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Los Angeles Ornithology
An Insider’s Analysis of the LA Bird (or Female), What She Is and Who She Wants
As an 8-year veteran of the opposite sex in the city of Los Angeles (an amount I’ll go ahead and double in light of having lived twice as hard considering I possess both a face that’s not entirely repugnant and what is referred to amongst homosexuals as ‘legs for days’), I’ve personally amassed enough evidence to put no less than 12 entertainment big fish behind bars, and not all of them men. I’ve seen and done things that my Bible Belt parents would exorcise me for and probably murder me in the process, and still I hesitate to judge said measures as entirely unwarranted. As a woman in her 20s continually renouncing and then recouping her dignity amongst the abundant cock and vice of this great city (I would add “glittering” to that description if such an adjective didn’t make LA sound like the dressed-up STD that it really is), I’ve come to the following conclusions about my gender in such potentially unsavory contexts as “dating.”
First, however, we’ll need to consider the two most patently distinct breeds of LA women as pertains to the ‘dating’ scene; I refer to them as 1) EVAs, or ‘the evolving albeit validation addict’ (this frequently implicates actors and other creative types) and 2) NTV, or ‘non-troll vapids, meaning attractive by Hollywood’s unjustifiably ego-inflated standards, yet still as morally (and often intellectually) bankrupt as your average Snookie – and with less amiable charm. Let it be here stated that I observe my gender with late-acquired insider perspective. Burdened by tomboy inclinations until the age of 13, I inevitably had difficulty assimilating. That difficulty lasted until I was about 22, and realized that having girlfriends is imperative to understanding sex and relationships. Typically, your NTV has no want of herd. I suppose this can be explained much in the way that drosophilia (flies) are attracted to old, photon-infused fecal matter (shit). As I invariably digress from my original point, let me just list the women I’ve seen out and about in LA, coupled with a brief verdict as to what they want/think/don’t think/don’t have the cognitive capacity to say “no” to:
1) The simulated-playmate who wears lingerie on [name your blvd.] during [name your season]
This gal tends to rely on external financial backing, generally her parents or a desperate geriatric. Her name most likely hinges on circular vowels, and more often than not she’s hoping to meet a drunk Colin Farrell or Jude Law varietal – but only for the lay, as brunettes seem more qualified in successfully conning child support out of these douches. This bitch will have at least one cohort to contend with, should you want to take her home.
2) The young, horny industry slave of discrepant weight and body type
This ‘bird’ can either be a dolly (cute) or a beer-goggle candidate – but her mouth is substantial, if only in bark. Make no mistake, this particular genus is looking for someone to psycho-stalk. With luck, she’ll burn out quickly and move back home to bum-fuck Ohio. She has very few female friends, and is a pretty safe booty call, barring those calls are made with some irregularity.
3) The older, more prudent, albeit marginally-liquidated industry slave
This includes but is not limited to, previously freaky individuals who’ve since lost their self-confidence, and are predominately typified by: women who eat their feelings, women who shop their feelings, closet potheads, and women who may have bedded Terrence Howard.
** SPOILER ** This genus fiercely desires a husband, 2.5 children, and above all, another 4 inches in height.
4) The non-industry party girl
She does E: on weekends in Vegas, on holidays in Palm Springs, and on occasional trips to visit her conservative family in Long Island. She drinks to black out every other night, but eschews cannabis, although she commonly sleeps with weed-users who are at least 5 years younger (and thus able to keep up with her hyper-sexual dynamic). This one either has some hidden ink, or she could have sleeves of ink accompanied by multiple facial piercings. She is, as gayass Johnny Mayer so gayly put it, sexual napalm, and is generally defined (in diurnal hours) as either a salon receptionist, stylist, bartender or boutique retail manager. In sooth, she ALSO just wants someone to come home to…and do E with on weekends in Vegas, holidays in Palm Springs, and occasional trips to Long Island…
5) The genuine
I know nothing about this girl and question her very existence.
6) The misanthrope
Not to be mistaken with “the apathetic”; the misanthrope is perhaps the most under-utilized sex-pot/fem-bot/maternal resource. She drinks to quiet her demons (which are substantial in both volume and abyss) and while she may appear on the surface to represent any of the above groups, this chick is actually quite atypical in what she has to offer. So long as you don’t cross her – a difficult task as her wavering self-image often regrettably presents itself as a dumping ground-you never need worry about being eternally and publicly castrated in her highly acerbic and soon to be mass – market fiction. You’ve been warned.
So whether you’re out in your trendy hoods (Echo Park, Koreatown), your safe hoods (Santa Monica, Hollywood), or your double-lock your car hoods (The Valley), hopefully now you’re armed with some indication as to which types of bird you can expect what from. For example, if you’re in a wine bar on Ventura, expect to encounter ladies 3-6. If you’re at some dive, rock bar near Hollywood and Vine, expect 2, 4 and 6. And #1 prefers the clubs that most of you men couldn’t get into unless she was already on your arm. But hey, weirder things can and will happen in this city. Charlie Sheen still ain’t dead yet.
Until next time, happy bird-watching!
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About the author
requires 2 cups of black coffee not just for diurnal lucidity but to dilute the inherent anger; substitute barely legal substances and Jersey Shore for zoloft (alternate with vintage cinema and/or Project Runway and/or contemporary irreverent sitcoms when the gorilla juiceheads start to ignite violent inclinations); death to "The Who" cover-band frontmen, religion and celebrity. sometimes writes absurdist science fiction with hints of what may be deemed offensive and humanly inconceivable erotica.
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