An Official Apology to Miss Christa Jobeth
Christa, I have been thinking of you lately and all of the crap we put you through on account of your crippling inability to align your opinions of hottness with those of society...Or those without drugs and imaginary friends.
If you recall, we discovered this disorder while playing our brilliantly constructed "Who's prettiest?" game. It was a game where we went through each choir section and decided who was prettiest. That game inspired such equally amusing hits as, "Which soprano will cry first?," and "If the Whole Choir Wrestled in a Pit of Jell-o, Who Would Emerge Victorious?" I won't go into the details of those games because the rules are so complex that it would be tedious for me to transcribe them here. (Wow. You know, for a group of fairly intelligent people, we were way too easily amused. It must have something to do with my dancing hampster collection. Everything always circles back to them) Time and time again, you lost at that game. And, losing "Who's Prettiest?" is fairly difficult due to the fact that there aren't supposed to be any winners, losers or objects (see rules outlined above). That's why we proceeded to ridicule you and your defective hottness determinant. Colleen may continue to do so for as long both of you live, but that's between the two of you. I resign. Here's why:
A couple days ago, I let it slip that I don't get Brad Pitt. Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed him in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I respect the fact that he's more attractive than most human beings, but the guy just doesn't really do it for me. I don't get worked up the way some people do when he licks his luscious man lips. Ever since I revealed this about myself, I too have received endless ridicule. Nay, make that cold, smoldering hatred. I may as well have revealed that I don't really get ethnic people. When I said, "Brad Pit doesn't really do it for me," what Sarah, Emma and Pam heard was, "I'm an evil fascist." Now, whenever a Brad Pitt Movie comes up in conversation, there's an awkward pause so everyone involved can shoot me a look that says, "better not talk about Brad around obviously a-sexual Caitlin. We might awaken other dormant abnormal tendencies. Next she'll turn out to be a homicidal maniac. Or she'll blaspheme Orlando. She's a dangerous fool!"
I can't take the heat. Christa, I don't know how you've put up with it for so long. I commend you and extend my profoundest apologies. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find myself an awesome poster of Brad and his awesome chiseled jaw and his awesome rippling pecks and his awesome cold dead eyes. Because Brad Pit is awesome. No. Really.
P.S. the other day, I told a girl that I didn't have my driver's license. She replied, "Yeah, you seem like you wouldn't." Um...ok. Wait, hey! Do I have to open my mouth to mark myself a social leper, or am I just that weird looking? I must know.
If you recall, we discovered this disorder while playing our brilliantly constructed "Who's prettiest?" game. It was a game where we went through each choir section and decided who was prettiest. That game inspired such equally amusing hits as, "Which soprano will cry first?," and "If the Whole Choir Wrestled in a Pit of Jell-o, Who Would Emerge Victorious?" I won't go into the details of those games because the rules are so complex that it would be tedious for me to transcribe them here. (Wow. You know, for a group of fairly intelligent people, we were way too easily amused. It must have something to do with my dancing hampster collection. Everything always circles back to them) Time and time again, you lost at that game. And, losing "Who's Prettiest?" is fairly difficult due to the fact that there aren't supposed to be any winners, losers or objects (see rules outlined above). That's why we proceeded to ridicule you and your defective hottness determinant. Colleen may continue to do so for as long both of you live, but that's between the two of you. I resign. Here's why:
A couple days ago, I let it slip that I don't get Brad Pitt. Don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed him in Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I respect the fact that he's more attractive than most human beings, but the guy just doesn't really do it for me. I don't get worked up the way some people do when he licks his luscious man lips. Ever since I revealed this about myself, I too have received endless ridicule. Nay, make that cold, smoldering hatred. I may as well have revealed that I don't really get ethnic people. When I said, "Brad Pit doesn't really do it for me," what Sarah, Emma and Pam heard was, "I'm an evil fascist." Now, whenever a Brad Pitt Movie comes up in conversation, there's an awkward pause so everyone involved can shoot me a look that says, "better not talk about Brad around obviously a-sexual Caitlin. We might awaken other dormant abnormal tendencies. Next she'll turn out to be a homicidal maniac. Or she'll blaspheme Orlando. She's a dangerous fool!"
I can't take the heat. Christa, I don't know how you've put up with it for so long. I commend you and extend my profoundest apologies. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find myself an awesome poster of Brad and his awesome chiseled jaw and his awesome rippling pecks and his awesome cold dead eyes. Because Brad Pit is awesome. No. Really.
P.S. the other day, I told a girl that I didn't have my driver's license. She replied, "Yeah, you seem like you wouldn't." Um...ok. Wait, hey! Do I have to open my mouth to mark myself a social leper, or am I just that weird looking? I must know.
posted by Caitlin at 9:00 PM
4 Comments:
Caitlin's baaaaaack! I'll read this to my roommate when she returns. I also probably owe Christa several public apologies, but I suppose I can address that at a later date.
On another note, I've decided that I'm going to go around telling everyone that I don't 'get' ethnic people. Thanks for inspiring me to further alienate my northwest Iowa community!
Also, Brad Pitt's face is weirdly shaped. And the camera always lingers on him too long in order for him to make a little pouty face of (insert emotion here).
I suppose I'd better do my homework now. And you should send me your phone number, for unknown reasons.
Nice blog. I'm sorry we have affected you so badly with our Brad ridicule (sorry for the spelling.) I hope you aren't scared for life. Well, maybe not since, you know, I'm trying to be the worst roomate in history. Ha! It's like staring into the face of Satan isn't it?!
P.S. If you ever need help filling out a job application, get as far away from me as possible.
if it's any comfort to you, brad pitt isn't at the top of my list either, as he is kind of an oooold guy. i kind of like to rob the cradle, though. (is it wrong that i think jeremy sumpter of peter pan is kind of hot?)
many thanks for your comments. my grandpa seems to be doing better, and hopefully given time and strong steroids he'll get all of his functions back. i'll keep you posted!
Apology accepted. Welcome to the club. There are numerous membership benefits, such as . . . ummm . . . the drugs, I guess. Here's a handy tip: when the subject of hotness comes up, just kind of smile and say, "Uh-huh" or giggle and say "Oh, I dunno." Those two have gotten me through many an awkward moment.
One time, a few days after our first meeting, Sir Mormon said to me, completely out of the blue, "You don't really seem like the kind of girl who likes to party." Okay, true enough, but still, what exactly gave you that impression? Do you mean you think I'm unfriendly? Socially awkward? Boring? Too weird looking to enjoy being out in public? So we can be social lepers together.
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