Is There Any Hope For Kids Raised In Los Angeles?

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I have a running joke with my absolute oldest friend—well, he's not old, because that would mean I was old; what I mean is, I've known him for forever, since we were 4. Anyway, the joke is that I don't live in America, even though I live in the United States of America. Because I live in New York City, which is, at times, decidedly un-America-ish (but not un-American, mind you). I get what he means. Where else can you make a lot of money and live like a pauper? Or a pauper who wears expensive high heels every day, even though she lives in an apartment smaller than the mud room in his sprawling house in South Carolina?

But New York City is not alone. No, there's Los Angeles. Which, frankly, I find much, much weirder than New York City. And this blog post doesn't have a chance in hell heck of convincing any of us otherwise. But it sure is funny! (It also has a lot of swear words, another sign of city living.)

I had a great belly laugh or five reading this post from Things Mommy Lied About, where she talks about the challenges of Date Night and raising a child in the city of Angels. I bet you'll get some laughs, too. (Plus, some insight as to how all that crazy stuff gets on TV.)

LA baby

Credit Image:Charlotte Morrall via Flickr

Bottled Watergate

Ah, date night. For those of you who don’t have kids, you may or may not understand the precious-ness of such an occasion. On a date night, I actually wear nice clothes, even heels, and my husband and I go out, at night no less, and take a few hours to reconnect with our former childless selves, to a time where crayons weren’t religiously offered to us at the hostess station and I could stay seated the entire meal.

Well, a few weeks ago we had one of those date nights. We went with friends to a very hip restaurant. Even though we had been generously granted reservations, we still had to wait a few minutes for our table, long enough for a few celebrities to be ushered through ahead of us. That’s okay. I live in Los Angeles, I’m from Los Angeles, and I’m used to it. It gave me ample time to take in the decor which, of course, included gigantic multi-colored gummy bears in glass cases. Okay, fine. It made things interesting.

We’re finally seated and handed the requisite two menus: one for food and one for wine—oh, wait, no. That menu is not a wine menu, it’s a water menu, of course. That’s right, just water. Many different kinds of eleven-dollar water. Except for that special Vichy Sparkling one. That one is twelve. I mean, really. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, right?

Please, indulge me for a moment, and peruse this menu. You’ll probably find many of these fine artisinal blends at other exotic locales such as your local Trader Joe’s or, in many cases, Ralphs or the like. Maybe even a really chic AM/PM or two. Endeavor to culture yourself and train your palate to identify the subtle differences. That’s what we all do here in LA, while we put our babies on The Master Cleanse so they fit into smaller onesies. My daughter may be three years old, but she’s still wearing 18-24 month clothing and we’re very proud.

Click here to read the continuing hilarity at Things Mommy Lied About!

Read more from Bottled Watergate at Things Mommy Lied About


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