A) I got tired/bored of blogging and just forgot. (A lot of people do this, I think, because I went through about a dozen names for this blog before I decided on this one, and they were all taken. Some examples: Frankly, My Dear [after my favorite movie]; Los Angeles, I'm Yours; LdotAdot, and so on. Do you see how annoying this might be for me, who really wants to use the name, but can't, because someone forgot to deactivate their blog when they realized they weren't using it anymore? And no, Blogger, I don't want to use the web address losangelesimyours291597435973549850850854.blogspot.com. I just want my own personal name!!!!) Ok, sorry about that huge rant. Moving on.
B) I watched the Cirque du Freak movie with John C. Reilly and was so inspired that I joined the circus. Therefore I have very limited internet access because I am constantly moving from city to city, swallowing swords and hanging from trapezes and such.
C) The hubs and I have decided not to move to California. I was so ashamed of posting this after starting a blog whose sole purpose was to document my path to LA that I put it off for weeks. WEEKS.
If you guessed C, you'd be correct (although I did watch Cirque du Freak and John C. Reilly was amazing). I'm......not moving to LA. And because I am so ashamed to tell all of my blog readers this, I decided to write LA a letter instead. The city is very forgiving, you know.
Dear Los Angeles,
We tried, we really did. But the fact is, as much as I want to be with you, I'm just not ready to make the sacrifices required. I would have to give up almost everything I have, just because of a choice which was mostly based off of my romanticized dreams of what you would be like. Someday, when I have a real, adult job, we can be together. But it's just not feasible now.
Making the decision to stay with Missouri was so difficult. Every time I remember something that I was specifically looking forward to about you, it pulls at my heart. Knowing that winter here is going to be bitterly cold, and that I am going to spend it pale and bundled, rather than stretched out on your mild beaches, depresses me. My stomach aches for Pinkberry and the low-fat yumminess it promises. Tell Ikea and Anthropologie that I will miss them dearly (but I have a feeling I wouldn't see much of Anthropologie anyways, because all of my money would be going to you).
Secretly, though, I think my family disapproved of you. You weren't what they wanted for my life. You were too dangerous and unpredictable. You've wooed many other women with your golden sands and promises of celebrity sightings only to break their hearts with disappointment and unemployment. I know they're happier this way.
I hope we can still be friends for now. I will visit as often as possible. I can't commit to you just yet, but I will someday. Wait for me, Los Angeles.
I remain, as always, yours,
Monica
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