Mascara Faces

Dear LA,

I love thee. How I yearn to be back on your streets blowing money because it doesn’t matter, my car runs on smiles.

Thank you for the week of entertainment on the sunny side of America. Thank you for In-N-Out Burgers, free hotel rooms and puke in the Roosevelt bathroom. Thank you for letting us see David Duchovney, inhale your glorious smog and wake up every morning with a hang over. Thank you for the confidence to wear a see through dress and most importantly thank you for providing us with Armenians to ask how much we are worth. 

Only when I am with you is monstrous traffic acceptable because on the other side is a leprechaun with gold. And by gold I mean an extremely hip bar to get drunk and fall in front of.  Los Angeles parking department give me all the tickets you want because parking tickets don’t matter in Heaven.

To Venice Beach, you’re boardwalk entertainment and marijuana filled edibles was a little weak but the sunburn — totally worth it. I know it was wrong of me to not buy the sweatshirt with three cats on it but we all make mistakes, right?

A disclaimer to Malibu, your Saki is perfect for the summer, it is not only light but also floral tasting.

And to Bakersfield, take me back to the Lone Oak and let me eat delicious Pappy’s breakfast. Cowboy Benedict, I’m coming for you.

It isn’t over between us, LA. Until we meet again.

Love Always,

Mascara Faces.  

PS. I’m not sorry the Phillies won. 

PPS. Don’t take umbrage with that.