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B&H Garage Door Repair Los Angeles
342 Hauser Blvd #135 Los Angeles 90036
(424)230-7018
Garage Door repair Los Angeles
Garage door repair Encino
Gate repair Los Angeles
Garage door repair Sherman Oaks
Garage Door Repair Santa Monica
#LosAngeles #Encino #garagedoors #garagerepair #ShermanOaks #SantaMonica #SMM #SantaMonica #HomeOwner #SmallBusiness
http://garagedoorrepair-losangeles.net/
I asked
the
gas
station
employee
if he'd ever
had
trouble
breathing,
and he said it varies from season to season
and he said it varies from season to season
Too ugly for LA.
Too stupid for New York.
Too stupid for New York.
1) Run away to Brooklyn.
Rent an apartment with a claw footed bathtub. Commute to
Manhattan during the week and put in hours at a menial publishing
job. Drive home to New Jersey on weekends to swim in the pool and
cry to your mother. Smoke Gauloises on the fire escape. Let
yellowing issues of Rolling Stone and Vogue pile into a
protective fortress around your bed. Listen to Cat Power. Fall
asleep mostly naked beneath the duvet watching SportsCenter and
drinking earl grey. Date a Yankees fan and kiss his hands on the
4 Train into the Bronx.
2) Run away to Barcelona. Eat milk chocolate magnum bars and drink cheap champagne. Burst into charming fits of laughter whenever you get embarrassed about butchering the Catalan language. Wear denim cutoffs, Dr. Pepper chapstick, and very little else. Go dancing at 3 a.m. Whiten your teeth. Tan your shoulders. Braid feathers into your hair. Perpetually wake up with sand caught in the thin cotton sheets of your tiny bed. Listen to the Rolling Stones and kiss all the longhaired boys you can get your hands on without ever having to apologize.
3) Run away to Los Angeles. Sublet a studio in Venice three blocks from the beach. Listen to top 40 radio. Go to Chateau Marmont and charge drinks you can't afford to a long-dormant credit card. Sleep with the television actor who lives in the valley. Sleep with a musician who lives in Bel Air. Break things off with both of them when gas prices begin to rise. Find Gilda Radner's star on the Walk Of Fame and swallow a sob when you see the filthy cement around her name is cracked. Walk through the Venice Canals until the sun sets and you forget your own name. Call your mother crying from the parking lot of a 24-hour Ralph's supermarket. Tell her you want to come home.
4) Run away to Paris. Gaze at the pink and pistachio glow of macarons in the window on Boulevard Saint-Germain. Listen to Joni Mitchell. Meet and Argentinean man in the Latin Quarter for drinks. Melt into his accent and kiss him goodnight, but return to your apartment alone because his face doesn't look enough like the man you are trying to forget. Get lost in the Richelieu Wing of the Louvre, admiring Napoleon's fine red damask. Walk alone along the Seine in an old dress, ten-dollar shoes, and an Hermes scarf. Fumble with the locks on the fence overlooking the river. They all have lovers' names etched into them and the girl who left the red heart-shaped lock has the same name as you.
5) Run away to Martha's Vineyard. Write heartbroken stories during the day in front of a large fan that blows curls of humid hair across your tired face. Take a waitress job at The Black Dog at night and try hard not to drop too many trays. Learn to ride a moped. Pretend you're a Kennedy. Listen to Carly Simon. Eat hand-churned ice cream out of waffle cones. Visit the flying horses and consider how many girls just like you have sat on the same horse clutching for the same brass ring. Get stoned and dance barefoot down the length of the eroded Jaws beach. Date a Red Sox fan. Yell at each other during baseball games, and then kiss and make up between tangled sheets.
2) Run away to Barcelona. Eat milk chocolate magnum bars and drink cheap champagne. Burst into charming fits of laughter whenever you get embarrassed about butchering the Catalan language. Wear denim cutoffs, Dr. Pepper chapstick, and very little else. Go dancing at 3 a.m. Whiten your teeth. Tan your shoulders. Braid feathers into your hair. Perpetually wake up with sand caught in the thin cotton sheets of your tiny bed. Listen to the Rolling Stones and kiss all the longhaired boys you can get your hands on without ever having to apologize.
3) Run away to Los Angeles. Sublet a studio in Venice three blocks from the beach. Listen to top 40 radio. Go to Chateau Marmont and charge drinks you can't afford to a long-dormant credit card. Sleep with the television actor who lives in the valley. Sleep with a musician who lives in Bel Air. Break things off with both of them when gas prices begin to rise. Find Gilda Radner's star on the Walk Of Fame and swallow a sob when you see the filthy cement around her name is cracked. Walk through the Venice Canals until the sun sets and you forget your own name. Call your mother crying from the parking lot of a 24-hour Ralph's supermarket. Tell her you want to come home.
4) Run away to Paris. Gaze at the pink and pistachio glow of macarons in the window on Boulevard Saint-Germain. Listen to Joni Mitchell. Meet and Argentinean man in the Latin Quarter for drinks. Melt into his accent and kiss him goodnight, but return to your apartment alone because his face doesn't look enough like the man you are trying to forget. Get lost in the Richelieu Wing of the Louvre, admiring Napoleon's fine red damask. Walk alone along the Seine in an old dress, ten-dollar shoes, and an Hermes scarf. Fumble with the locks on the fence overlooking the river. They all have lovers' names etched into them and the girl who left the red heart-shaped lock has the same name as you.
5) Run away to Martha's Vineyard. Write heartbroken stories during the day in front of a large fan that blows curls of humid hair across your tired face. Take a waitress job at The Black Dog at night and try hard not to drop too many trays. Learn to ride a moped. Pretend you're a Kennedy. Listen to Carly Simon. Eat hand-churned ice cream out of waffle cones. Visit the flying horses and consider how many girls just like you have sat on the same horse clutching for the same brass ring. Get stoned and dance barefoot down the length of the eroded Jaws beach. Date a Red Sox fan. Yell at each other during baseball games, and then kiss and make up between tangled sheets.
--5 Fantasy Exit Strategies
Courtney Preiss
Courtney Preiss
✈ ✈ ✈
One day we can travel the world
basically all we feel like doing is lazing around or just sleeping all day
but no, we can't do that because it's f.ucking los angeles.
Like a sweet spring breeze, you remind me of May,
Filled with elementary ease, my beautiful L.A.
Filled with elementary ease, my beautiful L.A.
Aided by an Angel
Chapter Fourteen;Part One
Miracle's POV:
Chapter Fourteen;Part One
Miracle's POV:
- Three Days Later ; Los Angeles, CA -
The drive to California is roughly fourty-five hours from Jersey, not including sleeping, eating, and other necessary stops along the way. I did not dare to drive; we wanted to arrive there within the year, remember? I'd get us lost inside of a paperbag if given the chance. I didn't want Parker to get tired though, so we stopped often.
Not once did we spend a dime on a hotel room until we got into the city today. Why pay money for a nasty hotel room when the truck is heated? But since we didn't know how long we'd be here for. This year's season was a little different than what it usually was; all new judges were being picked and there was a lot of controversey on the matter. It also turned out, in our favor, that the final audtions were being held in L.A. this year. It was only Thursday and the auditions didn't start until Monday morning at nine a.m., meaning we should probably camp out over night by the studio. Great.
"Here we are," I stopped behind Paker as he slid the door key into it's correct slot. "Home sweet, home?" We heard a click and then wiggled the door handle open.
"Yeah, right." My luggage trailed behind me as I walked close to Parker. If my hands weren't both occupided, I probably would've held his hand. "Ooh, sofa." Simultaneously, we dropped our heavy things and darted off to the plush cushions calling our names from across the room.
"Oh my gosh, this feels amazing!" As his head rolled back, neck cracking slightly, he drew out the syllables in his words. I saw the trip weighing in his eyes and making his facial expressions droop on his cheekbones.
"Hey, why don't you go take a shower and then head off to bed, okay?" It was only one o'clock, but he really looked like he needed a full day of rest. I ran my fingers through his brown locks, letting them trail down to his cheek. My palm connected with his skin, giving him a wake-up smack and encouraging him to get going.
"Yeah, you're right. I should," He stood up and stretched right in front of me; my eye level landing right at the band of his boxers that were now showing as his arms reached above his head. Oh my. Breathe. "See you in the morning, Mir."
"Goodnight, Styles." I watched him exit the living room and listened for the water to begin running. Once it did, I tried to figure out what I was going to do for the rest of the night. I sat, legs crossed, on the sofa playing with Momma's dog tag that hung around my neck. I knew it was wrong to have taken it from her; it had no right being mine, anyway, since Niall wasn't my father and he's the one who had given it to her. But either way, I had it now and I somehow felt connected to Momma and Aaron back home. I was starting to get home sick and I had only been here for a few hours.
I didn't just miss my family, though. I missed Zac and the girls too. God only knew how long I'd have with Darcy and Autumn before they went their seperate ways on their seperate paths and I left without saying goodbye. Some friend I am. And I felt even worse about Zac; he found out in a text message that I was leaving.
'Well when r u coming back? -Zac xx'
The drive to California is roughly fourty-five hours from Jersey, not including sleeping, eating, and other necessary stops along the way. I did not dare to drive; we wanted to arrive there within the year, remember? I'd get us lost inside of a paperbag if given the chance. I didn't want Parker to get tired though, so we stopped often.
Not once did we spend a dime on a hotel room until we got into the city today. Why pay money for a nasty hotel room when the truck is heated? But since we didn't know how long we'd be here for. This year's season was a little different than what it usually was; all new judges were being picked and there was a lot of controversey on the matter. It also turned out, in our favor, that the final audtions were being held in L.A. this year. It was only Thursday and the auditions didn't start until Monday morning at nine a.m., meaning we should probably camp out over night by the studio. Great.
"Here we are," I stopped behind Paker as he slid the door key into it's correct slot. "Home sweet, home?" We heard a click and then wiggled the door handle open.
"Yeah, right." My luggage trailed behind me as I walked close to Parker. If my hands weren't both occupided, I probably would've held his hand. "Ooh, sofa." Simultaneously, we dropped our heavy things and darted off to the plush cushions calling our names from across the room.
"Oh my gosh, this feels amazing!" As his head rolled back, neck cracking slightly, he drew out the syllables in his words. I saw the trip weighing in his eyes and making his facial expressions droop on his cheekbones.
"Hey, why don't you go take a shower and then head off to bed, okay?" It was only one o'clock, but he really looked like he needed a full day of rest. I ran my fingers through his brown locks, letting them trail down to his cheek. My palm connected with his skin, giving him a wake-up smack and encouraging him to get going.
"Yeah, you're right. I should," He stood up and stretched right in front of me; my eye level landing right at the band of his boxers that were now showing as his arms reached above his head. Oh my. Breathe. "See you in the morning, Mir."
"Goodnight, Styles." I watched him exit the living room and listened for the water to begin running. Once it did, I tried to figure out what I was going to do for the rest of the night. I sat, legs crossed, on the sofa playing with Momma's dog tag that hung around my neck. I knew it was wrong to have taken it from her; it had no right being mine, anyway, since Niall wasn't my father and he's the one who had given it to her. But either way, I had it now and I somehow felt connected to Momma and Aaron back home. I was starting to get home sick and I had only been here for a few hours.
I didn't just miss my family, though. I missed Zac and the girls too. God only knew how long I'd have with Darcy and Autumn before they went their seperate ways on their seperate paths and I left without saying goodbye. Some friend I am. And I felt even worse about Zac; he found out in a text message that I was leaving.
'Well when r u coming back? -Zac xx'
