Tuesday, February 24, 2009

An Open Letter to Sean Gordon: Actual, for Reals, Grown-up Journalist

Dear Sir,

You met my friend TheCrip in a bar in Quebec City last week. Which is funny, because I hadn’t seen TheCrip in a few years, and then I ran into him in a bar last week as well. TheCrip is a drunk, which is how we get along. When he saw me in the bar in UniversityTown he immediately bought me a gin and started talking to me about poop. Again – how we get along.

Is it true that you’ve heard of my blog, Sir? TheCrip says that you have. I don’t want to call TheCrip a whore liar but, well…it seems unlikely to me that an actual journalist would have heard of a blog that could be best described as the neurotic rants of a drunken, whorish, poutine-guzzling cat-lady with latent lesbian tendencies.

No. This does not make sense to me.

But if you do know my blog, Sir, then I have oh so many questions for you. Such as:

1. Is it true that being a journalist means I’ll be poor forever? Because last month I made a curry out of two carrots, an onion, and a bag of craisins, and then I ate it for six days. I can’t live like this much longer.

2. How much coffee do you drink? Do you have heart palpitations yet? Today I had to shotgun a coffee in a class break, and I’m pretty sure I could feel my heart thudding against my chest walls. It was like an inside massage. In my chest. But not relaxing.

3. Is it true that I will probably be divorced at least twice and then live as a lone wolf until retirement or, more likely, death? Because journalists need love too. And I’m too poor for hookers. See 1.

4. Do you sleep? How? When? Tell me everything.

5. Can you get me a summer job? Hahaha just kidding…haha…ha…ok, seriously. Help me. There are no jobs. I have no money. I just ate a single egg for dinner. A single egg. I beg of you, Sir. I’m a good journalist when I’m not blogging about dancing on bars or motorboating strangers, and you know I’d be a real hoot to have around. And if this blog doesn’t scream professionalism, I don’t know what will. I’ll even wear pants.

Ok. I’m only 50% serious. About the job, not the egg. The egg was sadly true.

Thank you for reading my blog if it’s true that you’ve heard of it, Sir. Some day I would like to buy you a gin and ask you questions 1-4 in person.

Yours in professionalism,



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