Sarah Bear and I


Sarah, her drink and I

The only people I’ve known longer then Sarah are my mom, dad and sister.  We’ve been friends since sixth grade, mostly because Sarah refused to give up on me when I climbed up my tree of depression, isolation and a shitty boyfriend and refused to come down.  Sarah S.: for colored girls who’ve considered suicide when rainbows weren’t enough.   I called her two weeks ago after years of texting and emailing and then randomly she texted me on Wednesday to say that she was in southern California and would be here until Friday.  What the Frijoles?!  I made it a point to make sure to see her, no excuses, no earthquakes, no traffic or oral surgery would stop me!  I rescued her and her friends from the Venice Beach parking area at 7ish, you know, just when its dark enough and late enough for the homeless and the condo owners to be out in full force.  They got to see the odd contradictions that make up Los Angeles in full force:

1. Hollywood is actually fairly scuzzy.

2. Traffic is a hot mess. At all hours of the day…day and night, but there is really no other viable way to get around if you’re a tourist (or a regular).

3. Scientologist are certainly “different”.

4. Drinks are really expensive here.  Really expensive.  On GP.

5. The rich live right on top of the poor.

6. Valet parking is really the only way  to go.

I am so glad that I got to see her.  She got to see San Diego, Huntington Beach, Glendale, Hollywood, Silver Lake, Griffith Park, Santa Monica and Venice this time.  The next time she comes out I’m taking her to Inglewood, Lemiert Park, and Long Beach.   Los Angeles, not at all as scary as everyone who doesn’t live here thinks.


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