Now kittens, before we get started, let me first say that in life, the highs can be breathtakingly high and the lows, well, they can run deeply low. But only from the lows in life can you learn how to truly climb to the top. So close your pretty eyes, as I take you on this epic, life-changing journey of what was truly one of my life's highest uphill climbs. It was one of those easy-peezy Southern California days when it's like God set the outside temperature to a perfectly mild 72 degrees.
I was hanging out with my boyfriend at the time, Luke. Luke was pretty. Girl pretty. He had long, blonde, fluttering eyelashes set off by ethereal seafoam green eyes. He had that rare skin color that self-tanner dreams are made of: "Sun kissed. The juxtaposition of sandy hair and dark skin made him a very coveted piece of boy-candy in my tight knit circle of teen Hollywood transplants.
But Luke had chosen me. Raven-haired, dreary-day-in-London-conceived, Northeast-bred, Marlboro-Light-smoking, leather-adorned -- me. Maybe he had a thing for wild juxtaposition too.
This particular afternoon, we were sitting in his boyish little bedroom smoking weed and staring silently into the baby blue sky. With each hit I took from his expertly strung joint He was a born and raised California boy, and trust me, no one rolls a joint quite like a West Coast native the sprawling Santa Monica sky looked even more unreal.
(mh=bjbRvrqRWKAYo5qv)7.jpg "Girls in Los Angeles")
It didn't feel real. Nothing in those days did. I love having sex when I'm stoned, babe," Luke said in his stoner drawl, drawing out each word like a true California Pothead King. I dreaded that sentence with every fiber of my scrawny year-old being. I mean don't get me wrong, I adored Luke. He was my snuggly sunshine bear who got me blitzed for free and took me to concerts on Sunset Blvd. He knew everything about Los Angeles, and as an East Coast baby, I was completely and utterly fascinated by this LA surreal world I had been tossed into.
