Sometimes I have an inkling to be bad. To smoke Djarum cigarettes and well rolled blunts; to shotgun cheap beers and kick ass at flip cup; to party the night away in Hollywood and stumble home from an all too expensive cab ride; to ruin new Louboutins and buy another pair the next morning. To let go of all pretenses, of all responsibilities, of all that holds me down in this life … and return to the one I just put behind me. Sometimes I think of the mistakes that were made, the regrets that were experienced and the lessons that were learned, but more than anything, I think of the fun that was had. Any twenty-something year old’s dream in Los Scandalous. Drugs, sex and rock and roll. Parties every weekend and then some. We ran the town by association and we’d be damned if we didn’t get ours.
It feels like a lifetime ago now. Even then, even before I knew it, I wanted to be the wifey. The badass bitch that could hold someone down. I fell fast and hard for any prince charming that came to swoop me off my feet because I believed in a happily ever after. And I thought he would too. It left me played out one too many times. Hollyhood stole my soul and refused to give it back. It changed me for the worse. It made me believe in a lifestyle that wasn’t, isn’t real, but I was too naive to understand.