Open Letters Drive Us Apart.

My dearest SB,

Gosh SB, big news: I've just completed my first afternoon scrapbooking seminar
at the Kissimee-St. Cloud Elks Club and while I was there I think I
also found a boyfriend! His name is Willy Janks and he's a total dream.
Granted he's a bit younger {16 and a half} but SB, he really understands me, we
just have this indescribable connection. He's an excellent scrapbooker
- was actually working as the teachers assistant and caught my eye
while he showed Mrs. VanHeusen his most recent finished work. You should
see his Vacation Sensation and Gone Fishin' pages, they have such a
wonderful flow about them.




Gosh SB, then he invited me to Burger Notionz rite after seminar and paid for the
Value Meals and the Cinnamon Twists and Mr. Pibb and everything.




Then we walked down to the duck pond right by the Interstate overpass and
scratched Kenny Chesney lyrix in the mud with empty beer bottles;
talked about life, spirituality, penguins, vlasic zesty pepper rings,
improving ones self-image and renters insurance.





The last time I felt that comfortable was when you and I ate Pastrami sandwhiches and nondairy slaw at the 2nd Avenue Deli and then fell asleep face down in our corner
booth.





Gosh SB, I'm pretty sure he's the one. In other news, Aunt Brenda and Uncle
Ron are pissed because the Gremlin died last Wednesday and has been sitting
by the dumpster in the 99 Cent Dream parking lot - and I haven't called Troy at
Repairz4Less yet because I spent my entire paycheck this week on some
new pieces for my ceramic kitten collection.



Gosh SB, I sure miss you and Buzzo and NYC and the {F}Atlas crew. No matter how much Willy completes me, life just isn't the same if every Tuesday night I'm not powerstuffing 3 to 16 slices of delicious delicious vegan cake into my garbagey piehole with all my bestest most isolationist big city girlpals.

Cindarella Falafel 4ever!


Kissimee-St.Cloud is fer lovers,

The future Mrs. TS Janks


***


dear teet,

so here's the scene-- i'm sitting outside the quack shack in my
soon-to-be hometown of manatee*, nh, eating a chocolate vanilla froyo
swirl with double jimmies (on top and on the bottom, only way to go)
when a young man in a john cougar melloncamp t-shirt starts petting
buzzo and huffing his face.







i tell the man that's a bad idea and the man says he likes dogface smell and have i been to the thrift shoppe upthe hill yet tonight because the pickins is good. i point to my $2/bag haul and we joke about the white trash family that comes to the shoppe's late hours every week with the severely downs-y son and grandma who
isn't older than 40.



he offers to buy me another round of froyo and
says he actually recognizes me from my hiptop blog, pocket max
fish-erman, in which i take digital portraits of me and my supercool
friends at new york's hot spot for aging hipsters/livers, and asks if i
want to go with him to a manchester fishercats game. i say, word, and
know that i will never know alone time again.



AND THEN I WAKE UP...FROM THE NIGHTMARE.

while i am glad kissimee st cloud has given you access to free food and
a sweet job, do not forget the dxe, young grasshopper. sure i may look
for face-on-face action during my up north sojourn, but let us not
forget that relationship jail always ends with a death sentence, and
while you might be blinded in the sunshine state, i choose to live free
or die. here are my goals for ought6 that no manpiece shall interfere
with:

-becoming a level OVII crocheter, or whatever tom cruise is in his cult



-kayaking down job's creek and seeing a beaver dam





-learning the drums to every song on damn the torpedos



-inventing a cookie recipe that brings out the splenda flavor



-getting my ears pierced



do not lose sight of your dreams in the haze of a special new place! i
believe the children are our future! free aaron echolls!

kill em all,



sb

* - nh town name changed to deter wierdos