Hey Bitches!!

I got back from Palos Heights late on Columbas Day night. My plane was delayed for 6 hours in LAX, I sat next to a crying infant.

When I got home at 2 in the morning, I decided to call in sick and spend Tuesday in bed drinking Maalox. But you don’t want to hear about that, you want to hear about the exciting world of rural California! The silicon valley, lettuce farms, not rain, and the like. Unfortunately, like so many places, Palos Heights is such a place that you can’t just write about it. First, you’ve got to step back and take a big breathe of not writing about it. In addition, I am far too traumatized by the whole experiences. I have taken 7 showers in the last 24 hrs just trying to get clean.

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24 hr fruit stands and street vendors are really "cool."

Manhattan parks and the library are pretty "fucking" awesome.

Manhattan is bullshit wrapped in a cashmere "fedora" of lies.

The Bronx is "cool" but kind of lame.

East Coast people are unattractive and have icky accents and stab people at random.