Sadie,

So your sister invites me in for a drink, right? I mean, she just had an ice tea, but I went right to the hard stuff, straight vodka. I figured out where your daddy-o kept all the good drinks forever ago. It's not like I'm gonna go stealing your drinks or anything. I mean…whatever. I'm not good with words, alright? You know that. Writing letters, that ain't my strong point or anything. My only strong point is cutting though the bullshit. Music comes second, maybe. I'm not smart like you or a pop princess like Jude or have an ear for talent like Jimmy or some super producer like everyone's favorite golden boy Tommy Q.

Whatever. I'm getting off topic here. Funny how stuff really comes out when you're writing, huh? This is some deep shit right here.

Anyway, so we're drinking and just messing around, and Jude pulls out these big-ass photo albums. God, your parents must've spent a fortune paying for those pictures alone. They had way too much time to burn. I mean, if I was married I would not be spending time making photo albums, I guarantee you. So we're flipping through all these pictures and we get to the part around the time where Jude won Contest of the Devil (known to mere mortals as Instant Star), yeah? And God, Sadie, you dressed like a slut. I mean, I was shocked. Really. Whenever I see you, you're always so professionally dressed like you're trying to suck the fun out of the world. Not in a bad way, though. You pull it off, I guess. But so then when I said something about it, Judey told me all about your promiscuous days. You really got around, eh?

Sure, I know you're obsessed with the man folk. I mean, everyone within a mile of G Major Studios knows about your little thing with Tommy. And now you're after Kwest, or so I hear. But I didn't know it was many boys. Maybe I shoulda guessed. Not that you look like you're a girl that's slept around. I said you look professional right?

So anyway we get to talking about you and I say, I don't think your sis likes me. And Jude says, are you kidding me? Of course she likes you, Pats. And I say, well we don't really get along. And then Jude gives me this look. I always thought you had that mutual respect thing going on, she says. That's stupid, I say, why would she respect me? I ain't respectable. You've got balls, Jude laughs at me. She thinks you're brave, like when you stood up for me at the bar mitzvah. Plus, she says, you kill on stage, dude. Sade loves that.

Well I been thinking hard on that, and I figure, since you two've got that sister thing going on, it's probably true. I can't figure a reason why it shouldn't be true. But you know, mutual, I couldn't figure what I respected you for. I mean, I guess I should respect you. You got a good job, you got a good boy toy (okay, not as good as mine), you're the opposite of me. You don't get stoned nearly as often as I do, if ever. You don't drink like a sailor or curse like one, like I do. You're damn respectable, Sadie. But those ain't the kinda things I respect. I respect people who got balls. I respect people who got talent--well, I don't know shit about whether or not you got talent—and I respect ladies who aren't ruled by their men, and sometimes it seems to me like your whole life revolves around men. Guys don't know shit, Sadie. It's us who should be making them squirm, not the other way around.

I thought long and hard about why I would respect you, Sadie, which is weird 'cause normally, I don't think at all. Using my head—not my strong point. But hey, we already went through that song and dance, right? No need to go back to my huge flaws.

But anyway, I finally came up with why I respect you, and it's big. I gotta say, I'm pretty proud of myself. You should be grateful—I don't make this much of an effort for everyone. But I think you're okay, Harrison, so I thought it was worth a try. And hell, I actually succeeded. Quite the ego booster, it is.

So here it is Sadie: I respect you, because you were a slut, but you overcame it, and now, you just obsess over one, maybe two guys at a time. That's pretty decent. Why did you, anyway? Is it something about growing up that I'm missing? I mean I'm practically over the hill here, and I still hate adults and their stupid rules and their stupid stuffiness. But I hate sluts too, and you're not one. So anyway, I respect you.

I guess you probably weren't expecting me to write you a letter. Didn't really plan it, though. I was kind of just excited about really accomplishing something, especially with a major hangover like I have, so here's this dumb letter. I'll probably regret this later. Feel free to burn it. But if you did read all the way to the end here…thanks. I worked pretty damn hard on it.

Respectfully yours,

Patsy.

P.S. I know you don't think I can spell—well, I can't. But where the Mac spell check (gift from the gods) fails, Jamers succeeds. All in all, this letter thing is a pretty big deal for me. I may just print off a copy for myself.