Friday Letters

Dear Snapchat:

I have no idea what you are, or what you're used for. You're on my phone, and so far all I've managed to do is embarrass myself by drunk-snapchatting (god, so many new ways to embarrass yourself these days) a boy (yeah, boy from the creepy nurse-stabbing-me-with-a-needle dream) a picture of a moving car on a highway (no, I wasn't driving, obvi). 

Dear Lauren:
Thanks for trying to educate me on what snapchat is for. Even though I know better now, I will still assume it's to send you pictures of my socks, keyboard, and dirty hair.

Dear Ellen:
Thanks for backing me up that I'm not the only one who doesn't understand snapchat.

Dear people who told me working out in the morning would give me energy:

Dear readers:

I'm confused. Are we supposed to get healthy for ourselves, or for our ex-boyfriend so he'll notice and feel immense guilt? Pinterest is really throwing me off on this. 

Dear HR: 

Sorry I'm not sorry. This is my quiet rebellion against the quadricube.

 Dear people waiting for an update on the quadricube:
Today we played pattycake.

Aaaaaand I'm off to dream of cheese-covered bacon. Happy Friday!