in an attempt to humiliate

dear hashifa vachoo,

i hope this blog finds you well. wait, no i don't. i hope this blog finds you in a state of deep guilt.

last week, you blogged. in the body of your blog you gave our four readers, and jenn, the opportunity to select, from a list, what we would like most for you to write about. the readers,and jenn, spoke, and yet, you never came through. this is disappointing.
i'm feeling so many things right now. i feeling abandoned. i'm feeling the way i felt when mom promised to pick me up from school on the days i had my cello but forgot and went to the dress barn instead and i had to walk home with my cello while scuzzy kids with long hair and dirt bikes would stop me to ask, "is that a guitar?" and i would say nothing and try to walk faster. i am also feeling torn apart. i'm feeling the way my gold fish that i won at the kern county fair must of felt when jenny's shitty cat spunky tore my days old pet to shreds, displaying it's guts throughout my bedroom. and lastly, i am feeling like i need to eat something sweet and wish i hadn't eaten the entire pint of ice cream in one sitting last evening.

in this post i have included a relic from your past. readers, and jenn, may i address you for a moment and introduce you to my sister, hashifa vachoo, who insisted and succeeded in dressing like the king of rock and roll for more than one of her birthday parties as a child. people, these were not all "dress up" parties. awesome? yes. strange? maybe. even stranger that this now grown woman is a pastor's wife? oh, hell yes.

hashifa, you know i have more photos. you know i have much more damaging information. i can still tell, you know. i am not above winning the fragile favor of "double l" by revealing what you thought i had forgotten about or no longer considered valuable. remember, she is crazy and will hit you with her comb. her blue comb. that comb hurts.

consider this your first warning.

warmly,
emily