Dearest Bloggess -- or -- Ain't Too Proud to Beg

Below is my letter to Jenny Lawson, more commonly known as the bloggess, author of the recent New York Times bestseller Let’s Pretend this Never Happened (A Mostly True Memoir).  I was going to put a link to her blog here, but then you would stop reading my shit and abandon me for her far funnier work.  Please don't do that because I love you. Smiley face.

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Dearest Bloggess,

The Bloggess: My Newest Hero!

This spring, I lost my job.  As I was a teacher – it was way more than a job.  The word “teacher” is a crucial component of my self-concept. Why am I telling you this?  Why should you give a shit?  Here’s why: due to my unemployment, I decided to begin a blog.  To tell the truth, I had probably read only about five blog posts in my life, with your post about Beyoncé naturally included.  Since starting my blog, I have received several fantastic compliments from my friends. I know, they’re my best friends, so they’re probably just lying to me about my talent, but I have decided to accept these compliments.  Bitches better not be trying to take this praise away from me either. Within the past week, I have been compared to several amazing authors; David Sedaris and Anne Lamott were among them.  Right? I must totally rule (or I have some really nice, but dishonest, friends)! Then another acquaintance said my voice reminded them of Jenny Lawson.  I thought – who?  So, my inquisitive, busy little mind had to figure this puzzle out.  Oh! It’s the bloggess!  So, today I took some time to check out your work further.  I visited the blog, and read many posts from the back catalogue – even checking out Good Mom/Bad Mom because this mommy of two children under age two has her own “sippy cup” that usually contains cabernet.  As I delved deeply into your work, I thought --- OMG! This broad is a fucking kindred spirit!  So, I had to contact you to express my absolute admiration of your work.  I also wanted to contact you to say: can I use you, please?  You see, I gots to provide for my babies and it’s a struggle with unemployment. As I noticed that you write about your own mental illness, I should note that I myself suffer from bipolar disorder, and actually am currently contesting this is the reason I was released from my job as they falsely claimed I abused my family and medical leave.  Bastards.  But anyway -- my very first blog post contained the line “send me some money bitches.”  One of my recent blogs requested “blow this shit up people.”  However, despite my demands, I have nine fucking followers and have yet to receive a check in the mail.  Again – bastards. However, I should say that nine people is probably about 10% of the population of my township (okay: lie – hyperbole, but only a slight one).  At any rate, my not-so-secret ambition (perhaps delusional, but fuck it – whatever) has been that the blog becomes wildly popular and I get a book deal. A-ha! Just like you! You see?  So, here’s where the you as a tool part comes in (not a tool the way John Mayer is a tool, but more like the traditional definition where you serve a useful purpose).  I also checked out a lot of the fantastic writers on the “I fucking love these people & not just because they support my wine-slushee habit” sidebar.  I should note I also adore Tina Fey, so that this next reference makes sense: I want to go to there.  My plea is that you check out my writing.  If you fucking love it (or even if you just like it … kind of, sort of, I guess it’s all right), would you please feature me among these others?  I mean, it’s been about six weeks since I started this blog, so what the fuck?  Why am I not wildly popular? I am trusting you to make this happen.  Thanks in advance; I’ll honor you in the “author’s acknowledgements” of my memoir. Smiley face.

Kindly,

Angela

PS – I’m currently reading Lolita, and Humbert Humbert narrates with a lot of parenthesis.  I kinda picked that shit up.