Hi, it's me. It's Lisa.
I am the girl who stood behind you at El Cid the other night when that really cool underground band was playing. You know, El Cid? That really cool underground place in Silverlake with the grungy bouncer and the overgrown ficus on the patio? Yeah. You probably didn't notice me. Or maybe you did. I was kind of hard to miss. After all, I was standing RIGHT behind you. I was actually standing in my spot before you so rudely took your spot directly in front of me. You're quite a bit taller than I am, you do realize. I know I had a lot of makeup on, but it only makes me appear more sexually desirable, it doesn't actually give me x-ray vision. It was impossible to see through you. Maybe you thought that since I had the bad sense to wear leggings out in Silverlake it was worth blocking my view of the really good looking lead singer.
Was that it? Was it the leggings?
I know that living on the Westside has destroyed my sense of what is socially acceptable in other parts of LA and The World, but you can't blame me for that, Mister Hipster. I just live where it's really homogenous and distasteful to stand out. Everyone over here is white and educated, and that's soooo not my fault. See, I'm used to meeting fratty meatheads who graduated from USC at karaoke bars, and all the girls here on my side wear leggings and uncomfortably high heels when they go out. I straighten my naturally curly hair in order to fit in and I won't be ridiculed for that. At least it's still brown, Ok? I know that in Silverlake most women are difficult to look at and wear thick rimmed glasses, but where I'm from people make an overstated effort to be attractive. People wear contacts, you get? I have no control over these social mores so stop effing giving me a hard time over it and move out of my way, would you? By planting yourself directly in my line of sight you've made me feel inferior for not hanging out in more places where the lights are red and the chicks are fugly. Your bad attitude and harsh judgment are getting me down and I don't appreciate it.
Oh, and also, why are you standing so still? I don't get it. The music that this really dope band is rocking is actually pretty good. Like, it has a beat. Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Hipster - a beat is like a rhythm; it's usually repetitive, and once you've been listening for a few seconds you can predict the thump-thump-thumping of it and it makes you want to have sex. Maybe you're not familiar with the concept of a beat since most of the music you listen to is "experimental" and features a synth and the sophomoric vocal talents of some whiny, lonley-heart greaseball who's really 35 but looks 19. And I'm sure you'd like to have sex at some point in your life, but probably not with any of the homely, flannel-donning types I'm seeing around here. That's your own damn fault - this is LA and hot girls are a dime a dozen, but you've chosen to kick it all Eastside and whatever, so I have zero sympathy for your unwanted virginity. This music is darn catchy, and your refusal to move your body in a display of delight or enjoyment is downright baffling.
You don't look hip, Mister Hipster. You look deaf.
Is your herring-bone sport coat your way of telling me to get back to where I once belonged?* Is your grandpa style golf cap keeping the glare of the stage lights off your furrowed brow? Do you really need glasses or are you just trying to look like Rivers Comou circa the Blue Album? I guess reading McSweeny's and looking like an extra from The Mary Tyler Moore show is our generation's best attempt at reinventing Cool. It's so Now to be retro.
Oh, shit. I just spilled my red wine on your tweed elbow patch.
Yeah, sorry. That was me. I didn't mean to do that. I was just dancing really sexy-like when my 4-inch heel got caught in the crack of these old-school wooden floorboards. I guess I lost my balance and got distracted criticizing you behind your back. Literally, from behind your back. You've been standing motionless in front of me for like 20 minutes...
Oh, that's OK I can still hear the music... Yeah, it's good isn't it? I really like these guys... You do too? That's cool... You like my leggings, too?... Haha. I'm sorry I didn't expect that, I guess I'm just really jaded... Yeah, sooo... Oh, you have to go home and get rest because you're volunteering at an animal shelter all day tomorrow?... Hey, you're actually disarmingly sweet and sincere and kind of attractive... Oh, thanks. I try... Sure, you can have my number... It was really nice meeting you, too.
Ok, well, have fun petting cats tomorrow. I like your hat! Call me!
*Intentional Beatles reference.