Dear Justin Bieber,

i, like many others, forget how to spell your name from time to time, erroneously switching the i and the e. my sister would accuse me of phony fandom, but i beg to differ; considering there's a whole biography written about you which incorrectly spells your name. i checked my itunes to make sure i got the spelling right this time.

i am writing to inform you of how you were unwittingly involved in an unfortunate turn of events that led to a grave detriment of my education and sanity.

one fateful day, while perched on the wall alongside the Seine River and The Notre Dame Cathedral, and innocently yet solemnly meditating on thoughts of depth and substance, an artless associate of mine on this study abroad (who will remain nameless) positioned herself next to me while humming the tune of "Love Me." from that pivotal moment on, my once profound and productive thinking was turned to mush. i instantly felt a fatuous longing for the plush comfort of the squishy beige couch in the family den where i could re-watch unnecessarily Justin Bieber: Never Say Never for a third time and sing along to all of your hypnotic tunes. now, as I am back in Texas, sunk deep between the cushions of this potato incubator and with the flat screen that i am glued to mocking me with the monotony of summer in the suburbs, i regret the loss of that precious ambient music of accordions, fluttering pigeons, and Gregorian chanting which were taken for granted and drowned out by an incessant "baby, baby, baby ohhh" in my head. Annnnd the remaining three weeks of my European sojourn were accompanied by a nonstop soundtrack of your candied crooning. Even a discussion of neoclassical architecture versus baroque, was, for me, clouded by the strains of "Never Say Never" as it echoed through my thoughts.

however, i'm lovin the new hair and also the shoes you wear. i'd rock kicks like that more often if i wasn't apprehensive about giving males or anyone of the butch/femme persuasion the wrong idea. maybe if i found a pair with a floral pattern i could pull it off.

keep doing what you do, and this time i'll take the blame for my remorseful circumstance.

Star-struck,

Holly (don't need no Starbucks)

Dear Peers,

a satirical (and simultaneously self-deprecating) letter of slightly (only slightly) exaggerated "confessions":

sometimes i have to assure myself by blogging to make sure my life is cool and interesting and kinda "indie" or something like that.

sometimes i have to absolve myself by confessing really weird thoughts and loser-y aspects of my lifestyle to people who are close to me to make sure they still love me (or even to people i don't know very well, to check if i am still socially-acceptable somehow).

sometimes i have to comfort myself by taking fuzzy pictures of myself (especially when my skin looks bad/bad hair day/feeling fat day) on photobooth to make sure i'm not as ugly as i feel.

sometimes i have to console myself by thinking about people who are really depressed, or who are suicidal, or in mourning, or really poor, or even/almost homeless to make sure i'm actually NOT depressed.

sometimes i have to sabotage myself by eating something of ridiculously high caloric value to make sure i don't really care that i'm not model thin.

sometimes i have to legitimize myself by making a mile-long to do list to make sure there are actually things in my life that really need to get done.

sometimes i have to prove myself by being late, sleeping in, or not doing anything to make sure i have control over my commitments (and that they don't have control over me).

sometimes i have to be satirical to make sure that i feel like people can't judge me (it's called pretend, people. judgment is inevitable).

sometimes i have to stretch myself to do and say nice things to make sure i can still be a good person.

sometimes i have to embarrass myself over the internet to make sure i'm not the only one who feels this way.

sometimes i have to validate myself by writing crazy thoughts down at 2 in the morning (and then seeing if i still feel the same way months later....hence this letter).

sometimes you smirk at people (for being so sincere) to make sure you're cooler than they are.

you can do that, or you can admit that you have ways of masking your own insecurities.

Keep it real,

Holly