Dear Whoever Searched for Our Blog with This Term,

Dear Whoever Searched for Our Blog with This Term,

Please never come back. Gross.

Love,
Everyone

Dear G Train,

[photo via eyetwist]

Dear G Train,

Some people call you the "Get Raped Train," which I don't think is fair. I have never been raped on (or by) you. I prefer the term "Christmas Train," because a) your sign is green, like a Christmas tree and b) you are always a surprise! Will you run to the end of the line? I NEVER KNOW, G TRAIN.

Thinking it over, though, G Train, you are more like an abusive relationship. You do something really, really sweet and nice, like get me all the way to Robin's house in, like, basically no time at all, and then you go and fuck it up by not running to Astoria. "I should have seen this coming," I tell myself. "G Train never runs to Astoria." But I keep deluding myself, G Train, waiting, hoping for the day when I will be able to get from my house to Brigid's house without 2 transfers. I'm starting to think that day will never come.

But when it does, you know I'll come running back to you. Damn you.

Anna

Dear School Crossing Guard at the Divided Highway Near my House,

[pic via Let There Be More Light]

Dear School Crossing Guard at the Divided Highway Near my House,

I love that you are so dedicated to your job that even when the group of people crossing your street consists entirely of 20-something hipsters and 40-something Polish immigrants, you still march out and hold up your little stop sign. Mad props.

Reflectively,
Anna