LA is hogging all my friends

Dear Los Angeles,

You've got enough of my friends already. Can't you just knock it off and keep your greasy little mitts of the rest of my pals?

Oh sure, you're offering them success, fame, fortune, and a greater amount of paying union work. You've got nice weather. You've got beaches. You've got a laid back, traffic-laden, schmooze-easy culture. Fine! I can't compete with that.

But LA, will you bake my sweet friends cupcakes? Will you listen to them as they cry in the parking lot at 3 in the morning? Will you fight with them every time they tell you their haircut is ugly? Will you look the other way as they slip out of sexy heels and into flip flops? Will you love them the way I do?

No. You won't. You never will. And that's why it's most unfair that you want to have them... and that they want to have you. They're mine. And until you send at least one of them back, I'm taking my toys in the other room, holding my breath and not saying another word to you.

You're stupid LA and, like I said to my dad when I was five years old, You have a big bald spot and I hope you die!

Love,
Kate-who-misses-Thea-and-Christina-and-the-rest-of-you-out-there