So it’s been nearly a year since our initial journey through the twisted trysts, loves, and lies started, and I’ve enjoyed divulging every dirty detail to you all. Los Scandalous has been (and I’m grasping for just the “write” word here) educational, if anything. I learned that nine times out of ten the mysterious monsieurs met at various Hollyweird hotspots are here to act. They more often than not (contrary to popular belief) do not end the scene with said script, and their character’s colors are revealed through various dating adventures. I learned that if you’re from some small town you may have manners, but my city will swallow you whole without stopping to digest the situation. I’ve learned that dinner and a movie does not constitute date night. I’ve learned that when you are roped into some mundane movie night (for the umpteenth time) you should make sure to lo-jack your ride, so you can GPS your way back to the getaway vehicle you can all-too-easily lose in the Grove parking structure (not that I’m speaking from experience, of course). I’ve learned that sometimes when you DO happen to bust a blonde moment, it is often an unexpected opportunity to be rescued from the knight, in shining armor.

I’ve learned that more often than not the swift sweetheart is from point blank, Oklahoma and you’re right back where you started. Rockstars, actors, and hipsters are often all the same breed, and you have to try on several styles to see which works for you. (But hey, if the flannel shirt fits…) I’ve learned that the dinkiest of divebars (I’m talking where Converse count as couture) can be the most fun locales for you and your plus one. I’ve learned that your very best girlfriends really will be with you through thick and thin, and even when you change your persona to see just what works for you, they aren’t going to hit it and quit it like a boy (shouldn’t) but might. Think of your gf’s as the Ralph Lauren of people – a classic that never gets old, and is always in style. Flannel shirts might I add, will soon be out faster than a Jersey shore grenade. I’m pretty sure the best pick-up line is being comfortable in your own skin. (Or “How much does a polar bear weigh? Enough to break the ice. Hi I’m insert name here.” It’s a close call between the two.) Between all the “boyfriends” you’ve followed me over the canyon and through the The Hills with, it’s been one hell of a ride. Granted the ride sometimes moves at the speed of a special olympic hurdler but let’s blame that on the ever-unpredictable L.A. traffic.

I’ve learned that aside from your gf’s, you can ALWAYS rely on finding something at the Fred Segal and Nordstrom’s half yearly sales, and that there will be traffic on the 405 at any time during the day and/or night. I’d say there’s comfort in consistency, but really it’s just two aspirin waiting to happen. I learned that ER M.D.’s do not, in fact, resemble the McCast of Greys. What I have yet to learn is why girls listen to things like He’s Just Not That Into You and regard it as gospel. He’s just not that into you? Cool, kick Jo Shmo to the curb and move on to the next man. Time, ladies, stops for no (wo)man. It’s been an absolute adventure and I await many more to come in the following year as I give my regards to Broadway, Brooklyn, Austin and any other alluringly sweet city that holds the promise of something sin-sational.

Au Revoir dolls & dudes.

In A Los Angeles Minute….

My weekend was a complete blur between the drinks, my girlfriends, and jetlag (so to speak, and so it seemed). My Saturday night started out with the girls. I parked in Siberia to get to a fiesta that had us hiking south of the border (Mexican themed, clearly). The party was great and these hostesses with the most-ess were clearly thinking outside the bun! My little posse however had also rsvp’d to a different engagement and so after about an hour of margarita madness, we were on our way to a cute little neighborhood bar in WeHo with our cell phones, lip glosses, and passports in hand.

Apparently we didn’t get the memo that it was celebrity night at this dive and the stars were slumming for sure (Just trying to keep it real I’d assume, or do they need to ‘up’ their street cred for call sheets?). Well, it looks as though my jet setting was not about to end anywhere near the border, because in a Los Angeles minute I was face to face with gents from South Dakota, and later in the night, from Arkansas. Now it will probably come as a shock to you that these gents were out here to make it big on the silver screen, armed with a not-so-crystal-clear perception of how things really go down in my star-studded city. Now, in a city where casting couches are taken for a ride as often as the new Audi A5’s, a girl’s got to have some rules in order to keep her sanity. These rules of course, are subjective to each gal on the go! For example, one of my favorites is friends don’t let friends date actors. This has proven well for me, because if Fleetwood Mac is right and “players only love you when they’re playing”…well, I can’t waste time on a playboy actor who’s ready to switch leading ladies as often as Fred Segal gets new merch.

So at around 2 a.m., I was ready to head home, jetlagged from another amazing night over the hill and through the canyon into Hollywood. I bid adieu to the cross country nomads that came here with the intention of making it big in a city that has the attention span of a goldfish. I told them to “break a leg,” and walked away, armed with new numbers in my cell, my ‘go-to’ girls, and stories that were well worth the chaos. In a city with a fault line as unstable as the majority of celebutantes and their accompanying headlines, you enjoy every second you have, because like inhabitants near the San Andreas fault line know, everything can change in a Los Angeles minute.