to not only own but sell your soul for the right price, as long as you promise to do everything they want. And for that sliver of fame, people will eat, sleep, dance, and shit gold for whatever network they have signed to.
The sheer brilliance of it all is that Reality Stars will never, and I mean NEVER to the umpteenth degree EVER, be more famous then their five minutes of fame (and I am not talking about their continued fame that they may find back home when mumsie brags about her kid on TV). They will not get that amazing movie, win that amazing Oscar, or achieve that lifetime achievement award, because what they fail to realize is that "Real" Stars and "Real" Actors are already fighting against the "Next Best Thing" grain, and the next best thing is not Billy Joe who decided to eat an uncooked bull's cock for ten thousand dollars. Reality Stars can only play in the same ball game as other reality stars. And trust me, the Networks know this, and that is why you will often see the same reality Star in a variety of Reality Shows, because they know those people will do anything for fame and they don't have to be paid the big bucks to do it. Yet, everything runs its course, and Reality Shows are a flat and shallow industry, and you can only play one character for so long, thus a Reality Star has a very short lived shelf life.
In a way I feel sorry for these Reality Stars. They believed in the premise that if you are on YouTube, or Reality TV, you meant something to the world, but I hate to break it to you Reality Folks, even Porn Stars have earned more respect than you.
So while I sat in the coffee shop, listening to the dribble of this once known contender from "Amazing Race" loudly proclaim to all that were within ear range (which was the whole shop) that she was A. From "Amazing Race", B. going to buy a 1.5 million dollar home down the street with her money and that C. Michael Moore (yes name dropping seems to always be appropriate with big mouthed no names) spoiled it for her because he was a horrible roommate that swindled her money, I couldn't help but shake my head at the wrongness of the whole lied situation, but it also made me realize that for most Reality Stars, they have to contend with keeping their fame flame bright by simply telling anyone who will listen: The Barista, the poor guy sitting next to them, and in my case, the unfortunate girl who chose a table too close.
Hats off to you Reality Wench, you win this round.
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