Oh Los Angeles, why do you taunt me so?
You gave me a terrible, sweaty, bumper-to-bumper afternoon, wherein you reminded me oh so clearly why I hate you, and why I want to leave. You took the form of the rudest human alive and denied me parking, evoking memories of many, many times past where, similarly, I've driven a very long way, sharing the road with people who are either drunk or "special" or too busy on their iphones to bother holding the steering wheel, only to find that for some reason, I can't do what I came there to do, and therefore have to turn around and sit still in a running car for hours all over again. I want to punch you in your eyeball. (would that be the Griffith Observatory?)
But then you turned around and gave me that million-dollar smile of yours, with your crooked Hollywood-sign teeth, and presented me with a sunset picnic bordered by nubby-blanket mountains and no mosquitoes. You lured me with an outdoor amphitheater and well-done, real, funny Shakespeare - you know that gets me every time! - and a group of artists that are unpretentious and talented. You gave me a perfect evening and wrapped me up in those movie-deal, concerts-at-the-bowl, everyone's-creative arms of yours, and I just want to kiss you on the mouth. (would that be Ryan Seacrest? ugh.)
Let me go or let me love you, LA; I just can't do this friends with benefits thing anymore.