Dear Drivers in my New City,
You effing suck. You don't know how to merge, you don't know how to drive faster than 4 mph, and you have somehow managed to be passive aggressive all the way from another car. I wish I drove a Hummer so I could just friggin' monster truck rally all over your asses. Also, as my Bro-Dos John reiterates, there is something to be said for the "Thank You Wave". If you're going to abuse me at least make me feel appreciated after.
I enjoy looking at you. Like I have to make a concentrated effort not to stare over the top of my cube at you like friggin' Wilson on Home Improvement. You're distractingly handsome.
Dear Chinese food,
You were so yummy, but I couldn't eat all of you at the restaurant because HOB was there and I needed to not look like a viking. Please don't tell anyone that I ate the rest of you once I got back to my cube even though I said I was going to "save you for dinner". You always call me on my bullshit, but lets just keep this between us. mmkaythanks.
You are a new apartment haver's dream. Thank you for helping me conceptualize my living room and getting me a rug that makes my life feel like its full of rainbows making love to butterflies. You're the best all the time.
I hope you're happy. I made it through an entire week of blogging and, while I feel extremely vulnerable and nervous every time I post, I've had a lot of fun this week. So thank you for being a nagging, peer-pressuring, stubborn-ass Irish woman. I love you long time.
Thank you for being so welcoming through my first and extremely experimental week of blogging. Thank you for letting me say muthaeff, shit, balls, pube salad, and a slew of other profanities without giving me judgey side-eye. I think we could have a happy, if not slightly dysfunctional life together.