I knew what I was getting into when I came to LA and I
thought that I was totally ready to live a season-free life. I moved here during a cold January after a
particularly snowy December, so I was more than happy to live in the warm
weather that winter.
Last fall, during Thanksgiving, I was pretty sad about not
going back east. I decided to get all
the ingredients to make a big Thanksgiving dinner. When I woke up in the morning, it was already
in the high 70’s and only got worse throughout the day. I turned my oven on regardless, so I could
binge eat the sadness away, and my apartment reached a whopping 95
degrees. I was livid and actually spent most of the day depressed. Tears may have been shed and Harry Potter
movies were definitely watched.
Then, once winter came and Christmas was spent in Boston, I
got over it and was excited for warm weather.
Until, of course, I saw all these nice pictures of spring and I was all
of a sudden PISSED about having a beach day in March. March is for attempting to go tights-free
during one unseasonably warm day that really only hits 50 degrees, not for
sipping wine spritzers on the sand!
Things perked back up during the summer, even though I’m the
type of girl who wears a leather jacket 365 days a year. I was happy to be in warm weather and not
sweating through the humidity that I dealt with back on the east coast.
But then… of course, that shit got old. Come September, I’m done with the heat and
I’m ready for watching football while wearing a sweater and/or sweatshirt under
covers. But guess what? That’s just not possible here.
Maybe it’s because I was back home during fall for two
weddings and got to experience the crisp air and cooler temps, but I’m feeling
pretty fucking bummed out this fall and it has a lot to do with L.A.’s
consistent need to be WARM AND GREAT AND DRY.
Last weekend, there was rain in the forecast for Sunday and
I woke up like a god damn kid at Christmas only to be severely
disappointed. It didn’t rain! At least not while I was awake, but what good
is overnight rain? Actually, it’s a pretty good thing for California
regardless, BUT WHAT ABOUT ME? I looked
at the weather forecast every hour on the hour and the rain kept getting pushed
and pushed until eventually it was non-existent.
Now, here I sit, with 97 degrees in the forecast for Friday
(and the rest of the weekend.) I want to
be wearing boots, tights, coats and cuddling under 1,000 blankets while I go to
sleep. Fuck you, fall in LA. Get some seasons, you asshole!
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