Seattle, Washington USA
PHONE CALL TO LOS ANGELES
Me: Hello, Operator? Yeah, Hi. I need the number for LA.
Me: No, the whole fucking city. Everything below Magic Mountain and after the southernest port. The whole bowl of Satan's Lair.
Operator: OK...I'll connect you now. Patching through...area codes 310,323,808,blah,blah,blah...
LA: This is L.A.
Me: Hi. No, not "hi." I don't want to say "hi" because I HATE you. I fawking hate you so much I am psychically trying to make you fall into the ocean by way of mind-power manifestation via an earthquake. I feel bad for everyone who lives there and all, but in my mind, I think they might be a little fucked up themselves if they actually like it there.
LA: Wow. You sound like you have a lot of resentment against me. Is it just me or do you feel this way about other places and people in your past?
Me: No, it's really just you. You are a lie. You entice people, at first, with your romantic ideals of possibility. You offer 0% down, and then charge them their lives later. You are all smoke and mirrors. But, really? You just want money or souls or whatever you can get your grimy little hands on. You are a TAKER.
LA: Mmmm. Perhaps. But nobody asked you to come here. You did that on your own volition.
Me: Oh, puuhleeze. You didn't even know what "volition" meant until I taught it to you. Every big word you know is from me!
Me: Oh, good come-back.
LA: See? You got your competitive spirit from ME, Los Angeles!
Me: No, actually I went there to try you on. But I'd go to your big parties and you'd meet me in a hotel suite with Paris & Nicky in the next room. You spiked my drinks and the only ride you offered home was with a seedy "Director" who just dropped me off to let me fall 2-Stories down and then I almost died.
LA: But you DIDN'T! Cedars-Sinai saved you.
Me: Ha! I saved my self by packing up my Volvo as soon as I healed and high-tailed it on outta there.
LA: But you came back to me 3 years later. YOU came back to ME.
Me: I didn't want you to think you had broken me. I wanted to prove...Why am I even talking to you??!!?? You don't give a shit about me. You have a million other starlets to lead astray and steal from them and hammer into their self-esteem.
LA: True. I have to be honest with you. I knew you didn't ever love me, hell, you didn't even like me. You made fun of me to my face, called me shallow. Why should I like you when you never liked me? It was a mutual repellant.
Me: I want an apology.
LA: Who are you, Marilyn Monroe?
Me: No. I'm just a girl who had a dream. One of the millions you use and abuse and leave on the curbside like trash.
LA: You said it, not me.
Me: Say you're sorry.
Me: Listen, you FUCKED UP CITY: I want a sincere apology from you and I'll forgive you and never, ever bother you again.
LA: Never? You won't come knocking on my door again?
Me: I found new doors.
LA: Then you should thank me for teaching you all the things I did.
Me: I just wished I could have learned it a different way.
LA: They don't call it the hardest job to get for nothin'.
Me: Have you let me go?
LA: Yes. I have. I've moved on.
Me: Are you sorry?
LA: No. I'm really not.