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Dear Chady-Bear, 7.22.07

I got your letter AND EMAIL asking for more letters. This is the part where righteous indignation kicks in. I am sending you letters! This is the second one in a month. That’s way more then I ever sent Ben—granted Ben can’t read, but still…

(Please note I used the word righteous, I’m trying to think of key words the MTC will approve of.)

I’ve got a proposition for you: I’ll gladly send you one (or more) letters per month, but they’ll also get posted on my blog. I can hear you freaking out, but it’s not really that bad. I’m not posting your letters, though I will sometimes blog about something if it’s funny enough, like the woman’s underwear you found in your ALL MALE MTC DORM! Now, that’s funny and worth mentioning, but I promise you all the religions stuff you write I won’t blog, because it’s private and boring. Deal?

So I have a confession to make. (Confession, yet another MTC approved word!) Remember the day of your farewell and you told me not to read the letter you were sending your mission president? I did anyway. Sorry, but I’m way too nosy, and once you told me not to of course I had to. But it’s not all bad. I saw what sweet things you wrote about me. If I remember correctly it was that I’m a super funny sister even if I’m not a “real Mormon.” I couldn’t help but laugh. You’re pretty funny yourself.

Things here are mostly good. My computer Chia pet died this week. Twice. Seriously how I can keep a dog alive is a miracle. I went and saw Transformers. It was okay, but more your style of movie. What’s that? You want to see it, but can’t? Ha ha, that’s what you get for picking God over real life.

So how are things going there anyway? I can’t imagine having to learn a language in three months. I just saw on the news the Nephi fire is still a huge threat. I guess you’re not praying enough. Better get right on that, it’s getting pretty close to mom and dad. I’m sure they are fine, but my easy bake oven is at their house and I don’t want to have it in danger.

Sorry Bear, but I don’t have a picture to send you this time. I know you want one of Daisy and me together. I’ll get one sent soon. I promise. Ben said to tell you hi. Apparently that’s supposed to count as a letter—his words not mine. When are you leaving for Japan? I need to make room in my apartment for all the cute pink Hello Kitty stuff you’re going to be sending.

Well I need to get to bed, I’m old and this past weekend held way too many late night activities for me.

Love and miss you.

Sis

Today, while on the phone with a cute guy I know, he asked “So what are you doing this week?” To which I replied, “Sweating.” Our conversation sorta fizzed out at that point. Who wants to ask the sweaty girl out? Exactly.

Nothing says Happy Birthday like midget porn. For real.

Sue, one of my pseudo sisters, had a birthday party last night. (I have the best of both worlds: real brothers who have to do chores for me, and pretend sisters who are talented beyond belief. )

After a few drinks on the deck we moved into the living room to watch a “movie.” Something I suggest you don’t watch sober. Ever.

I am always one of the first to leave these parties. I’m old. But I always have an excellent reason for leaving. Last night’s excuse was my stripper bruises hurt:

To read this week’s column click here!

Also, my first promo ad is running. I’m thrilled! Click here to listen.

The Travesty of Transformers—What really happened to Captain America

I held out as long as I could but it was inevitable—I saw Transformers last weekend. I had certain reservations about seeing the movie. I hated the cartoon as a child.

I have four younger brothers, so when it came time to pick what we watched on television I was always outvoted. Stupid Democracy. Rather than watching Barbie and the Rockers, I was stuck watching Transformers. Bitterness breeds hate.

I finally gave into a friend who’d been asking me all week to go see the movie. He bribed me with candy and air conditioning. It worked and I found myself stuck in the longest movie since Magnolia. Don’t get me started.

Had my friend mentioned there were jets in the movie I wouldn’t have taken so long to give in. I’m a sucker for jets; F16’s to be exact. I’ve always loved them, and after dating a flyboy I’ll always be fond of all things Air Force. Captain America is a jet pilot and every time I see a jet my heart leaps, for more reasons than the excitement of the jet.

I have regrets.

Breaking up with Captain America is one of those regrets.

I was faced with the decision between an ex-boyfriend who was suddenly ready to commit and a very short, very new relationship with Captain America. In a classic dumb girl move I picked the ex (who’d previously broken my heart) over the new guy who showed amazing potential.

Months later when things didn’t work out with the ex-boyfriend I realized I still had feelings for Captain America. I called him and we got together for drinks. In a brave move I told him I still cared about him and wanted to date again. Like every cliché movie, silence filled the room. Those few seconds until he spoke felt like an eternity. Once he did speak, I wanted the take it all back. He‘d just started seeing someone and he wanted to see where it was going.

Although I was crushed, I was still able to see the irony of it all. Really, why would he break off things with his new girlfriend for one who’d left him before? Obviously he was smarter than me, and was able to learn from past mistakes and not follow the same path of poor decision-making I had. As much as I wish things were different, I couldn’t fault him for that.

Now as he’s getting ready to move out-of-state I can’t help but question, why am I not the girlfriend going with him? Not that I would, but still.

Every woman needs the story of the amazing man that got away to share with girlfriends over a bottle of wine. Captain America provided me with just that.

Mrs. AK, being the fabulous bitch she is, brought me a souvenir home from her trip to Oregon. She must have sensed how badly I needed a book bag with a secret pocket for sneaking margarita juice into Gallivan on Thursday’s for my special snowcones.

Anyway, I had the bag at school Monday night and this girl looks at me and says, “oh my gosh, that bag totally fits you!” Seems like a sly way of proclaiming her hate, doesn’t it?

I’d hate for the world wide web to think I don’t know how to properly store vodka. See those three bottles next to my ice cubes? All vodka. The fridge vodka is back-up. A girl must have martini supplies at all times. And no, I didn’t learn that one from my mother, but Dorothy Parker.

Not a damn thing if you ask me! If you ask my friend Justin, however, he’ll tell you how “quirky” it is that I keep my coffee pot in the fridge. (And by quirky he means weird as hell.)

I like iced coffee, why wouldn’t I put it in the fridge?

After I explained he still laughed at me. See if I ever invite him over for lunch again.