Open Letters Love Amy

Because the Internet is easier than buying stamps and I will just lose your zip code anyway.

Tag: Los Angeles

An Open Letter to LA Bikers

Dear LA Bikers,

If you are going to not wear a helmet, talk on your cell phone, and not stop at stop signs, then I don’t want to share the road with you at all.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To The Gentleman In Front Of Me On Wilshire

Dear Gentleman In Front Of Me On Wilshire,

We shared the road this morning for a few brief moments. It started when you zoomed right up behind me and threw your hands in the hair when I stopped for the red light at Beverly Glen. The nerve of me! You and your Subaru Forester had PLACES TO BE. You must have been late because the second the light turned green you took your life into your own hands and screeched those Subaru tires right around me, upsetting the neighbors in the other lane, and zipped right out in front of me.

Then, all of a sudden, you made perfect sense. You made a right turn on Glendon. That is the turn a person makes if he or she is trying to go get a pizza at 800 Degrees. Please accept this letter as a formal apology for keeping you from that pizza for even a moment. I’m not sure they’re open at 9:30 AM on Wednesdays, but even if they aren’t, that line gets long. It’s never too early to wait for the kind of pizza they are making in there. I hope it went well and that you made it safely and speedily to all your other destinations today.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To The Traffic Light At Beverly And Sweetzer

Dear Traffic Light at Beverly and Sweetzer,

Thanks for nothing today. The amount of time I have spent as a pedestrian waiting for you to turn green for me is likely more than the amount of time I’ve spent waiting for roommates to get out of the shower so that I can run in and grab the nail polish color I want.

Sunday mornings at 8 am there is little to no traffic in sight on Beverly Boulevard. So today I went for it. I generally live life on the edge anyway, and today was just one of those days. I crossed though the light was red.

Of course I managed to do this while wearing a bright yellow top (which I had convinced the gal at Old Navy she should give me for 50% off because I am an expert shopper) and while a cop was, you know, right there watching me. Turns out jaywalking is super illegal in Los Angeles, who knew! I spent the last four years in Eugene where, let’s be honest, pretty much anything goes (except alcohol on campus, protesting in downtown, and a handful of other things), including jaywalking.

Apparently jaywalking is “a good way to get hit by a car” though that cop probably shouldn’t have used that line of reasoning with me since he was the only car for five blocks in either direction. Would have been you that hit me, guy. Thanks are in order for him not giving me a ticket, but my feud with you continues. Next time you see me coming you better do what I say. You think you’re sooooo special because you’re the only light that crosses Beverly and isn’t completely out of the way on my ‘comfy bed to King’s Road’ route. In a fun bit of irony, I actually go to you so that I don’t have to jaywalk. So everyone just leave me alone and you, you fulfill my demands and change when I tell you to.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To God

Dear God,

Thank you for Gomez putting up the House of Blues concert as a free download. Thank you for Andrea for sending me the link and for taking me to the show back in October. I had somehow forgotten how amazing that night was and how great it was to spend it with Andrea during a, let’s call them “tricky,” couple weeks of my 2011.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To Dunsmuir and Detroit Streets

Dear Dunsmuir and Detroit Streets,

Hey, so I’m the girl who drove down both of you the wrong way last night. I’m really sorry about all of that. I had driven like fifty city miles and another fifty something on the freeways earlier in the day and was just trying to get myself and a friend from All About the Bread back to his house for an evening television extravaganza (and homemade cookies, OR SO I THOUGHT UNTIL I FOUND OUT MY “FRIEND” HAD EATEN THEM ALL LIKE THE LITTLE JERK HE IS). I was in a post-meatball-sub state of mind and there was no parking anywhere. Please forgive me for my wrongdoings. It won’t happen again because the lack of cookies was the final straw and I’ve ended this friendship, leaving me no reason to ever come near you again.

Love, Amy

P.S. Not to damage your sense of self or anything, but who the hell puts one way streets in your part of town?