Fuck me Im famous by Jil Plahuta

Los Angeles. Where do I even start?
Spending four weeks in Lala Land did something to my mind only that place could. 
First of all it tripped me the hell out. Where else in the world do you land on a yacht with twenty fellow pretty girls and three rich old men on your third day in the land of the famous? And then as a contrast spent the next two weeks sleeping on a couch in a studio in Hollywood with a friend and his roommate. On one hand it seems almost effortless. Everybody is beautiful, and I mean everybody. You can't go into a cafe without sitting next to a model which instead of the vegan burger you had in mind makes you end up ordering a salad. Nobody seems to be working, but everybody can afford to do a 500$ juice cleanse every other week. Im not judging juice cleanses, because I myself dabble with them, and Im not judging them for not working because, well when you love what you do it does't feel like work, and honestly most people wouldn't consider being an Artist a valid profession. What baffled me the most was the viciously committed way in which people were promoting their creative projects, unapologetically shoving business cards into my face after shaking their hands for the first time in friendly environment. Every Uber driver and waiter I had was an actor/director which is highly depressing for somebody who also studied acting and is hoping to maybe one day get to the good stuff without having to put up with being in commercials for the pharmaceutical industry and fast food, something I gave up on a little bit when I saw the state of the industry and the amount of dreamers willing to suck any dick in exchange for being an extra on "Pretty Little Liars". Its not all bad though, the effortlessness I mean. I became a little more beautiful when I landed at LAX, and as appealing as almond milk matcha lattes were before, they were my elixir of life during my stay in LA. I didn't feel the need to wait for the Real Housewife the Paparazzi's were waiting for in front of Bootsy Bellows, and I did make fun of the girl on the yacht with the terrible terrible botox job by asking her in a unbelievably fake valley girl accent, that she didn't pick up on, (Im taking vocal fry to the point of ruining my voice for the rest of my life) where she got her amazing lips done, but I was fascinated by the way in which everybody acted like they were "Somebody". I've never seen self-marketing on that level. They were desperate to sell whatever it was they had (even if that was their bodies), and they were really good at it. I almost bought it. 

So where do I stand now after observing the very different scenes of Los Angeles? You can't generalise anything. Im talking about a very small minority, and I had fun. It was like an art project I delve into. I went along with it and had the time of my life. I ate as many vegan gluten free Pumpkin pies as I could handle at "Urth Cafe', and I actually had some of the best conversations with Uber drivers. And yes, I did meet an undercover porn star, but I got to spend the day driving around on a yacht and the evening in a hot tub with people talking about nothing, and I mean that in the best way possible, Who can blame them for being shallow in a time like this where the depths of conversations usually include politics and conspiracy theories. It was a nice break from reality, and on the bottomline thats what I felt like it was. A break from reality, a bubble.