People who don't like SoCal are total pussies

I’m getting out of dodge this weekend. Escaping. Packing my little bag and heading down south. I’m something of a rare breed in that I am a Northern California girl who loves Southern California. Somewhere, my mother is wondering where she went wrong, as it seems to be a rule that if you were born in the San Francisco Bay Area that you automatically, genetically, think that anything to do with Los Angeles and its outlying areas is a scourge upon humanity. Sort of like New Yorkers feel about New Jersey…it’s there, but is there really any need to set foot into it? Won’t that foot fall off?

But I love SoCal. I love its relentless sun, its big boobs, the traffic, the groomed beaches, and the plethora of pretty people who do nothing but check out their reflections all day. It’s like being at the zoo, but instead of tigers you can watch an endless parade of model like people! Mind you, living there would be a different story entirely. Despite what I do for a living, I don’t think I could pay that much attention to my appearance ALL of the time. It would get boring. I have more important things to do. Like breathing.

Anyhoo, I’m off to visit my friends Andrea and Brit and Gianna. I’ve been promised a dirty martini upon arrival, which shows you what kind of friends they are. THE KIND WHO CARE. The kind who know, by the time I’m done with my five hour drive, that pouring alcohol down my throat will be the elixir I need to soothe my frayed nerves. Also, it will make me tolerable company. Smart girls, those three.