Dear Andi-Roo,
I am writing this from the safety of Tuesday morning, where the world has neither gone to hell in a hand-basket nor caused mass hysteria in the streets.
Right now, from my view in the rear, all I can see ahead is your face awash with tears. Whether tears of heartache and sorrow, or tears of joy and relief, I don’t know.
It’s all a bit murky, back here in the past.
Dear Andi-Roo,
Reports of voting fraud and election fuckery have already been pouring in. So if it is announced in the wee hours of Tuesday stupid-o’clock that your guy is the big winner, hold off that victory cheer until Wednesday afternoon at the earliest.
You should expect recounts and missing ballots suddenly appearing and a general outcry of, “But that’s not FAIR!” replete with foot stomping and thumb sucking.
If the other guy is announced the winner, take your loss gracefully. Don’t be that crybaby. Just don’t, okay?
Dear Andi-Roo,
By the time you read this, the world will have changed. For better or for worse is irrelevant from this point in time. I want you to be prepared for the stress and emotional strain that comes with all change.
Whichever party wins, people will be even more hateful than they already were. The disappointed party will be snarky and grouchy and pissed off and ready to hate on people hardcore. The winning party will likely be smug and shit-tastic, inciting argument just for the chance to show off their victory.
It’s gonna be ugly out there.
Dear Andi-Roo,
It is now Tuesday night. Your guy won. Do you feel any different? If people look at you, will they be able to tell? Do you glow? Does it make your ass look big?
OMG — go to bed, you crazy liberal slut.
Dear Andi-Roo,
It is now Wednesday morning. Regardless of win or loss, you still have to drag your hubz out of bed because he got like zero sleep the past two nights. You have to deal with the crabby girl, too. She had to stay up and watch the results, but fell asleep before they all came in. Still, she was up WAY past her bed time.
Who the fuck puts this shit on a weeknight? Don’t these people have lives? Screw elections, okay? I don’t give a shit who is president. Ain’t enough coffee in the world to keep my eyes open.
Dear Andi-Roo,
It’s Wednesday afternoon, after a nice nap curled up under a magical afghan. There is time to reflect. Let’s do that now. Namaste-n-shit.
Your first prediction — tears — was false. You did not cry tears of joy. You merely jumped up and down a lot. You’re a goddamn liar-face. Some prophetess you make.
Your second prediction — election fuckery — was true. Even though our guy clearly captured Ohio, the other team kept refusing to concede, “just in case”. I wanted to scream in his face, “Just in case of WHAT? WHAT? Tell me what you KNOW. Is it aliens? Zombies? Dirty bombs? What aren’t you telling us?” Turns out, he’s just a sore loser. And also? A douche.
Your third prediction — backlash from the losers — hasn’t come to fruition one way or the other. There simply hasn’t been time. I suggest you hunker down, continue avoiding the public by keeping all the blinds pulled closed, and hide from everyone you know — since they are all on the other team anyway. Do not make eye contact. Just… duck and cover. Or run. Yes, run.
Dear Andi-Roo,
You gave yourself specific instructions, and failed on all counts. For example, there was instant celebration, final count be damned. There was “IN YOUR FACE, MOTHERFUCKER” gloating. There was even that moment in time where you took credit for the entire win just because you happen to live in Ohio.
Seriously, Andi-Roo. I’m a bit disappointed in your behavior. I expected better.
Although, it was pretty fucking cool when you got trending on Twitter briefly.
And Wil Wheaton’s wife retweeted that shit? *nice* All is forgiven.
@ indeed! On behalf of my state of Ohio, you are welcome.
— Andi-Roo ()
You, Andi-Roo, are still the shizzle.
Fuck yeah, I am.
PS. Don’t forget to feed the fish. And also? You are now 3000 words behind on your WIP. You can blame the election all you want, but that doesn’t get your novel written, stupid-head.
PPS. Donald Trump says the world is laughing at us now. I’m pretty sure that’s an incorrect assessment, based on the conversations I have had with my Live-in-Countries-Not-America friends. They always seem much less laugh-ish when we have Team Blue running things. Don’t forget to ask around on Twitter about this so you can send him a lengthy infographic on how douche-tastically mistaken he is.
PPS. It’s fucking DONALD TRUMP. You care what he thinks, WHY? n/m previous instructions.
PPPS. Nominate self for “Best Secretary EVER” because your notes fucking rock.
