L.A. is like a huge high school cafeteria

I was on Sunset, a block away from the Château Marmont, and I was looking to be inspired. I wanted to come off as a writer. I was hoping to immerse myself with all the showbiz types and burnouts, and just get a vibe. Instead, I paced back and forth outside the hotel, looking like a suspect paparazzi. I couldn’t find the entrance — very symbolic of my life. I can never find the entrance… I make excuses for not finding the entrance. The valet guys surrounded the driveway like the queen’s guards at Buckingham Palace.

I was hoping to bump into Lindsay Lohan and have an AbFab day with her, gossiping and sipping hard liquor — which I’m sure I’m allergic to. I mean, we were both born in the Year of the Tiger, we’re both freckled, and we both have a love/hate relationship with Disney. She would naturally gravitate towards my look of innocence, and then we would have a makeover sequence à la Clueless. We would share secrets and pillow talk, and she would then give me full permission to sell her story. She would feel like she owed me something, because the bitch stole my role in The Parent Trap! I never auditioned; I just felt like I was destined to play twins and avenge my parents’ divorce.

But I was wearing Old Navy — not cool enough to be Château Marmont chic. C’est la vie. Eh, West Hollywood wasn’t that charming anyway.

With my country-bumpkin insecurities, I went back to my car. On my way down Melrose Avenue’s freshly waxed runway, I had an existential crisis! I decided to window-shop and play The Price Is Right.

Who really wants to buy a dress that should be insured?! You could give me all the money in the world, and I still wouldn’t sell my soul for a blouse. It’s just wrong to buy a dress for $5000. Do these people realize that people are suffering globally, and they’re buying a dress that costs more than 10 months’ rent?!

A gaggle of Japanese girls was taking pictures on the sidewalk of all the stores and the glamorous people. When they saw me coming down the sidewalk , they didn’t even part ways to let me by! I had to detour to on the street. I was street-worthy, not sidewalk-worthy. I kept thinking, I have fuzz balls on my pants.

L.A. made me feel like I was the new girl in the cafeteria of life, looking for a group to sit with and being rejected for trying to sit with the popular kids. In Less Than Zero, Brett Easton Ellis writes, “People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles.” They are afraid to merge. L.A. is a huge high school cafeteria, where the popular kids have insurance on their clothes.

I decided to have a beer at the King’s Head in Santa Monica. The pub was cluttered with cliques of each and every age above 25. I felt like I was at Cheers, but no one knew my name. Then someone approached me. He allowed me into his clique. I felt unworthy because they were solidified in the industry as writers. I then shut myself up, and acted like, yes, I’m worthy of being invited to a writers’ club. They liked me. They really liked me!

One of them was one of the contributing writers for Lost. I told them my developing story, and they were interested somewhat, but they were quick to warn me about the harsh realities of writing in the industry. I told them about Diablo Cody rocketing to fame as a blogger-turned-Oscar-winning script writer. They cringed and looked a little bitter at the fact. One of them said, “Most people have to pay their dues and do a lot of bitch work.” It was nice that they listened to me with open ears and engaged eyes — I felt seen! I was nervous about divulging too much about my ideas, though, and I didn’t want to seem star-struck by asking them too many questions about their careers. I covet my ideas out of fear they’ll be out in the universe and subsequently stolen.

[Post edited for length]