It rained like a mutherfucker yesterday. Seriously. If a mutherfucker could rain, this is EXACTLY what it would be like.
Rain is funny in Los Angeles. Every year the city floods, and every year there’s a reporter standing on the same corner of Flower St. between 5th and 6th in Downtown LA with breaking news—Storm Watch at 11. One would think: if it rains, it floods, so FIX it, but nope.
In West Hollywood California, we don’t take too kindly to rain. Unless we feel it on our fingertips and hear on a windowpane via a Madonna song, rain can be a pain in the ass (as in hole). People will tell you that they love the rain, but when the shit goes down in Weho, it never fails: you’re bound to see some wet queen haul ass down the street wearing nothing but a skimpy tank top and jorts (as in jean shorts) with his arms stiffly to his side and the fingers pointing out like he’s patting down a fucking tutu. The bitch is squinting down the street, cuz he’s got so much recycled hair goop dripping down his face and stinging his eyes, it’s bound to make a bitch go blind (I know that bitch. I’ve BEEN that bitch). We never believe it’s gonna get that bad, do we? Then we’re in the thick of a storm and all we can do is tremble like chickens and wonder why the sky is falling. It’s not a good look.
Then we have the driving situation in the middle of a downpour. Angelenos drive like major holes (as in ass). They either drive too damn fast or too damn slow. I can never decide which is worse, or which one is more dangerous. It’s raining like a mutherfucker and people get super defensive or super offensive. Then they wonder why they get in a wreck every single time there is a hint of rain.
However, the beauty of Los Angeles weather is that the rain never lasts for too long. One day it’s pouring like a muther (as in fucker) and the next day you stand in the same spot and it’s nothing but clear skies —“Rain. Wash away my sorrow. Take away my pain. You’re love’s coming down like rain…”
I heart Los Angeles.