A week ago, I was submerging my head in a tub of lavender purified ice water before bed (super relaxing, trust) and an earthquake struck. I gasped out of fear, and nearly drowned from inhaling a lungful of water. My dad had to run upstairs and give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The combination of almost dying/making out with my own father obviously left me traumatized, but I assumed it was just a random case of bad karma, vowed to never scream at a manicurist again, and moved on with my life.

Then last night, I was lying nude on a couch in our terrarium trying to meditate and chanting my mantra, when I felt ANOTHER earthquake. Terrified, I leaped to my feet and ran directly into a glass door (thank God it was bulletproof or I’d be dead). And then this morning, there was another one! I was in a Bar Method class so I didn’t feel it at the time, but now I know why my thighs were shaking so badly. Sick. Dear God/Anna Wintour/Allah/Linda Evangelista/Buddha/Leonardo DiCaprio/Whoever: Please make these LA earthquakes stop. I’m too young to die, and I’m sick of spending money on earthquake survival kits for my pets when I should be investing in F/W looks. Plus, I can’t perish before The Great Gatsby comes out. I’m scared. Help.

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