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Open Letters
  Dear New Cell Phone,

Damn. I admit it. I like you. I really do. And I am sorry that I thought you were something I didn't need, that I didn't want. Turns out that I was wrong. I love that I can assign ring tones such as "Barbie Girl" to my BFFS and "Darts Of Pleasure" to my chums and "She Don't Use Jelly" to my various human interests. I love how you have an alarm clock built into you. I love how my Mom can call me now whenever she wants. I love you, cell phone. In a platonic way. I mean, we just met each other, but I think that this could be a wonderful friendship. I'm glad that I got you. Welcome. Welcome to the Land of LadeeLeroy, New Cell Phone. You will be well used.


Dear Mercedes:

I apologize. I really am very sorry. I think you heard me call you a piece of shit the other day. And I think that that was a little harsh of me. You are not a piece of shit. I am the piece of shit. I am the one that should have been keeping up with your maintenance. You are, afterall, a 30 year old car. 30 year old cars need TLC and lately I've been giving you HHC (Harsh and Hateful Care). I hope that Deluxe Carwash I got you the other day at the Chevron station at least puts me back in some good graces. I'll call the mechanic to get that pump thing fixed soon and I'm sorry it took me so long to get those signals checked. I was in denial, but I hope you can see that I'm at least making an effort to put some love into you. I hope you can forgive me.


Dear one-armed salesman at Auto Zone,

Ok. You have one arm. I understand. I think that I even kind of gave you way too much benefit of the doubt because I saw that you only had one arm and I thought to myself, "If he has one arm, I bet that he has to make up for his lack of dexterity with mechanical intelligence." Like when a blind person has excellent hearing or when a person who has excellent hearing has really bad eyesight, you know? I brought my Merc to your store to buy a fuse for the absent brake lights. I'm a smart person. I'm an aware person. I may not know a bunch about cars, but I think that I can at least read the manual and figure out that if it's not a bulb, it must be a fuse. But then... then you said that you wanted to look at the fuse box before I bought the fuse, just to make sure, and I agreed. And you looked at it and you held your stump with your other hand and you did a sharp inhalation and said, "No, sweetie. That's not a fuse. That's wiring. You need to get it rewired." And I believed you. Because you work at Auto Zone and you have one arm. I totally did. So for the last two months I've been driving around without brake lights or signals because I've been saving up to have the car rewired and I brought it into this special shop. 45 minutes later they call me and say, "Guess what? It was a blow fuse." Damn you, one-armed Auto Zone guy! Damn you! I spent $30 getting at $0.67 fuse replaced. I doubted my own intelligence because I put weight in your words. I feel betrayed. I feel silly. I feel like I will never be able to trust another one-armed person again. And that makes me feel awful, because I am positive there are a bunch of one-armed beings out there that could be some of my favorite people. Ok, maybe I'm being too harsh. I will continue to like one-armed people, but I won't ask them for car advice.


Dear Of Montreal,

Damn. You put on a great show on Friday. My calves still hurt from jumping up and down. Thank you for coming to Austin and thank you for playing so well that night. One of the best concert experiences I've had in some time.

Sincerely sore and loving it,

Dear Lipman,

Wow. Hanging out the other night didn't go so well, did it? You know what? That's OK. We will be friends. I know we will. It's just strange that that other person showed up out of no where and that it triggered my tear ducts to react in such a fashion. I know I said that it didn't bother me, but I guess that was sort of not true. Because if it didn't bother me, then I wouldn't have reacted that way, huh? Yeah. Well. It's only been two months and a couple of days. It takes time. Maybe we can try to hang out again in another two weeks. Until then, I hope that you are well and that the recording is going well.

Take care,

Dear Larson and Wakey,

You are some damn fine human beings. I am so glad that you fine ladies are in my life and are giving me the support that a sistah needs. Thanks for letting me call you in the wee morning hours. Thanks for reading my long ass e-mails. Thanks for letting me be a complete dork and say stupid things and then pat me on the back and say, "You know what, Leroy. You're still cool." That's exactly what I need. And you both do it so well. Glad to have you around.

Much love,

Dear Saturday Night,

That was a good time. Seriously. And I'll tell you this, Saturday Night, I wouldn't mind having a Tuesday Night or a Thursday Night, or fuckitall another Saturday Night. Saturday Night, you were fun good-times and I hope that perhaps I did not scare you away with my Saturday Night poem. I awoke on Sunday Day and the words were there and so I typed them out. I think The Handbook Of Coolness says that it's not kosher to write the next day, but I've never been a fan of handbooks. Or footbooks. Or headbooks. Nonetheless, I enjoyed you Saturday Night and I thank you. Enjoy your week.


Dear Sun,

Jesus Christ, just fucking stop already. It is so damn hot. Can you just turn it down a notch? Maybe three notches? I would really appreciate it. Because it's pretty damn hot and I don't have A/C in the car and I'm sick of feeling sticky. Feeling sticky is not a very attractive feeling and it's starting to get me down. So, Sun, if you could just do me a favor and hide behind some clouds for a day or two... or fuckitall have your friend Rain Storm come in for a couple of days and cool shit off because it's really starting to get on my nerves. And I know that we wouldn't have Life As We Know It if you weren't around, Sun, but I would appreciate just a break. That's all I ask. I will give you a doller if you just tone it down a bit. Let me know.


Dear Reader,

This was a lame ass entry. Thank you for getting all the way down to the end. Sometimes a gal has it and sometimes she doesn't. You know how it is.


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