After about fifteen minutes on a Los Angeles freeway, I’m about ready to pound a paperweight into the side of my skull.
I grew up in this stinking city, for the love of Imelda Marcos. Every time I come back, I expect to be awash in nostalgia, reflecting on the renewed promise of the City of theAngels by the sea.
And then I sit on the 101 for about six months to go three miles.
I just don’t understand how anyone can live like that. I don’t understand how I used to live like that. And I did. I loved this city. I thought I would never leave. Then I left, and every time I come back, I want to club a baby seal over the head with a baseball bat.
I have traffic anger issues.
We went to the California Science Center this afternoon, and the kids had fun, except my two year old decided he wanted to take the elevator by himself. Then we went to The Grove, so my girls could go to the American Girl store, aND THEN WE DROVE FOR ABOUT AN HOUR AND A HALF TO GO 15 MILES TO MY SISTER’S HOUSE, AFTER WHICH I SCRAPED UP MY MINIVAN ON THE SIDE OF HER GARAGE.
My nephew is watching me write this, and he thinks I’m disturbed. He’s damn right. He’s also offended that I just typed the word “damn.” Now he’s reading this out loud over my shoulder. I think I will type dirty words and see if he will say them. Except now he’s stopped reading this and is just laughing.
I’m going to go enjoy my vacation now. I think there’s a paperweight in the bathroom.