Everybody Hates Me in LA

I hate me enough for the two of us, hate that I can’t let go of you enough, it’s why…

Disclaimer: There’s a lot of holes in this story, but I don’t feel like filling them, so here is exactly what I wrote, as it was written:

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I love that we fall asleep during movies at the same time. I love that she will fart in bed incessantly, to the point I’m a little afraid. Because it sort of doesn’t make sense, health wise.

She asked if it was okay to poop with the door open, I asked why. She wanted to keep talking.

Maybe I should live in LA, but I’d be really poor. More so than New York. In New York, so many people don’t have the means but are in the places the people with the means are. LA feels more segregated.

Ally always lets me talk about whatever unimportant topic I see fit. Like how I’m extremely distrustful of cruises and how there’s a huge conspiracy to cover up all the crime that happens. She says, “you know a lot about cruises,” and I’m a little embarrassed because I don’t think I do. I just read a few articles once and now I can’t find those same articles so I have to dictate them as I remember.

We drive and drive and drive. I wanna see Malibu, but all the cars stop. I think of the beginning of La La Land and that chocolate ice cream commercial with Rachel Bilson*

Malibu is on fire, I guess, and the PCH isn’t going to take us anywhere good.

Santa Monica?

Santa Monica, but we’re losing time and I’m anxious and there’s a guy who is asking to take our picture before getting on the ferris wheel. This makes me so incredibly angry; I tell him we don’t want a picture, we’ve been doing all these things that make you take a picture you’re not going to pay for. And the guy is pleading with me “it’s part of the ride,” almost hopelessly, but I yell at him. I lash out and tell him we’re not doing it, because I just want to ride a fucking ferris wheel and this is all making me so anxious. I push past him, because I need to ride the ferris wheel.

“Why are you being so mean?” Ally asks. she asks me in the most honest way and it breaks my heart a little. Because I guess I was being mean. Again. And I guess it was weird I yelled at this teen whose job it is to take my picture and I feel so bad, I don’t even remember how I responded.

On the ferris wheel, I want to apologize, because she doesn’t deserve my anger and my hang ups. But I’m just too embarrassed to say anything. My ego is too big to bring it up, but I am sorry. I feel like my dad, who makes everything hell for everyone.

I decided to stop going home this Christmas and I even made up an alternative option where I told each parent they could go on a special trip with me instead, just to avoid being in that angry home. Because he was always doing those weird angry outbursts, but now I am doing them and I don’t know how to stop being an angry person when an angry person made me.

My short fucking fuse.

I feel like

I am like

What’s it like to be

Fuck did I just

After awhile on the ferris wheel, Ally sort of agrees with my anger and I feel more ashamed. I tell her that I don’t like doing the pictures we aren’t going to pay for and she agrees with that. But I’m still sorry I was angry.

In college, Ally took a film picture of my pussy. She was helping me dye my hair in the shower and so there were a few photos, my pussy being one of them. She asked if it could be shown in our school’s “gallery,” which was just a hallway everybody walks through.

I think I hesistated but I’m glad I said yes. Because to have my vagina out in the hallway of my school was very freeing. Like, that’s it! I have a bush I don’t trim often, there’s lips that are asymmetrical, and my thighs are huge.

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I said Harry Styles was retarded Phoebe Bridgers. I wondered how she could be from this place and still be so embarrassingly depressed.

The sun is out, even when it’s chilly. The palm trees are always close to that fake blue background that’s supposed to be the sky here.

And then a car stops in front of me and it’s her, Phoebe Bridgers. I didn’t know what to do, because Lucy Dacus was riding shotgun and I don’t really care about Lucy Dacus. Phoebe is waving and smiling a nice, dead-eyed smile. She’s like a miserable animatronic. I tell her a million times that I love her. I dont say I think she probably smells or how I decided for my last college class I would sing Punisher very badly and make all my peers critique my a cappella rendition. Or how after that, my world ended and there was nothing left. I gave the last thing I had and nobody even liked it.

I realized after she left that it was the 23rd, which is my lucky number. My head had started to become numb in the middle a day prior. The roof of my mouth felt pressurized. The center of my face was going to become a black hole that starts sucking everything inward.

In New York, if I remember the feeling, it comes back.

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* This commercial changed me