Not bad, BP. Not bad.

Only took you 86 days to turn off that underwater leaky oil faucet. My 2 year-old cousin could have flown a rocket ship to the moon and dug up Jimmy Hoffa in the time it took you to cap that thing. I get it - a mile underneath the ocean is pretty far. I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt on the whole “the ocean is really deep” and “it’s pretty dark down there” and “the pressure is so extreme” thing because I work for engineers. But, as my mother would say, this is not your best work… and I know it upsets you when people say that Kevin Costner’s brother is the best man for the cleanup job.

Lemme put it to you this way: I’m not pleased about what you’ve done to my beloved Gulf. If I find one tar ball … see one oily heron… pay one more cent per gallon of gas… hear one more shrimper cry on CNN… see Tony Hayward on one more yacht with his kid… WE ARE THROUGH.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

Friend me.

Aaron Sorkin + Justin Timberlake + the Mark Zuckerberg story + this crazy-awesome Radiohead “Creep” cover = “The Social Network,” a movie based on the book The Accidental Billionaires, which chronicles the foundation and rise of Facebook. See it on Oct. 1.

Sincerely, 

Sally B.

Who the hell is Lebron? Seriously, I don’t even know… he plays basketball or something, right? Something about the heat? It’s July fools. Of course it’s hot. Especially in Miami. I think I’m OOTL on this one because I’m short. And short people don’t know shit about basketball.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

War Damn Leo

I know. I totally hate it when people catch me flying to South Africa in disguise.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

Reason #9,367 I’m not having kids…

They ruin your 15 minutes of reality TV fame over bacon.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

I must be the only person on planet Earth who could not give TWO SHITS that Apple has come out with some other effing “oh my god, you can’t live without this” latest i-thingy. I’m told it’s some fancy fast phone that can take your temperature and get you dates. Seriously, I’d care a helluva lot more if you said we’d finally figured out a way to domesticate river otters. Having a pet river otter would make life worth living and you know it.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

And I love you - very much - my little globetrotting district hopper. The end.

It’s time… It’s time to talk about it. It’s time to talk about it here. Because I miss coming here. I miss this stupid little Internet space. And in total selfishness I want my life back.

Two months and 17 days ago, my father committed suicide. There are a lot of delicate ways to say it, but the hard truth is that he chose to end his life. I won’t ask you to understand why I haven’t mentioned our tragedy here, or maybe at all to those of you I know peripherally, but only that you’ll understand that I couldn’t. Seventy-seven days have gone by - inched along and, simultaneously, eclipsed minutes, hours and seconds as I once knew them - and now I feel I am finally able to sense some remnants of my former self… she isn’t quite as I once knew her, but there are glimpses that tell me she isn’t lost entirely. I would imagine my mother and sisters feel the same. Like who you were before and who you are now, living in “the new normal,” must be something akin to having fond memories of an old childhood friend, long moved on from youth, whose middle name or favorite ice cream you will probably never forget, even when you’re both wrinkled and slow and hard of hearing.

Thank you for being patient. I don’t know much of anything to be certain these days, but I am confident of one thing: I will keep writing. I must. And I should. I will keep coming here, as I am able. I won’t be so naive as to promise that it will be with any regularity. Or that I will be able to form coherent words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs. Or that you’ll like it. Or that it will entertain you. But I’ll keep coming back, and if you’d like to, I’d be glad to have you back, too.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

Swish it up, gays.

I will completely lose myself when Glee finally comes back on April 13. Don’t come looking for me.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

GPOYW: Why I oughta… Son of a… I can’t believe you took this picture in a bar bathroom when you were drunk and I was wiping my ass, you dirty pirate hooker edition.  

I love you.

Sincerely,

Sally B.

“I’ve got a grande vanilla latte for Sally.”

It’s is overtly pathetic how giddy this can make me on any given day.

And, yes, that is a circa 1974 office telephone. Get off me.

Sincerely

Sally B.