It's official. My blood has thinned out from living here in Los Angeles. It was bound to happen.

December and January are my favorite times of year here in Laralay. The air is crisp and cold, but the sun is warm, and the light that surrounds you is clear and bright. I don't know about you, but I think that the way the sunlight looks is one of the major giveaways on the glowy box -- when something is supposed to be happening in "New York", but was clearly shot in Los Angeles.

Yesterday I had the misfortune of having two auditions. Misfortune you say? No! Job opportunities! Hurrah for our team! The only reason I say "misfortune" is because one was in the morning, and one was in the evening and BOTH of them were in Lovely Downtown Burbank. That means a LOT of time sitting in traffic on a bunch of freeways. Lately, I try to be zen about the traffic, and just accept it. Yesterday it was actually not such a bad deal to be inching along - the weather is so gorgeous and clear, that to view downtown Los Angeles as I looped around it on the 110 at an exhilarating 15 miles an hour was completely breathtaking. On my right was the skyline that has become so familiar, but behind it, in full view were mountains, mountains that are usually disguised as sky by blankets of smog. Behind those normally hidden mountains, the second mountain range - snowcapped beauties, a rare sight, were also in view.

I often wonder what L.A. looked like here before people came and cocked it up.

But I digress. December and January are indeed gorgeous months, but I tell you, at the risk of being called a pussy by all my NYC friends, I am fucking freezing. THERE! I SAID IT. Let the mocking commence, but at least hear me out. Wait, I mean, read me out.

I am not in any way, shape or form, trying to imply that I have it as bad as the people in the midwest getting their asses handed to them by the Snow Queen. Or anyone who pushes against the wind in the tunnels of Manhattan on the way to work in wintertime. I have been the latter. I know "bittah". You know what "bittah" is - it's when your face freezes in the one block walk from the subway to your office, and you can't talk quite right until it thaws out.

Which brings me to my point. You thaw out. In fact, in my experience, scientists still haven't figured out a way to regulate the heat in every single building in New York, which is why they are all boiling hot. Within five minutes, you peel off your overcoat, scarf, gloves, legwarmers, second scarf around your chest (like second breakfast), sweater, vest, thick tights, pantyhose, wool skirt, henley and tee shirt, and can be quite comfortable in your skivvies. (Though, coincidentally, also in my experience, that kind of behavior is frowned upon at most corporate temp jobs)

Here, the cold is a chronic thing. 48 degrees gets into your bones and refuses to leave. It's a maddening torture device - like in Shogun when they boil that guy. You know! That guy! He's one of Blackthorne's crewmates, and they slow boil him as torture - I think it's called the "Night of Screams". I would google it but you know what? MY HANDS ARE TOO FUCKING COLD TO CLICK ON MY MOUSE.

Vinny and I had been in L.A. for less than a week when we went with friends to visit family they had in the valley. The Lady Of The House gave us a tour, and on the tour she motioned to a spacious patio out back and said, "We don't go out here in the wintertime, but occasionally, when we have holiday gatherings, some brave souls will wander out here to smoke or talk." I will never forget the use of the phrase "brave souls", and you KNOW that Vinny and I - fresh from The Isle Of Manhattan, shot each other a meaningful look. I also know I smiled smugly.

A few weeks later, Vinny and I found ourselves out with a group of people that we didn't really know very well, but had migrated here from the east coast about a year before the two of us made the journey. We all had dinner together and then made our way to some kind of crazy tiki bar. It had straw cabanas, fruity drinks and a roaring fire. I, beginning to feel the chill THAT I AM STILL FEELING RIGHT NOW, pulled my chair as close as I could get to the fire - you know - without annoying everyone by the scent of burning hair. The two other women joined me, and we discussed in hushed tones how "cold" we were and how we could never tell our friends back home in the east. One of them explained that there was a reason it was so cold. That due to the desert air meeting the marine whatever it was a "damp" kind of cold and that's why it felt more blah blah blah. I wasn't really listening because I hated her from the moment I met her. She was a sullen jerk at dinner, and I am old enough not to care what people think about me, or make nice to people I think are assholes. Also I think we have done a lot of work here in establishing that I can be kind of a bitch. So if anyone has heard anything about this phenomenon - something that explains why it FEELS so much colder here, then fire away.

In the meantime, It's time for me to head out to my car. The supermassive black hole of summertime becomes my warm respite in the wintertime. I may sit in traffic, but I have the mountain view, I have the sunbaked leather to warm my bones, and guess what? Today I have another audition. In Burbank.