I knew what I was getting into when I came to LA and I thought that I was totally ready to live a season-free life. I moved here during a cold January after a particularly snowy December, so I was more than happy to live in the warm weather that winter.
Last fall, during Thanksgiving, I was pretty sad about not going back east. I decided to get all the ingredients to make a big Thanksgiving dinner. When I woke up in the morning, it was already in the high 70’s and only got worse throughout the day. I turned my oven on regardless, so I could binge eat the sadness away, and my apartment reached a whopping 95 degrees. I was livid and actually spent most of the day depressed. Tears may have been shed and Harry Potter movies were definitely watched.
Then, once winter came and Christmas was spent in Boston, I got over it and was excited for warm weather. Until, of course, I saw all these nice pictures of spring and I was all of a sudden PISSED about having a beach day in March. March is for attempting to go tights-free during one unseasonably warm day that really only hits 50 degrees, not for sipping wine spritzers on the sand!
Things perked back up during the summer, even though I’m the type of girl who wears a leather jacket 365 days a year. I was happy to be in warm weather and not sweating through the humidity that I dealt with back on the east coast.
But then… of course, that shit got old. Come September, I’m done with the heat and I’m ready for watching football while wearing a sweater and/or sweatshirt under covers. But guess what? That’s just not possible here.
Maybe it’s because I was back home during fall for two weddings and got to experience the crisp air and cooler temps, but I’m feeling pretty fucking bummed out this fall and it has a lot to do with L.A.’s consistent need to be WARM AND GREAT AND DRY.
Last weekend, there was rain in the forecast for Sunday and I woke up like a god damn kid at Christmas only to be severely disappointed. It didn’t rain! At least not while I was awake, but what good is overnight rain? Actually, it’s a pretty good thing for California regardless, BUT WHAT ABOUT ME? I looked at the weather forecast every hour on the hour and the rain kept getting pushed and pushed until eventually it was non-existent.
Now, here I sit, with 97 degrees in the forecast for Friday (and the rest of the weekend.) I want to be wearing boots, tights, coats and cuddling under 1,000 blankets while I go to sleep. Fuck you, fall in LA. Get some seasons, you asshole!