We are going to LA. We've had the time off for months, but our plans see-sawed between back to New York for a ramshackle one-star hotel in Chinatown, and back to Los Angeles, my favorite city.
I tend to push harder toward whichever coast I'm currently crushing on: Reading some J-Mac? New York! Reading Bukowski? LA! Thinking about bagels and dark bars with loud music played by men in women's jeans? New York!
The final decision was helped along after an LA Ink marathon. We got our tickets three days ago. Whenever I watch LA Ink, I feel that I'm about five episodes from getting a sleeve. And honestly NOT getting a tattoo is the one thing about my life that I know I'll never do. She's good, Kat Von D. Even if she does look a walking talking bathroom stall in a dive bar. But prettier.
Anyway. We're using a suitcase this year for the first time, but I like to think of it as an ironic use of a suitcase. So far we've packed: 1. A pack of Hanes boxer briefs; 2. Some wrinkled denim in the shape of a dress.