A New Beginning in Los Angeles


Almost three weeks ago, I said goodbye to Alex and traded in London’s history for L.A.’s sparkle. When I envisioned moving to Los Angeles a montage of beautiful sunny days, exclusive clubbing, and hoards of laughing friends floated through my head. Thus far, my arrival to the land of movie stars has been quite, um interesting.



It began with sweat.

After sweating, grunting, and momentarily stripping down to my underwear in the middle of suburbia, my friends and I finally managed to stack a truck with all of my worldly possessions. A few bungee cords, two McFlurrys and a WalMart pit stop later, we were on the road to La La Land only slightly worse for wear.



It continued with sweat...


The two extremely kind and benevolent friends who accompanied me on this journey needed to drive their own cars up to L.A. in order to depart in the morning. As a result, we set off towards Los Angeles as a freeway threesome. For some unknown reason, I was elected car leader and blazed the trail up the 101 Freeway. What did I blaze that trail in? Imagine a clown car and a Barbie car had a baby—that baby is my car. Though I adore my little go kart, even I am not entirely delusional. Apart from a leaking roof, no radio, and missing airbag, there is also no sign of anything that resembles air conditioning. As a result, I putted up to L.A. drenched in my own sweat. Yum, yum.


And it ended with a goodnight.


By the time we arrived, all delusions of Los Angeles glamour and elegance had completely worn off and I had accepted my status as a lowly, broke, and probably smelly college student. After mustering up enough energy to unload the massive truck, unpack the boxes, rearrange furniture, hang clothes, and decorate the walls, it was dark outside. But the troops rallied as the L.A. bug bit me once again. I heard West Hollywood (L.A.’s very own gayborhood) call my name and I decided to answer. We wiped off the day’s sweat and donned our party clothes.
Many mirror shots later we headed out into the crisp Los Angeles night and managed to stay out for a grand total of forty minutes. Turns out that is exactly enough to walk to In-N-Out, chow down on a burger, and turn around to walk home. This, of course, was all done in six heels, a mini dress, and no jacket.

After ripping off my shoes and falling in a heap on the couch, my eyes began to slowly close as I mumbled, “Good night, L.A.” I can’t be certain, but I could have sworn I heard the city respond, “Welcome home, Tay.”

So maybe my first night in L.A. wasn’t the glittering, debaucherous, and celebrity studded rager I envisoned as I sat in traffic. But it is my home for the next two years, and for that, I’m stoked.




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