This week I wanted to take a quick breather from my NYC recap and go back to basics – no pun intended. You’ve read about my escapades in the juice-cleansing, yoga-posing, photo-filtering, tiny dog-walking city that is Los Angeles for a few months now… so let’s reflect on some of my most painfully cliché experiences! It’s been a wild ride.
1) Male model I was dating REPEATEDLY sent me snapchats of his own modeling photos. Never asked for them. Not once.
“WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?” -me, every time I opened a new snap
2) An Uber driver tried to promote his rap album to me.
3) At the Bungalow – the trendiest and most obnoxious lounge LA has to offer, commonly referred to as Bungaho – a bartender accidentally poured my friend a Fireball shot. My friend then gives me said shot because he doesn’t want it. A random dude approaches us and goes, “I’ll give you $20 for that shot.”
My response: “Dude, it’s just Fireball. You can have it for free.”
Him: “No, seriously, here’s a 20.”
Me: “Really, it’s fine.”
Him: “No, take the 20.”
My friend: “Take the $20, Arianna. Profit, Arianna.”
Me: “……. This is weird but whatever.”
4) A bizarre string of (not sober) events led me to the “Sour Patch House,” which is a mansion/recording studio in Hollywood Hills that’s entirely Sour Patch candy-themed.
There were Sourpatch paintings, Sourpatch pillows, vases everywhere filled with the vibrant, rainbow-colored little people… It was some real Willy Wonka shit.
All I know is I woke up the following morning with fistfuls of watermelon-flavored packets stuffed in my bra. My cleavage looked rather nice so I kept them in there for a while until I got hungry.
5) My friends begged me to keep dating this producer because his best friend was their favorite actor. It wasn’t worth it.
6) Every once in a while I’ll witness women reapplying mascara and foundation in moldy, out-of-order restrooms at dive bars. I’m sorry but it will never not be absolutely wild to me that these girls trust their drunken selves enough to contour after three vodka crans.
7) Also at a bar restroom: the one and only Kylie Jenner in front of me in line and almost making me piss myself because she kept taking selfies in the stall.
(For the record, she never actually used the bathroom… just took pictures. And no one is surprised.)
8) I happened to be at the bar where Naughty LA was having their meetup. They tried to recruit me, explaining that they participate in huge orgies and have unique activities such as “covering naked women in chocolate and eating it off them.” That is, unfortunately, a direct quote.
9) A HUGE horde of paparazzi waited outside The Nice Guy, a major celeb hotspot, where I was going. I paused to take a Snapchat and one of them goes, “Hey, that girl is Snapchatting us!” Instantly, all of them turned to take 2749271372928 pictures of me.
“CAN YOU NOT?” I screamed as I was permanently blinded by a million ungodly flashes.
10) On multiple occasions, instead of asking for my number, guys have asked for my Instagram.
11) I saw The Gay Men’s Chorus of LA perform their “Bette, Babs, & Beyonce” show. Talk about a holy trinity.
Needless to say, it was amazing, and if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m neither gay nor a man, I would be starring in it.
12) ‘Vodka waters’ are the alcoholic beverage of choice among many of my peers… simply because they’re the most eating disorder-friendly option. I stole a sip out of morbid curiosity once and immediately felt the inside of my throat melt off. Consequently, breathing became a challenge for the remainder of the night. Though I did feel super skinny!
In conclusion: for the love of God, ladies, stop with the masochism and just order a vodka soda already.
(Also, LOVE YOURSELF.)
13) After a long drunken convo with a random dude, he pulled out a giant crystal from his shirt pocket.
Him: “I always keep this crystal with me. I’ve been waiting years to pass it on to a person with the right spirituality and that person is you. You have the greatest energy. So now is your turn; hold onto it, and when the time is right, pass it on.”
He opened my hand and delicately set it on my palm.
Me: “How will I know who deserves to get it next?”
Him: “You’ll know. Trust me.”
I’m never giving that damn crystal up.
The Art of Being Basic 