Only In My L.A.

We’re sticking with the ‘You know you’ve lived in L.A. too long when…’ series for now.  And yes it’s a series, since we make everything into a series here, particularly things that have no business being series, like The Flava of Love and Hogan Knows Best.

So in keeping with the aforementioned series, you know you’ve lived in L.A. too long when you see someone with a really nice camera around his neck and immediately start looking around the store for the star because the guy has gotta be paparazzi.   (He was not.  Just a rich Santa Monica kid with a really nice camera because he showed some mild interest in the field a couple years ago and got it for Christmas and now just uses it for fun.)

I was devastated at first, where was my star dammit!  But then I realized I need to settle down.  Cool it, Miss Only In My L.A.  Don’t you see enough star sightings as it is?  Wasn’t Evan Handler standing right in front of you in line at Walgreen’s last week?  What do you want, the world?

Yeah.  Kinda.

Go get on that plane to BROOKlyn already!  (And I think we all know which is the more important syllable in that word.)

hmmmm. ’cause that’s attractive.