In New York the work ethic goes like this: drive yourself crazy all day long, stumble to a bar, get wasted, stumble into a cab, sleep, start all over again. I’m not necessarily impugning how hard people work or how hard people drink in LA–it’s just that in order to do so with the same voracity that people do in New York, you’d have to “DUI it,” as a friend put it.
You should not DUI it. You should pay for cabs, which given the expansive nature of this city, typically run $30 a pop. (By comparison, a lawyer to get you out of a DUI costs upwards of $400, though judging by the billboards around the city, plenty of lawyers with bad mustaches stay in business this way.) You should choose a neighborhood in which there is at least one bar you like within walking distance (preferably two). You can make like middle-schoolers do and have sleepovers. Or you can do like I do and and have your boyfriend drive you everywhere.
I always knew I was drinking–and spending a significant sum on drinking–in New York, but it wasn’t until I moved to LA that I realized just how much. (And no, it wasn’t just because I lumped drinking expenses into the “eating” portion of my budget so I wouldn’t actually see the numbers.) It’s not just the driving that changes things, it’s how long it takes to get everywhere. And the fact that people can actually sit comfortably with you in your apartment.
Here is the wholly unanticipated kicker: because I drink so infrequently, I can now barely hold my liquor, so when I do drink, it’s two drinks and I’m gone. The less I drink, the drunker I get. Vicious cycle.
On the flip side, I get much more done in life. Which is really nice. Of course, when I’m back in New York next weekend, I’ll be holding court in several bars and making out slash passing out in the back of cabs like it’s my job. There’s just something about New York that does that.
At least now I know what the sun looks like at 10 AM on a Sunday morning.