Notes from the Left Coast

So I’m sitting at the corner of Fairfax and Hollywood, enjoying an afternoon coffee, when a stretch hummer limo cruises by. Now, seeing a limo in LA is about as common an occurrence as seeing a sorority girl on campus. And they’re both usually stretched to an abnormal size.

But seriously, this was the biggest fucking car I’ve ever seen. It was the length of an 18-wheeler. White with blacked out windows. The kind that hides a multitude of sins. Unless . . . you have the windows down!!

HELLO! The whole point is anonymity, people. You want people to think you’re a star. You want people to wonder, “Who could it be, now?”

Because, unless you are Tara Reid or this gaggle of identical blondes, you don’t roll down the windows on a limo. Ever.

(special exception to Dave Chappelle, who does one of the funniest bits ever about a baby dealing weed in the ghetto)

And let’s not even talk about hanging your skanky ass out the “moon” roof. That’s not what that means.

But, like I said, this was a car full of identical (they all look alike to me) blondes. Now, I suppose they could have been quintuplets, all grown up, in town for an appearance on the Jimmy Kimmel show. But more than likely these girls were either in high school or college, passing around the Garnier like Britney passes panty crickets.

Now I know that, as a rule, when blonde girls are riding in the backs of limos in LA, their heads aren’t generally visible, but, given that there were no producers in the car and these girls think Sapphic is a cosmetics store, I guess they had no alternative but to woo-hoo their way through West Hollywood.

Or maybe it was just another episode of My Super Sweet 16.