a letter about los angeles

los angeles was a natural disaster.
really, it was a blast,
but like with any explosion,
you can't predict how the pieces are going to fly...

four pairs of shoes was the perfect number,
and the wedding was lovely.
it was on the cliffs overlooking the ocean,
but rainy and cold.

we stayed right on sunset
so we went to all of these crazy places,
we got whisky-edto-go-go,
crashed the viper room in our bridesmaids dresses,
and made fun of the girl in the glass box
who sat in our hotel lobby all day
and did nothing but read and play guitar.
we also went to a rat trap cabaret bar
and met kiefer sutherland.

our rental car got towed,
but i think we drove the bride's mother crazy,
the wedding wish twister kit was "cute",
and we missed our flight back.

when we did make our flights,
our meal choices were "chicken or beef",
but never "none of the above".

no one lost their luggage
and we now know what a "super shuttle" is.

we ran out of cash,
but no one lost their cameras,
we overslept on sunday,
but didn't leave anything behind in the hotel.

someone met her first mister big,
who wasn't wearing a crew neck,
but a turtleneck, instead.
if you get where i'm going...
no, it wasn't me.

we probably drank our body weight in wine,
rode a mechanical bull,
and made fun of a man named dick.

brett we met the last nite of our trip,
he was at the chop house,
a steak and potatoes place with the bull...
he didn't know what he was doing there -
the scene wasn't quite his thing...
i didn't know what i was doing there -
i was vegetarian.
we got along famously!

one afternoon i walked around on sunset
ins search of ginger ale and wrapping paper
while the rest slept off the horrible hangovers.
it was that afternoon that i realized it's true...

no one walks the streets in los angeles!