An Open Letter to Killer

An open letter to my dear friend, Killer.

Dear Killer,

You know I love you. You came over Friday and brought vegetables and sausage. And not sausage in a dirty way. Real, honest to God deer sausage. You brought a book for me to read so I could keep up with Pulitzer-worthy literature. You entertain with your stories and your unusual take on the ordinary. Your knowledge of beer and trivia comes in handy. You remember well. You show sincere love for your friends and family. You dubbed me “least likely to suck your balls”, even when I was the only girl in the room.

I love you.

BUT…

I can’t understand. You fart inside my house even though you know that’s against the rules and you don’t pick up after yourself. When you do finally take an empty bottle off the coffee table, you only relocate it to another table. I don’t get it. The garbage can is RIGHT THERE. You dig through my cabinents and find the special $8 beer that I deliberately do not put in the refrigerator because I am saving it for me… and only me.... later in the week. Then you drink that beer and leave two of your crappy beers because you know they’ll be here the next time you visit. And you ate all but 6 of my cashew pieces. Why didn’t you just finish off the container instead of leaving it, open, on the end table for me to pick up the next day? You leave your outside chair behind my car, in the blind spot. Oops!  You mock me as a crazy cat lady- which I’m not sure isn’t true.

imageI can imagine you have no idea how irrational I can be over little things like messes. I’m sure you don’t know that I’m on the verge of tears every time I have to mop again because there are size 11 shoe-prints on my freshly mopped floor. I know you can’t feel my disappointment when I’ve decided to have nothing but Pecan Ale for dinner and there are only 2 in the refrigerator. You don’t think that talking about my cats gets to me, but it cuts each time you slice me with it. How can you know my obsessions and frailties? I try so hard to keep the secret.

Is it irrational to think you could be the perfect friend if you were only tidy and gas-sensitive? Or is this nothing but a pipe dream that I have? You bring so much to my life. You’re my blog partner, my friend, my blow-job advice giver and adult-store browsing buddy. I like looking at your tattoos. I like your cartoon voice. You have good taste in music.

So this impasse- can there be a bridge or is to love Killer to love his messes? Because I don’t think I can take it.

Anxiously awaiting your reply,
Liz

P.S.
You could make all of this better if you would buy me a month of Merry Maids visits for the entire month of November.

  • All of that rings very true, and gives good evidence as to my singularity.  But for the record, I have a size THIRTEEN shoe, not eleven.

    I very vividly recall leaving the lawn chair behind your car.  I even remember telling Andy, as I walked away with my hands full of meat from the grill (not from my pants), “Hey, I bet Liz runs over that lawn chair.” It probably was not as funny to you when it happened as it was to me thinking about it at that moment.

    I am a slob, and trying to correct that.  I don’t think much about leaving my beer bottles lying around.  I did not finish the nuts, because I thought it would be rude to eat ALL of them.

    You helped drink the Pecan Ale, so don’t blame it entirely on me.  It is not my fault that you drink too much to remember what alcohol is currently in your house.

    Your cats are cool (at least Leon is).  I make fun out of jealousy.

    Finally, as for the flatulence.  I really did attempt to curtail that matter.  If I had let them fly as much as was wanted, I might have actually ruined those new seat covers.  I only let out enough to prevent explosion.

    By Killer on 2007 10 30

  • But what about the Merry Maids suggestion?

    By Liz on 2007 10 30

  • dude, buck up and buy her some merry maids.  then we can move along.  back to love and lollipops and happy times…

    By hellohahanarf on 2007 10 30

  • Knowing Liz, Merry Maids is some male escort service that she is trying to get me to cover. 

    Which if that is the case, then yes, I will agree to that.

    By killer on 2007 10 30

  • wouldn’t it be awesome if there was a company that hired hot men to clean homes while half clothed?  i’d hire them.

    so, killer, i think i have a new business venture for you…

    By hellohahanarf on 2007 10 31

  • How does one obtain a blow-job advice giver?

    By laughingattheslut on 2007 10 31

  • Laughing,

    I was thinking the same thing. Maybe Killer should write a post giving blow job advice for girls who want to be really, really popular.

    By churlita on 2007 10 31

  • I have already asked for a tactful way to find out a guy’s size, but he won’t tell me.

    Selfish bastard.

    By laughingattheslut on 2007 10 31

  • Laughing and Churlita,

    Really, I just asked, “Hey. Is there such a thing as a BAD blow job?” and the conversation went from there. Killer, it’s up to you wether or not you want to put all that in writing.

    By Liz on 2007 10 31

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