LETTER TO MY FIRST EVER WRITER-GIRL-CRUSH, ELISSA BASSIST
GIRL,
I wouldn’t be so quick to just open the door or pull out the chair because I don't know where we're at with feminism but deep down, you’re my queen and I want to cook you up some defrosted shrimps and make a decent stir fry with oyster sauce. You don’t care about me and I know maybe one day you might, but probably not. Tonight is special, it’s our first date and you finally said yes. I had been hanging on your street for three weeks passing out xerox copies for The Monster’s Booty Night and I sneezed when you walked by; I always hold sneezes in. I told you that’s how I’d die and you didn’t say anything. At that moment, I was a bunch of snot, hardening inside your nose because you won’t blow me out.
I think what made you finally say yes were the tiny hairs growing out of my neck. You thought I was much more down to earth and real, like, if I don’t get rid of them, I must love myself. Now there’s no competition between us because your neck is like a beautiful white swans. I chose an Italian restaurant where they give free bread, and garlic infused oil. I know this place is good because we had a 40 minute wait. I offered you a cigarette and asked about your love life and family. You didn’t want to talk about it but I reminded you it was all out for the public to see, which made you defensive. You are a funny woman. You told me I should already know, which made it awkward because we both write autobiographical fiction and it brought to light several things:
a). You’ve never read anything I’ve written.
b). I asked my fantasy girl out on a date.
c). We, as writer’s, create better fantasy than reality.
So there we were, the table was ready because the vibrator went off, which made us both feel awkward. I’m not disappointed in you. My goal was to take myself out and hope that I could let you know that you are amazing, which is what I’m doing right now, hey girl. I might move back to Vermont to make maple syrup. I’ll send you some in a package with marzipan leaves and a note that tells you I’m still writing.
I need to apologize for several things:
* I stopped riding horses for a long time because I fell off and was too scared to get back up.
* I paid a fee to join a soccer team. I bought the jersey and my mom sent a gift certificate for Sports Authority so I could buy cleats and mesh shorts and then I stopped going. I would push other girls down and scream expletives at them during games. The captain told me I was too aggressive so I ignored all emails asking where I was and if I still wanted to play. I thought I saw her in the art supply store and had to hide behind a stack of pre-stretched canvases.
* I never finished knitting a scarf for my mom. I never finished casting off the end of a scarf that I gave to a boyfriend. I lost all of my knitting needles on an airplane.
* I ruined an apple pie with Masala spice thinking it was cinnamon.
Here are a few things I think I deserve because I’ve been good this year:
* A set of balls (metal or rubber) to hang on the back of my car.
* Your friendship.