Dear Los Angeles,
Its been six months now -- six months that I've existed under the heating lamp of your smog. Six months of trials and tribulations and parking tickets, and I get the message. You've made it abundantly clear. Evidently, you just don't want me here.
First it was the rains that flooded the streets of the Valley and turned my car into a life raft. Then it was the hoodlums in Downtown who busted my little car's window, stole my GPS and Dior lip gloss and didn't even have the courtesy to close my doors all the way to preserve the battery. And then there were the friendly mechanics in Hollywood who fixed my window, but tampered with my brake lines. That was a close one and you almost got me there. If it weren't for the off ramp on Tujunga, that semi probably would have killed me that night.
Maybe I was naive, thinking you would abide by the rule of three like every place else in the universe. By January, you had lulled me into enough of a sense of security to actually go to a doctor here, my dear Angels. But when that OBGYN mis-diagnosed me for STIs and neglected to treat my minor UTI, I caught on. Of course, by that time I was in the emergency room with anti-biotics and modern day morphine being pumped into my veins. Needless to say, I spent that time praying I wouldn't have to have surgery on my infected kidneys. Escaping you didn't even cross my mind.
Then you sent me that sweet sweet man who stood by side and drove me back to the emergency room on Valentines Day when my digestive tract shut down in an allergic reaction to the cipro treatment I had been given to clear the infection. If it weren't for him, I might have left when my asshole roommates got upset that I started dating instead of going to aerobics classes with them. But I must say, it was clever of you to make finding another apartment so darned tough! I mean, really, just because I never had a credit card doesn't mean I'm not a reliable tenant! But I know now that that's not what you think. After looking at only 44 different apartments in three weeks, I found just what I needed. Who cares if it doesn't have a kitchen or a parking spot!
The twist I applaud the most though is that doozy of a car accident on Santa Monica and Highland. To this day, I can't go through a yellow light without worrying that an SUV is going to turn left into the hood of my car and come a mere 18 inches from killing me. The timing was a little rude, however. Couldn't you have postponed the accident until AFTER I'd finished moving? But whatever. I was only homeless and car-less for about a week.
Post-accident, began the regime of pain killers. You remember those bad boys? It was cocktail of vicodin and muscle relaxers that got me through the day and allowed my body enough movement to keep my job. Not that I could enjoy the numbness of prescription drugs. I was busy learning how to secure a loan and buy a car because you're bankrupt LA! and not enough of the logic and reasoning backing a reliable mass transportation system will convince you to make one!! But I digress.
Eventually, after avoiding the usual scams and shams that pass for used cars these days, I found one I felt I could go into debt for. I was able to settle into my little room and relax enough to get off the meds. Of course, you're gold digging floozy LA, and such a sweet life doesn't come cheap. Finding a second job here was almost as entertaining as finding an apartment and a car, but you are the land of opportunity and I got lucky. Though, I didn't know it would come at a price. Getting dumped right then wasn't cool, but I guess it had to happen if you were going to drive in the message that you're over me.
So don't worry, Los Angeles, I do understand -- I'm not that blind. I know that you think I don't belong here. I know you think I should pack my bags and run for the airport. You've knocked me down, Los Angeles. You've stolen my stuff, my money, my health, and my heart. You've confused me and berated me. Tricked me and abused me. But here's the thing, LAaaah. I know you're not such a bitch. I can see that beneath that tough exterior lies the heart and soul of a beautiful place and I am determined to co-exist with you, maybe even woe you. Whatever happens between now and whenever I do decide to move some place else, I'm going to get to know you like the back of my hand and at the VERY least, get my lip gloss back.
Love,
me
p.s. Bring on the summer months, boo. I'm ready and wearing sunscreen.
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