Life among the beautiful people in Los Angeles

I don’t resent the significant portion of the population for whom the maintenance of impossible beauty standards is a job. Look around any restaurant where you don’t order at a counter, and the other diners will probably look like they should be semi-nude background actors on any HBO show. Because they are. Or they’re hoping to be. Or they’re in porno…
But once you’re here for an extended period of time, you sort of stop seeing all of these symmetrical ambulatory man-orchids, and realize what you may not have when you were 12: That’s not you, and it’s never going to be. You know, like when you go to South America and there are six-foot red lizards running around, but the people there are like, “What? Oh, yeah, those. ZZZZ.” [link]

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