Ever since January, when I first learned about the possibility of moving, I've been preparing a little mental checklist of all of the LA things I wanted to do (or do again) before we left.
High up on the list was Venice's first Friday, a constellation of LA's finest food trucks (Kogi, Cool Hauss, Bordergrill, etc) on Abbot Kinney (otherwise known as the border of richy rich and hipsterville, otherwise known as too many dollas for a pabst blue ribbon.)
It's a short distance from our apartment and we've gone a couple of times: once we drove (HUGE mistake) and once we biked (no complaints). Every time the first Friday of the month rolls around, Moses and I vaguely debate going but usually staying in, lounging on our couch, and watching trashy movies prevails. What can I say? It's hard being socialites.
But, since this is the second to last first Friday we will be spending in Los Angeles...slight pause for reaction and for my rising bile to settle. Gasp! What lovely imagery! I know, it's the poet in me...we thought we may as well deviate from our Friday night routine of beer, talk of the cheap variety, and Nicholas Cage and go out amongst the living/non-Coppola and get us some tasty Roy Choi Korean Tacos.
So we biked down to Abbot Kinney and, upon our arrival, instantly remembered why it had taken us so long to do this again.
Crowds. Lines. Hoards of obnoxious undergraduate students having obnoxious conversations and with obnoxious understandings of personal space.
Within minutes Moses and I transformed into our alter egos...
Except less attractive.
We stood in line for our favorite food trucks and mercilessly made fun of everyone: the quintessential unknowingly bigoted, white privilege SoCal college students behind us and the pretentious middle age couple out of a Portlandia sketch in front of us. I felt like we had somehow landed on a hideous age spectrum, bookended by cautionary tales of what we could of been and what we could become.
Needless to say, I am now convinced that first Friday is a vortex of awfulness, that brings out the worst in everyone. Moses and I were at our disgruntled judgiest and everyone else took it upon themselves to model some of the most horrific transgressions of social etiquette, the most offensive of which was line cutting. And maybe it was the dipping blood sugar, or just the injustice of it all (some of the wait times were Disneyland epic), but I told Moses that if I witness another person budging, I might have to smack a bitch.
Of course, 10 minutes later I saw another person cut and alas! No bitches were smacked that evening. At least not by me. I guess I am just all talkety-talk-talk. Although, I think when I retell this narrative in the future, I might throw in an impassioned monologue about fairness followed by a slow clap and a rousing chorus of "We are the Champions" a la the Mighty Ducks movies (1, 2, and/or 3).
I guess I am glad we went one last time...sort of...no, I definitely am. I am glad we went and ate well but now I am drinking a Lagunitas Cappuccino Stout, sitting on my couch, and watching trashy movies trying to forget about it, while simultaneously trying to make up for lost time. Here's hoping that the next item on our list yields better results...or at the very least substantially less line cutting.