Them country boys on the rise, fat wheels on the side...
"Awnaw" by Nappy Roots. Don't forget it, mothafucka. Download this and the remix feat. the guitarist from P.O.D. This song is one of my favorite songs ever, and I've heard it over and over again for three years.
Anyhow, I have a dance tutorial meeting in a little less than a half hour, so I just wanted to share something with you that I just wrote.
See, our creative writing teacher gave us an assignment, wherein we could choose from three different kinds of letters to write: one to a person who betrayed us, one to someone we wanted a better relationship with, or one to someone we wish we could've gotten to know better before they either passed away or moved away. She made a mistake though...well, a mistake when you have me as a student anyway: SHE LEFT THE ASSIGNMENT OPEN TO INTERPRETATION.
Now, don't get me wrong. I know what she meant, and I plan on turning in a letter that goes according to what she wanted. I'm just also going to try to slip this in there. She reads assignments out to the class, so as I was writing this letter, I was giggling to myself. To think of the other kids' faces as they listen to the letter...I had to keep composing myself as I wrote it. I think I have officially lost my mind.
Anyhow, I chose the second letter type for this joke, the one where you can write to a person you want a better relationship with. The exact wording is this:
"A person you always admired; one you longed to have a closer relationship with, but never did. Explain as clearly as possible, without resorting to vague wording, why you are so drawn to them. Then explain why they should give a relationship a chance. no begging, pop psychology phrasing, or flowery language-- simply the concrete facts about why you belong together (in whatever capacity)"
I did this, alright. But I didn't do it how she expected.
I chose Orlando Bloom. Enjoy (Amie and Jamie, I know you guys most definitely will.)
Dear Orlando Bloom
I have been drawn to you since I first saw you play Legolas in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The half-naked scene in Troy didn’t hurt either. The sight of sweat beading on your smooth, tanned skin, plus the sight of your lithe figure….
Please forgive the wet spots on the paper. I’m drooling again.
Anyway, I wish I could see your blue eyes again, watch your black, curly hair flow into your eyes as you run, listen to your beautiful voice again. I swear, every time I hear someone yell “Hey! Get out of my garbage cans!” I cry with ecstasy at the memory of you.
From the very moment I heard your accent, I realized that we were meant to be. The way you said, “Orcs!” while keeping your one facial expression, your “I’m an actor” expression…it made me so happy I tried to kiss the television. Mother says if I do that again she will be forced to kill me. I fear no death, only a lonely existence without you, my Orlando.
I have been through so much to try to get in touch with you. I called England and asked if you lived there. All you British people sound the same, so I thought you were all related. The lady who answered the phone got mad at me when I told her that and hung up on me. I didn’t give up there.
Next, I snuck onto a cruise ship and ate rats for three days, drinking water from the ship’s pool. Don’t worry. No one saw me. Well, one person saw me, but I don’t think he’ll be telling anyone anytime soon. You can’t talk at the bottom of the ocean! Ha ha!
By the time we reached England, I was starving, but I instead wandered around, asking if anyone knew where you lived. No one did, but I didn’t care. I hitchhiked and stumbled across England, knowing that our love would bring us together, like with you and Keira Knightley in The Pirates of the Caribbean, except I’m not a lesbian and a whore.
Anyhow, I was eventually forced to eat out of garbage cans. It was okay. Did you know a lot of people in England waste perfectly good beets? Just letting you know.
And then…I ate out of your garbage can. You came running out with a golf club. You were only wearing jeans. I smiled at you, held my arms out to you, but I guess I had beets in my teeth, because you ran inside and called the police. They sent me back here, and my parents put me on antipsychotics. I don’t take them, because I don’t need them. All of the greatest loves in history were seen as crazy at first.
I HATE YOU FOR DOING THIS TO ME! I HATE YOU! I HATE…
I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I know I can convince you to give our love a try.
There are two reasons you should rethink your restraining order. Firstly, I know this relationship would be good for you. I only want you for your body, so I won’t expect gifts on holidays. I won’t even expect talk, or dinner and a movie. All I ask is that you dance naked in front of me for awhile. If you want to bring friends, that’s okay, too. I’ll be checking the peephole this time, so the whole Bring-the-Cops-Along trick won’t work.
Secondly, I think you should consider giving this relationship thing a try, because I have your dog. That’s right…Maude. Right now I haven’t done much to her, besides tie her up in my closet and spray her in the face with Lysol (when was the last time you gave her a bath?), but if you don’t go out with me, my boa constrictor, Charlie, will be enjoying a supper consisting of Maude jammed between two pieces of bread.
I only do these things because I love you. Someday you’ll understand. I would let you know this in person, but (a) as I said before, you accidentally put my name on that restraining order, not Kate Bosworth’s , and (b) you keep changing your number and forgetting to tell me about it. I don’t know how much longer I can blackmail that private detective. He’s getting smart and it irritates me.
“Maybe he just doesn’t want you, Arianna.”
“Maybe you should leave him alone, Arianna.”
I’ll show him. We’ll show him.
Write back soon.
Or I’ll send you Maude’s head in a box.
Arianna
Aren't I BAD?
ME