A new survey out from the folks at Self Magazine ranks LA the "unhappiest" city for women. Despite having higher than average rates of exercise and lower than average rates of smoking; despite being humidity-free and sunny all the time and full of good-looking people and totally livable on a fairly crap salary; despite that euphoric feeling you get when it's February and you've just taken the JetBlue from JFK into Long Beach and you have to walk down the stairs onto the tarmac and it's seventy fucking degrees; despite the level of bliss attainable with a few bottles of two-buck chuck and some tickets to the Hollywood Bowl in the springtime; despite those life-affirming hikes up Runyon Canyon and the fact that decent food there is so painfully dirt-cheap; despite the drive-thru Coffee Bean on Sepulveda... well, it turns out everyone is lonely.
And superficial! And it's really hard to meet people. And when you do meet people they are often not that intelligent. And it's not that they don't read, it's that they just sort of have this naivete — maybe it's dressed up as quirky sincerity! maybe they're just from Utah or something! — that people have when, you know, they don't interact with other people at the same rate you do.
And the people they do interact with...well they're all kinda earnest and guileless and vacuous too, so it becomes epidemic, in the same way sleeping with Cisco Adler is like sleeping with, like, 89,000 other sluts.
Okay, so this is not covered on the survey, but I think I had a thought when I started writing this post. See, last night I watched The Hills with my roommate, while we engaged in a debate as to whether Katherine Heigl's character in Knocked Up was relatable. And I think you have to have lived in LA to truly identify with Knocked Up, because when I lived there I totally dated a guy who was a bigger loser than Seth Rogen in that movie. His car was not registered, and he didn't have enough money to change that fact, so he refused to drive anywhere but to and from work, so I had to go see him, and he lived in the Valley. So we'd meet at Universal City Walk or in his dank, mossy-carpeted apartment where he and seven other guys who all lived in the same complex would smoke weed and play video games all day. And by "all day" ... I mean literally all day! A few of them had jobs, but none of them had enough interactions with other non-pot dealing humans to really know how to get laid, and that's the thing that kept me from falling into the Knocked Up trap: I never even had sex with this guy. And we saw each other for awhile! He was sweet, and not an actor. And he had overcome his coke habit. We even had lunch a few times, because we worked close to one another. We ate at Red Lobster.
Red Lobster was always crowded at lunchtime. We would hold hands in line.