Friday, March 20, 2009

Dear Rob Pattinson,

Dear Rob,

I find myself howling once again with laughter at my own Rob-inspired idiocy, and thought I would publicly embarrass myself for everyone’s enjoyment – because hell, that’s what the internet is for anyway.

I typically don’t go all fangirl over anything (well except a hot motorcycle, and maybe a sale at Nordstrom, and my dog, but I digress). I picked up Twilight because I wanted something mindless” to read. HA, joke was on me, I freaking loved it and ran out and saw the movie soon thereafter and that’s how I turned completely retarded for all things Rob. Fortunately, my darling husband thinks it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen and doesn’t give a crap that I'm obsessed or he'd have dumped my pathetic ass by now.

I have a good job with a large corporation. When breaking company internet rules, I saw in my google stalking-er, research this week that you were the latest GQ cover subject. Breathtaking photos by the way, but Jeez, Rob, you sound pretty depressed. C’mon over and we can hug it out. Then I'll make you dinner.

Anyway, I decided to drop by the local Barnes and Noble to pick it up on my lunch hour today. I was not prepared to have an end display blazing with your hotness all over it (don’t know why – I am in Marketing for crap’s sake, and Twilight is hot right now) and I had a, uh, moment.

I grabbed the GQ and a couple of other smutty entertainment lying-type mags with your photo on the front and slapped them together, covers touching, so no one could see what I had in my gleeful little hands. I looked around like a wild animal, and very nearly tripped out of my shoes as I attempted to make a beeline for the cashier.

The first thought I had was that I felt exactly like I did when I visited a porno shop for the first time. Only slightly more determined. Then I decided it was more like when I was 15 and got my period at my Uncle’s house and had to get him to take me to the drugstore. Similarly, I prayed for a female cashier when it was my turn.

Instead I got the Sasquatch Man. Hair to nearly his ass and out of every orifice. *shudder* The fucking first thing he did is ask me was ask me if I was “coming back” for the midnight release party tonight.

“Uh, no” I told him. Uuuugh, am I that lame? If I went anywhere, it would be to Wood Village, OR where there are cast and crew members showing up tonight. And trust me, if I thought you would be in Wood Village I would have called in sick to go stand in line.

“We should have some DVDs leftover tomorrow anyway.” He said.

I wanted to tell him “You fuckwit, I have had it pre-ordered on Amazon for months.” But I just smiled sweetly instead.

Then he just tucked the receipt in the top magazine, thanked me and I was done. NO BAG. NO BAG FOR THE ROB PORN. I shoved them in my purse and got the hell out of there.

I rushed to the car to scan the articles quickly and before I knew it I was late for work! I’m not important enough at my job that I don’t have my own office yet, but I important enough at my job that I am noticed if I’m not there and I have a coveted hidden cubicle. Which is currently stuffed with spreadsheets, meeting agendas, and now ROB PORN that I can’t read until I leave in a few hours. Unless I can devise a way to tuck it under other papers that isn’t completely obvious.

So it is only you, Rob Pattinson, of English dirty boy hotness, that can turn me into a complete moron. Thanks for that. Sigh.

Lovingly yours,
Sara

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