I’m back from my trip to the West. It was uneventful and no major decisions were made except Tom and I have decided to give up our acting careers and move to San Francisco.
This is an open invitation. Who wants in?
You guys, I walked up one million hills, saw a hooker take a john into her seedy hotel room on a Sunday morning at 10:30 AM, skipped through Golden Gate park and went to a GOSPEL BRUNCH where the lead singer caught me singing along, came over to me with his microphone, introduced me to everyone and let me sing a Go Tell It On The Mountain solo.
That city knows what’s up, is all I’m saying.
Both LA and San Francisco were freaking FREEZING which was the only sad thing about traveling to the West Coast this time. Tom’s roommate swears that LA is the same temperature every November, every time that I visit but I have photographic evidence to the contrary. Last year, I have pictures of me in tank tops and jeans. This year, all my pictures are of me in a snowsuit.
The thing is: in New York City, when it’s cold outside, you turn the heat on inside your apartment. Right?
The same goes for almost everywhere, I imagine, where people are fortunate enough to have heat, yes?
I mean, you don’t have to blast it. But, when it’s cold, you turn it on, okay?
NOT WHEN YOU ARE MY COUSIN TOM APPARENTLY.
Tom and his roommate do not like heat.
As in, they prefer their apartment cold.
Which is great, if you live in LA, I imagine, where it can get rather hot.
HOWEVER, the issue was that the temperature in Los Angeles kept plummeting to the 40’s every night so I’d walk into their apartment in the evening, waiting to feel that little burst of ahhhhhhh, I’m inside now! warmth! and instead, the apartment would be even colder than the air outside.
Some variation of this conversation occurred daily:
Me: (with red nose a la Rudolph, in three layers of clothing and a blanket) Seriously, you guys. It’s cold in here.
Tom: I don’t like it hot.
Tom’s Roommate: Me neither. We like it breezy.
Me: Right. Except. It’s cold.
Tom: But doesn’t it feel good to slip between really cold sheets at night!? I LOVE THAT.
Me: (ordering a Snuggie off QVC) Maybe. But not when it’s winter time.
Tom: But it’s LA.
Me: (putting hand warmers into her pajama pockets) But it’s 40 degrees outside.
Tom: But our apartment is SO NICE in the summer! It’s SO cool and LOVELY.
Me: Right. But November isn’t the summer.
Tom: (peeking into the bathroom) What are you doing?
Me: I’m standing under the heating fan.
Tom: For…how long?
Me: FOR THE REST OF MY TIME HERE.
ON THANKSGIVING DAY:
Jaimey, our dinner guest: It’s really cold in here.
Me: (whimpering due to frost bite) THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING SINCE TUESDAY.
Tom & his Roommate: WE DON’T LIKE HEAT.
Jaimey: But, you guys? It’s like…cold out.
Me: (amputating my own fingers with a butter knife, wailing) THEY DON’T CAAAAAAAAAAAARE. JAIMEY SAVE YOURSELF.
Jaimey: But you guys have a GUEST.
Tom: Who? Laura?! She’s my cousin. She’s not a guest.
Me: (silent, due to morphing into human ice cube)
The heat was one of many reasons why San Francisco turned out to be the best part of the trip and not because San Francisco was any warmer. No, it was colder. But you know what was in San Francisco? A hotel room. With heat.
Cold aside, my trip was a whirlwind of amazingness. San Francisco was a fantastic city and I can’t wait to go back and have more time there. All in all, both LA and San Francisco were complete successes. I saw the Harry Potter movie, got stuck in a ton of traffic with Tom, ate some really good Thai food, hung out with some crazy hilarious ladies and killed a flight attendant on the flight back home when I asked “Do you have any food I can buy?” and she said, “Oh sorry, WE RAN OUT.”
So! GOOD TIMES ALL AROUND! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to buy a hot tub for my apartment as I still can’t shake the permeating chill that is still lingering in the DEPTHS OF MY SOUL.
Tom! You are so fun! KISSES!!!!!