Impressing the California Girls

I lived in Brentwood California with a boyfriend for a while. His buddy Rich (from the good ol’ drink-until-you- don’t- know- your-name days of college) wanted to move out to Cali from NYC.

So my boyfriend helps him find a job at his company, and we even find an apartment for rent in our building and hook him up with that too.

Rich descends upon the west coast with two big brown suitcases full of crappy Champion sweatshirts, ripped stone-washed jeans, assorted toiletries, and magical dreams of making it big in the movie business. We take him to Nordstrom’s for a stylish silk shirt and pair of black pants, which was the required California business ensemble at the time. Oh, and a pair of new shoes.

I let him borrow my car for his first day of work. I clean out all the toddler toys and baby bottles and old Cheerios so he looks more professional. I tell him he has to leave my daughter’s car seat in the back though, because it’s a pain in the ass to take out. No problem.

So here he is, riding down Sunset Boulevard with the windows wide open, silk shirt fluttering in the wind, on his way into Hollywood for his first day on the job. The sun is shining, birds are singing, palm trees are beckoning on either side of the road, inviting him to join the masses of the sun-kissed beautiful people. Long-legged girls are walking around wearing enticing sundresses and tantalizing heels. He has found it at last: his own little slice of L.A. heaven.

This is a dream come true.

Rich is stopped at a red light at the corner of Sunset and Beverly. A red convertible something or other (hey, I’m not good with cars) pulls up on his left, and he suddenly notices that two hot chicks are smiling at him and giggling. He puffs out his chest like a western lowland silverback and then, with all due coolness, he gazes over his shoulder at his cooing admirers, lowering his Ray Bans just enough to give the lovely ladies a flirtatious wink.

This makes them squeal with delight as they drive off, their long golden locks billowing out behind them.

He is basking in the rays of pure awesomeness. Could this day get any better?

Moments later, his shiny red balloon of bliss pops, flies around the sunny sky in erratic loops and then quickly descends into the shadowy depths of the nearest storm drain.

Yes, in his school-boy excitement for his first real day in L.A., in the anticipation of what amazing possibilities are in store for him at his impressive new job, he hadn’t noticed that the CD player is blasting Barney tunes for all the world to hear.

“Clean up! Clean up! Everybody, everywhere!
Clean up! Clean up! Everybody do your share!”

Damn.