An Open Letter to The Esquire

Photo: The meatloafing couple.









Dear J,

Over the next four days, I leave my blog in your ninja-like hands. I have a thousand instructions a la Monica Geller that I am not going to bother you with, because you don't need the added pressure and I know you can figure out the blogsphere on your own. The kinds of instructions I am not going to leave you include unhelpful things like 'Make sure your blog posts are longer than a sentence' and 'Redesign the entire blog'. I am also not going to remind you to do the dishes or drop off your dry cleaning, because you are always on top of it. If, during your leisurely weekend alone, you find yourself cleaning, organizing, and painting the inside of our home, I would not be okay with that, unless Adrian helped pick out the paint and then yeah, sure, go ahead.

I will be writing you letters--to be posted when I get back--the entire time I am on this retreat which, as I hear more about it, sounds like a silent meditation retreat complete with our own spiritual leader. I look forward to meeting this woman since she's a friend of my mom's, and was hoping she would have some crazy ass shaman name that means 'triumphant' in Sanskrit, but apparently her Earthly name is "Julie". I'm excited to see all the girls, and for my massage tomorrow (as you know I need one badly, with my 80-year old hips), but I'm also still wary. I hate the unknown.

As I battle my demons, physical and spiritual, I hope you have lots of fun without me. Sorry I made such a mess before I left; I'm not very good at packing. Also, I forgot that bag of toiletries, so when you see me next, I will be a stinky, unwashed, frizzy-haired pile of morning breath... sexypants! (Mom and I are going to stop at the store, don't worry--also, how did I forget the toiletries but manage to bring the MAKEUP? Who am I trying to impress in the middle of fucking NOWHERE? Maybe my new spirit guide.) I cannot believe that I will have no internet access and no cell phone coverage; to me, that's like living in a fucking cult. In Utah. On Mars.

I miss you already, but with me being home all the time, I know it will be nice to have some Boy Time (sounds gay--but Man Time didn't sound any better...Dude Time?). Two requests: No skanky hookers in the apartment (how many times do we need to have this conversation?), and say at least once today, "NEVER FORGET". You know, for 9/11. Or so you don't forget all of the things that I did not remind you of in this letter. Either way.

You have permission to tell stories about me that make me look bad, but since there aren't any, I guess you'll just have to stick with the truth. Sometimes I wish I could eat you, just to retain your awesome powers, but feel like I might regret something like that later on. Thank you for taking care of the blog, which is my next favorite thing after you.

I meatloaf you!

Loves,
M