I love a lot of things – Benito’s, tapas, simple cocktails – and I love to gush about the things I love. I also don't-love a lot of things (Mom always told me to never use the words "never" and "hate"). But the real reason I don't-love certain things is not that I don't really like them; I just love having reasons to whine. LOL!
It may not seem like it, but I love LA. Perhaps not quite as much as my fellow LA girl, Rachael, but really, I do love LA. Still, La La Land is also very often the subject/target/victim of my rants because, well, I like to rant. Traffic, puppies in purses, rush hour, 95% of lots for "compact" but SUVs parking there anyway, the 405 freeway, real estate, the downtown loop, and did I mention traffic? I love LA because I love to hate it.
I also love the Holidays.
I also love the airport. It’s a bit odd, I know, since I am deathly afraid of flying. Friends and family and even former lovers know that unless I am waiting for a souffle, I am always available for rides to and from the airport. Perhaps that is why I love going to the airport, knowing that I can go to the airport, but I don’t have to leave it by plane. Besides, there's something incredibly romantic about the airport. Must have something to do with all those lovers coming in and out. Or something like that. :)
But when these things - LA, Holidays, and the airport - are combined into one 4:45 a.m. courtesy shuttle run down the 405 to LAX for Holiday travel, I hate hate hate hate them all. There is no ell-oh-vee-ee anywhere. It's enough to make me swear off Christmas, Hanukkah, and every winter holiday for ever.
Let’s gather ‘round the Festivus Pole and let me take a moment to air my grievances. Is this Festivus perfect for whiny me or what? I've got a lot of problems with LA, Holidays, and Travel, and now you're going to hear about them.
Because it's Holiday season, once again I play courtesy Super Delicious Shuttle, but because it is Holiday Travel Hell with Check-In lines that will snake back and forth through the chains before passing through the front door and continuing down the sidewalk trespassing on real estate of the next terminal, and it's LA with who knows how many lanes on the 405 will be orange-coned off for "traffic-relief" construction, and it's LAX-just-LAX, I have to leave the house at 4:45 am, which means I have to wake up at 4:40 am , for a 7:30 a.m. flight.
4:40 am. That is really effin' early. Especially since my funemployed lazy self has been waking up after 10 am for the last six weeks. I don't mind. That much. But damn, baby, you owe me something Urasawa for such an unglamorous call.
But Urasawa will never, not ever, never ever, make up for having to drink McDonald's coffee at 5:05 am because Peet's, Coffee Bean, and for God's sake, I'll even take Starbucks, don't open at that witching hour. I don't care that Ronald is serving Mc-ooh-la-la Premium Roast. He's still an effin' clown, it's still McDonald's, and the cup has the audacity to call itself hot. "I'm hot." I swear my coffee smelled faintly of Chicken Mc-call-me-Premium-Selects-Now. I am not lovin' it.
And since I'm on a roll here, and I mentioned "hot," the coffee may be hot, but so is the weather in LA and even though I would probably freeze my patootie off somewhere in the Midwest or on the East Coast, I just want to whine about celebrating winter holidays in shorts and a tank top.