A Love Letter from OTH GIFS

Dear Hannah,

In honor of your birthday, I am writing you a letter composed entirely(ish) of One Tree Hill GIFS. Happy birthday, sugar lumps of love.

Hannah, when you found me, I was all:

And you were all like, and I was like:

But then we became friends. And you didn't know me, but you agreed to go to a Purim Party with me anyways and eat Jewish bread and throw candy at a man in a hat who was supposed to represent a biblical figure and I was like:

"This could be the start of a beautiful friendship." (And if you're wondering what's up with my tongue I think we can just say I was probably licking alcohol off my lip after trying to pregame my Holocaust Literature class or just generally being a second-semester baller senior and eating a lot of McDoubles on your dorm room floor.)

And then we did fun things like Zumba and deep heart-to-heart talks in the arb and gas station slushies and Wednesday afternoon laze-sessions with our best friends Chuck Bass, Blair Waldorf and Nate Archibald. And it was the start of a most beautiful friendship that made my heart go:

And you were even sweet enough to go on late-night walks with me when Dan shot Keith and it was too emotional and I felt suffocated by the tension and drama. And that was cool too. 

And then I tried to be cool and role-model-y for you, but eventually you figured out I was a huge hot mess senior who didn't have her shit together...and you loved me even better. And that was even cooler. 

And now I'm running out of OTH GIFS. Because 80% of them are of the characters crying. They did a lot of that. So, I think this letter is done. But just know that I'm always, here for you, I love you to the moon and back and I think that you are one of the most wonderful, mature, faith-focused women I have ever met and it is such a joy and honor to know you and get to watch your life play out. 

All my love, Grand little. 

Love your Grandbig.

P.S. Other memories that make my heart happy, in honor of your birthday:

Learning to be a CHAMP in the library by wearing hoods and plowing through homework like no one's business. 

Doing the Waka-Waka zumba dance like champs. 

How much of a brat you were during Big-Lil Reveal. 

Post-Initiation bonding when you thought that I was just making you run errands with me. But really, after finding my car, picking things up from my ex-boyfriends house and getting my student ID...we did end up having fun =)

Having to immediately Skype after the season finale of Gossip Girl. 

Your ability to solve my love-life problems (Frequently by relating them to Gossip Girl characters which brings surprising clarity to situations. I should be worried, but I'm not because we understand...). 

Stalking you on the daily after I learned you would be my Grandlittle and interrogating you at the dinner table to learn more. 

PPS. Don't forget your Nate is waiting for you.

A Letter to My Workout via GIFS

Dear Eternal Optimists:
This post is not for you.

Dear Workout Class Instructor:
No. Just no. I'm not feeling you. And no, I will not "find the burn" and "just give in to the burn and stay there. stay in the pain."

If I wanted to TORTURE MYSELF I would get some whips and chains and handcuffs for my bedroom. That's painful and cardio all at the same time, biatch.

Dear fellow workout classmates:
DO YOU SEE THE FACES YOU'RE MAKING?!?! Why do you insist on inflicting so much pain on yourself??? This is WEIRD. I want to go back to the days where we didn't have to torture ourselves to STAY IN SHAPE. When you just walked everywhere and just the activity of being alive was a workout. How weird is it that we spend an hour every other day(ish) literally TORTURING ourselves and RIPPING our muscles apart...only to go sit down for the rest of the day???? I DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS AND I DON'T WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS.

Dear workout classes:
You should be separated not by experience levels but by bra size. All these girls who don't have to wear any form of sports bra and just prance around in their neon colored twenty-criss crossing-straps-just-for-decoration are really pissing me off.

And this? Not happening. Let me tell you what happens as soon as you bend remotely halfway over to pick up a weight or I don't know, workout...those puppies are gonna fall right out. This picture is filled with lies. 

Dear Missourah:
You try my patience like no other. I do not know what our deal is, but we are not sympatico. Every day I wake up with less and less patience. I lived in a house with 40 other girls for three years in a row and never wanted to cut a bitch run away screaming more than I do from you.

Dear Easter weekend:
You were more fun at college when we camped out in our sorority house, sun bathed on the roof, partied a little too hard, stayed up till 5 am 'watching movies,' and got to see one of our sisters welcomed into the Catholic Church to be followed by the world's greatest Catholic party of wine, appetizers and visiting priests. I miss you.

Dear Michigan:
Miss you too. Good thing we'll be reunited soon.

Dear Mackinac Island:
You've been stuck in my mind lately and I don't mind. I could use your sunshine, bicycles, boardwalks, beaches, fudge, and lakeshore anytime right about now. I think it's time I start recruiting friends to take a trip up there with me this summer....yes? Yes.

Dear spaghetti:
Still planning on making you. Except instead of noodles I'll use bacon and instead of red sauce I'll use cheese sauce.

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!

                   

Friday Letters

Dear Missouri children: You appear to have super warfare germs. I believe that if a nuclear bomb hit America, you would still survive because you are terrifying and indestructible. This would also be good because you're very stocky and pure-American and would repopulate America quickly. However, I'm still scared of you.

Dear Lena Dunham: Why did you write a show about 20somethings to celebrate being a 20something and encourage 20somethings to embrace it and enjoy it, but put it on a channel most 20somethings can't afford? Thanks for educating the 40somethings who can afford it about what it's like to be 20something.

Dear Missouri Governor: This was my face when you declared a "state of emergency" when I could still see the grass (wooooaaaaah crazy snow storm!),

but regardless--thanks for the snow day.

Dear horror movie previews: stop popping your way uninvited and unexpectedly into my living room while I'm innocently watching the Kardashians. 

Dear Target: You win again. Resistance is futile.

Dear Hair: Thanks for the reminder this week that you do not like any hair products whatsoever. In line with this, thanks for being so agreeable and just laying flat and pretty most of the time.


Linking up with The Sweet Season for Friday Letters!