Dear Blue Eyes,

So I was feeling pretty down today, mostly because I was feeling sick this morning (only a small part due to the fact that I had an exam at noon, mostly because I have been sick for the last few days). I look up across me from the bus and I see you sitting there, reading a book. You had sunglasses on, those dark ones that I always find that make someone intriguing and you push them up onto the top of your head to reveal those blue eyes. You smile a little, possibly to yourself, and you flipped the page.

And what strikes me as funny is that I used always glance over at people wearing sunglasses. And now that I've started wearing them, I've noticed that more people looking at me, glancing my way. And I couldn't stop looking at you. Which was pretty much incredibly embarrassing once I caught myself looking.

But seriously, beautiful blue eyes. And I know that you attend the same school because I recognized the logo on your jacket (plus, you know, it said the school name and the name of a sports team). You just had this cute smile and you kept on looking up. Which was nice, considering I was directly across from you.

I would have said something, I would have. Only, you know, I wasn't feeling good and my voice has been coming and going all day. I didn't particularly want to start off a conversation with clearing my throat or a hacking cough.

Most sincerely,
Very intrigued with men who wear sunglasses

Dear Mister Truthful,

Yesterday while I was waiting for the bus, you were walking around. Dressed in scruffy clothes, you looked a bit dazed, a bit confused. Never one to willingly interact with people I don't know, I kept silent and was listening to the up-beat rock that was flowing into my head, courtesy of my headphones. You started addressing people, telling them who they were, what they were and how damn awful they should all feel. But you were only addressing the woman, you disregarded the men as if they were not there, as if they were not worthy of your time.

One woman was Satan's whore. Another was Satan's bastard daughter. Satan's wife, Satan's cousin, Satan's mistress, Satan's slut.

One by one you labeled the women as you walked around. You would stop in front of each one and tell them exactly who they were in your mind. And then you stopped in front of me and just smiled, almost cheerfully as if you hadn't been insulting the woman before me and as if you weren't going to be insulting the woman two people away from me.

"Satan's master," you called me.

And to be honest, I didn't mind it very much. My friends and I have an on going joke that I rule hell. And, well, as Satan's master that's exactly what I'd be doing. So thank you for being the first one out of my circle of friends to acknowledge all that evil, pent-up power that I have. It certainly made my day and made me smile. I said thank-you and you moved onto the woman after me in the line up for the bus.

Thank you for being honest,
Satan's Master

Dear Woman with the Cell Phone,

You sat down next to me on the bus this evening, I had no problem with that. You pulled out your phone and started chatting with your friend, I also had no problem with that. What I do have a problem is was that you pulled out your cell phone, started chatting with your friend and then proceeded to loudly tell your friend all about how your vagina was itchy.

Yes, it's all find and dandy that you are having issues with your girly bits. But must you really yell these problems out into your cell phone so that everyone else can hear it as well? Honestly, is it so much to ask for you to just whisper the damn problems that you have with your current (I'm assuming this part) yeast infection to your friend? Just go to the doctor, get something for it, and keep your trap shut about it on the bus. Decorum, woman, something that you do not possess.

So go to your bookshelf, pick up a dictionary and find the word, realize that you don't possess any, and then find some. I'm sure it's available on eBay.