It's Ne-VA-Da Not Ne-VAH-Da
Hey there guys! It's Nevada here! And may I just take the time out to stress that my name is pronounced, Ne-VA-da. It's an "Aa" sound like in the word "cat". Seriously, I don't get why I'm the only state who has to suffer through this crap. I've never heard anyone pronounce Nebraska's name Ne-BRAH-ska.
Anyway, now that the introductions are out of the way we can get down to business and by business, I mean keeping me occupied by writing me letters. Normally, I'd be too busy for something like this lest it be hanging out with Terri (Tony's female alien friend *hint hint* *wink wink*) or spending a late night out on the town, but things have been a bit crazy here lately and I think I need to find a way to vent that doesn't involve booze. Ok, I don't think that way but pops sure does. Alfred even said he was considering signing me up for Alcoholics Anonymous. Not that I'd ever go even if he did. AA is for quitters and I am not a quitter. Besides, it's not like my drinking is a real problem (I think he's just jealous because I can out drink him with the added bonus of never getting a hangover in the morning). Sure, I'll admit that it was after one particular drunken night that I found out I had gotten a tattoo stamped in a rather personal area (I'll tell you all more about that story later, well, if you want to hear that is…) but that doesn't necessarily mean that I've got a problem.
...
*Pouts*
I really don't care for that look you're giving me. It's like the one that dickless bastard California gives me. It's the nod your head in agreement but you really don't believe me look. I'm telling you I'm fine. It's not like I drink every night! And so what if I keep a fully stocked liquor cabinet at all times! And yes, my skirts may be a bit short, my language crass, and I religiously carry around a set of silver-coated brass knuckles (who knows when your revolver might not be enough?) but that does not mean I have any kind of problem, alcoholic included!
Ehhhem…
So, won't you write the 36th daughter of the great Alfred F. Jones and keep her "on the right track".
Psshht, as if. If the right track even does exist I won't even be able to see because I'm so far left. When will people ever understand that? However, it couldn't hurt to try now could it? So drop me a line.
Sincerely,
Erin F. Jones
P.S. If you write me, I can tell you some really embarrassing stories about California…and America… and well most every other state and nation for that matter. What can I say other than should anything else be expected of the home of the "Sin City"?
Also, Utah, if you're reading this, do me a favor, GO DIE!
A/N:
Alright guys, here is the first chapter. I hope you like it. I plan on making a few more Nevada Hetalia stories since it's my home despite technically being born in New York. However, here is my letters bit. Please write and ask a question. I suggest either asking bout her "tat", California, Utah, the mob, or prostitution as I have some stories planned for those but anything is fine. :)
