This is a collection of stories that all connect...ish. The best way to read them is to pretend you’re floating in a lazy river. Don’t question it. Just keep drinking that “road-margarita” you snuck into the water park (probably hiding in a Sonic cup), and keep floating down that man-made, chlorine smelling “river”. It all works out, I swear.
​ 
                                                             One.
​
I have had the luxury of dating in LA for 5 years.  I’ve loved and not loved, casual-ed and full on relationship-ed quite the collection of people, who include but are not limited to: a writer, a stuntman, a YouTuber, another writer, an actor, a hot as fuck bartender, a musician, probably another writer?, a comedian, a chef, a two-time Emmy award winning producer, a cocaine dealer… a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker… okay, those last three are lies, but one of the writer’s was pretty handy so I’m sure he could make a candle or two. Out of them all, only the cocaine dealer was a bad choice. That story is for another time...  I (usually) date genuine, good people, and have grown from every experience. However…  as I conclude this portion of the thought-essay I’m writing while drinking a bottle Charles Shaw 2014 Shiraz, let’s get it straight – I’m still single. Single as fuck. Also, this wine is…. really bad, y’all. Liiiiiike, it tastes like the $3 I spent on it were shoved into the bottle, then Smirnoff poured into it, then left out in the sun since 2014. There cannot be real grapes in here. 

​I ​did not take French in high school. I went the practical route and took Spanish. I still say gracias “grassy ass”, but that’s not my fault. I learned Spanish (and English, for that matter) in Arkansas. I escaped Arkansas in 2012 and have never looked back.

I have lived in Los Angeles for 4 years. In my time here, I have heard of a magical land in West Hollywood where you can meet every celebrity and movie mogul of your dreams. This land sits atop a tower overlooking the LA skyline (whatever that is) and it’s adjacent hills, and smells like lavender room spray and money. They call this land…SoHo House.