saturday night’s all right for fighting (letters iv).

dear UNC,

while it pains me to say this–and pains me to realize this–could you get your head in the game and out of the place that it is currently residing? i know you’re fighting hard, but that first half was crap and i’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the final four is all about the not #1 seeds winning.

and while i still have the sneaking suspicion that you are in fact the great satan (go pack!), i still don’t want them stinkin’ jayhawks to win.

you’re from my state. you’re wearing blue. what more do i need?

(except maybe tyler hansbrough getting punched in the mouth again? that was good times last year. but i digress.)

so…win. yeah?

go…heels?!?,

if i can’t have florida, ncsu, duke, or davidson, i guess i’ll take y’all.

dear GPD,

when we call you thirteen thousand times about an obnoxious (insert six additional synonyms of obnoxious here to really understand the emphasis) party going on across the way, and you tell us that you’ve been by and it’s a “lawful” act, we get a little bit frustrated.

because, you see, just driving by for two seconds isn’t getting it done.

of course the loud screaming obnoxiously drunk underage participants of said festivities went inside when they saw the car drive by.

are they stupid? no.

inebriated? yes.

most certainly taking RIDICULOUS pictures that will eventually end up on Facebook with captions indicating their fuzzy memories and HOW AMAZING the birthday girl’s red tiara is when it’s atwinklin’? definitely.

thanks for sending the second car, although we do recognize that was only because we called an additional four thousand times to ask pretty please for that to happen oh could you please pretty please?

but when the officer in charge of this particular confrontation seems, by his body language, to be making friends rather than making waves, we get a little nervous. maybe next time, you could send over the 50 year old disgruntled former drill sergeant to break up the party?

because we’re not really believing that junior was really giving them “a good yelling” like he said.

oh yeah–we were watching you. and we pay our taxes.

and we have dispatch on speed dial.

just sayin’,

tired = not patient.

dear murphy’s law of springtime rainstorms,

my hair is looking great. i have old navy flipflops on. my makeup is nearing perfection. i have one errand to run–to wal-mart, with the most singularly crowded parking lot in the land.

of course you will storm like noah himself is gathering the animals. i should have known.

welcome back, annoying deluges. i had forgotten about you.

wondering if summer’s worth it and hoping it is,

the girl trying not to slip and fall on painted surfaces.

dear stephenie meyer,

thank you, thank you for the trilogy.

thank you for writing books that suck me in even on the second or third read. wait…DANGIT. it’s supposed to be less difficult to put it down when you KNOW WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN.

grr. argh. pfft. (hey. at least i’m reading, right? dissertation and sleep be darned. right? right? RIGHT?)

dazzled…frequently,

a fan.

dear brownies,

just stop it. stop calling my name. really.

i’m serious. it’s not fair. it’s just not.

i have to have some will…

…where’s the milk?,

sigh.

dear jonathan knight,

call me!

(but keep your brother away. he’s creepy!)

kisses,

me.

One Response to “saturday night’s all right for fighting (letters iv).”

  1. Seriously– could not BELIEVE either of the games last night. Not cool, for anyone.

    Also, brownies? Sound totally tempting. Good thing I’m already baking, or you would have started me on a sugar binge. 🙂

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