dear fates, throw me a bone.

Dearest Controller of the Universe,

Hi, you probably know me already, but I'm but your humbled serf/underling, Kat.  You probably have been watching my progression and growth from atop your cloud (or whatever you sit on) and laughing like you are watching the new episode of 30 Rock: loudly, abruptly and intermittently. I am glad you find amusement in my numerous short comings but I am getting older now and I think it is time for you to let me go a little; let me fly free from crippling embarrassment/extremely ironic misfortune. 

If this is not possible I only ask that you stop presenting me with situations in which I seem to drown in 1 inch of water.  It is getting sad and a little tiring.  

Specifically, I would appreciate more dudes in '09.  By "dudes" I mean actual men/boys/guys that I can touch.  Not the naughty touch, just touch.  Seth Rogen, Joey Fatone, 'Jazz' and several other dudes in '09 are not real life.  Stop wafting them towards me like a pungent perfume.  Is this going to be forever?

Also, I ask (beg) that you control my inability to keep my mouth shut.  I know that PBR/Tequila often is to blame for this problem but I know that it is your fault sometimes too.  I do enjoy being snarky, sassy and outspoken, but certain utterances can be contained.

I know you are the same character that makes Meg fall or slip or break things as well as the being responsible for the creation of Snuggies, teen pregnancy, Olivia from the City, molten hot pizza rolls and chub rub... so can you get rid of those things too?

I would be forever indebted to you. YOUR MAJESTY.

xoxo,

Kat