Fuck. This is not what you think it is.
I decided that today I would write love letters to a male friend and a female friend (for gender parity [maybe next time I can equalize skin colors]). I'd already picked my male and female to write love letters to when I realized. It was just an accident, okay? I just felt inspired to write about Lauren and Brandon tonight. It just happened.
Anyway, with that hiccup out of the way:
As mentioned briefly, Lauren has a tremendous appreciation for folksy bluegrass bluesy music that probably eclipses mine in purity. I think I like more poppy, marketable folk bands, whereas she enjoys Mumford & Sons and bands that folk purists wouldn't wag their dickbag fingers at. She gives and mails me music like this all the time, in various forms, such as mixes like Conundrum and Lauren's Stupid Untitled Mix, and great CDs by artists I've never heard of like Jackie Greene and The Belle Brigade. I haven't listened to that Belle Brigade CD yet, Lauren. I just got it this evening, you know? It's importing right now. I'm listening to Jackie Green right now, okay? Calm down. You're being a bitch. If Lauren played the ukulele, I would probably start a band with her. Her dad plays a bunch of instruments, right? Maybe I'll start a band with her dad. I'll write the words and the chords. He can do the hard things.
But that's not all! Lauren has more good traits than music. I don't think I've ever seen Lauren upset, for example. That's not true, actually, but on the rare occasions where she is feeling blue it's never for selfish reasons, and she carries a sense of positivity and optimism that scares me with its brilliance and sheer continuity. She's got a strong and definite sense of loyalty to her friends and of religious faith, which she wields tolerantly, which is super respectable to me (shout outs to Hillary Haaker, Eliot Sill). And she's tall.
Man, she's cool, right? And single, boys.*
*Right? Lauren, you're single, right?**
**To Lauren's possible boyfriend: I'm sorry.
Brandon is not my best friend at Mizzou, and nor am I his. But I sense a grave, deep mutual respect for each other that, if untrue, is really embarrassing that I just said that. Brandon last year was that friend who I wished I knew better and wished I hung out with more than just indirectly. Brandon this year is that friend who I know better but wish I knew even better and wish I hung out with without him throwing up. His humor is filled with creative puns (Eliot) and sharp witticisms that are far more complex than the amount of time he spends coming up with the joke. Often, fate scolds him for this talent by giving him weak jokes that fall on their faces, but Brandon responds undeterred by reacting to his own failure comedically. On paper, Brandon has time for reflection, and his weak jokes are filtered, leaving him with written gold that he publishes as Maneater articles. In the future, Brandon will be seen as a star music reviewer for Pitchfork and will singlehandedly convince the world that the part of company in charge of reviews isn't a gigantic piece of shit.
Their phone numbers are 217-720-1610 and 314-922-3744. I'm not telling you which is which.