Keeping Up With My Correspondence

Dear Obama,

Please don't pick Hillary for your running mate. She's mean and not vice-presidential material and apparently given to making stupid remarks and who knows what Bill will say on your campaign trail? Plus we all know now that you two hate each other, and that just would not inspire confidence.

I don't even know where this "Dream Ticket" thing came from. Who would think you two were a dream ticket? I would make a nightmare ticket joke, but The Onion beat me to it.

Also, you know that vocal minority of people who voted for her in the primaries and say they'll vote for McCain instead if you don't pick her? They're totally bluffing.

Love,
Rachel

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Dear college football season,

I'm already excited--I can't wait til you show up! Ever since my gentleman caller bought me the Athlon preview magazine, I've getting all antsy.

Do you think you'll be crazy with upsets like last year? My bet is that you won't, because my guess is that that was a law-of-averages instead of a new-trend-in-football thing. But I'll be happy to be wrong. Upsets are awesome, especially when my own team is usually an underdog. Go upsets!

Anyway, I'll let you go now, but I just wanted to let you know that I miss you and am eagerly awaiting your arrival.

Love,
Rachel

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Dear bus people,

I have to say, you guys are really outdoing yourselves. Bravo.

When we're on the bus, some of us read to pass the time. Some of us listen to music on headphones, some chat to our friends, and some chat to random strangers who don't care about us whatsoever, which some of us would be able to tell had we any social radar at all. And then there's the girl who entertained herself on the bus by using her bus pass to scrape dry skin off her legs and onto the floor. That was a really special time for all of us, I think.

Oh, and I should also take this time to give a shout-out to whoever it was who sat in my seat ahead of me yesterday, leaving behind a half-eaten chicken wing (left just sitting between the seat and the wall, though thoughtfully half-concealed under a Sprite bottle [A Sprite bottle that was empty except for the dregs . . . of mysterious brown fluid.]).

Again, bus people, you're just shattering your old records of bus-people-ness. You are truly the wind beneath my wings. If it were physically possible for wind to need a shower.

Insincerely,
Rachel