My Dearest Blair,
Letter writing . . . it’s a bit of a lost art, don’t you think? For me, there is just something so personal about putting pen to paper . . . gradually baring my soul to you, with each florid flick of my pen. To know that you are holding my thoughts in the tips of your long elegant fingers . . . it’s kind of erotic, really.
Then again, you and I have always been a bit old fashioned, haven’t we?
More in some ways, than in others, of course . . .
Generally, I don’t watch much television. My responsibilities as a prominent New York hotelier don’t afford me much in the way of free time. And when I do watch, I’m frequently unimpressed.
Just this past week, Nate convinced me to join him in a viewing of an episode of The Jersey Shore. I spent most of that hour of my life (which I will never get back, by the way) trying to adjust the television screen. I was about to call the cable company to complain about the poor picture quality. But Nate assured me that the characters on the show really do have skin that color . . . a fact I found unsettling, to say the least.
That said, Monkey and I have recently gotten into the habit of watching Gossip Girl, together, each week.
Between you and me, Monkey has become a bit of a prima donna, since his debut on the show. He insists that the producers only film him on his right side. Every once in a while, you will catch a shot or two of Monkey taken from the left. When this happens, Monkey always grabs my cell phone in his teeth, and rushes to call his agents in my bedroom. There’s always a lot of loud barking going on, on those nights.
Anyway, I’m writing this to you, to discuss some things that happened during the “Cross Rhodes” episode that greatly disturbed me. Aside from the parts of the episode that featured yours truly . . .
. . . I’d say my favorite part of the episode was the one that featured you and Serena fighting at the breakfast table, after Dorota locked you in the dining room together. You looked stunning as always, dear Blair. And part of me was very much hoping that you and Serena would amorously wrestle one another on the table, amidst a shower of breaking glass, flying bits of fruit cocktail, and of course, lots and lots of bacon.
That would have been incredibly arousing . . . though, since Serena is my sister, I would probably have to refrain from looking at her during the battle, and only look at you. No problem . . .
Also, I must say that having seen the fur vest to which Serena was referring in her insult of your wardrobe choices. I must say, that I patently disagree with her assessment of it. I thought you looked smashing in that vest. Then again, you would look smashing wearing nothing but a paper bag, or better yet, a roll of red-tinted plastic wrap . . .
I’m going to refrain from remarking on the fact that the two of you were arguing over that boring, brillo-pad headed, puff pastry, with a passion for wearing cheap flannel, otherwise known as Daniel Humphrey, for the time being . . .
Speaking of the Donut, Monkey and I were particularly exited to get to the part of the story, where the Upright Citizens Brigade skewered Dan’s novel. After all, if there is any book in the world that deserves a good skewering, it’s the Dair fanfiction commonly referred to as “Inside.” (Dan’s proposed second novel, The Manhattan Monarch, on the other hand . . . now THAT sounds like a good book!).
I was especially interested in seeing which dashing young gentleman they would cast as the brilliantly, witty, but ulimately tragic, auto-erotic asphixiator, Charlie Trout. But alas, that aspect of the performance was never shown on screen. For what it’s worth, I’ve always pictured Charlie as a swarthier Ryan Gosling, or, perhaps, as that talented little Brit, Ed Westwick . . .
That said, I thought the Brigade did a nice job casting that hairy mountain man with the slight speech impediment as Dan Humphrey . . . Granted, he was a bit more attractive, and charming, than the real Dan. But isn’t that always the case with Hollywood casting?
As for the girl they cast as a stand-in Serena, she was a bit shorter and rounder than I would have liked, but she did manage to catch many of Serena’s trademark mannerisms . . . most notably, her patent inability to brush her hair, and the fact that she likely shares her wardrobe with Mary Kate Olsen . . .
Regarding the casting of your character, there is no way that Lola girl, could hold a candle to you. And you are right. That headband she was wearing was an insult to headbands everywhere, certainly to the caliber of headbands you wore on your pretty little head, back in high school.
So, of course, Monkey and I were thrilled to learn that Lola had to back out of the show (though we’re sorry that Cece had to die for the sake good art), and that you were ready and waiting to take her place. After all, no one does Blair Waldorf, like Blair Waldorf. You know that, better than anyone . . .
Prior to the actual play, we did get to see you offering some acting tips to the woman who was to play you, which I think was a very kind gesture, on your part. I think you were absolutely right, when you described any kiss that would exist between you and Dan Humphrey as “perfunctory.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.
(Though the words “nausea-inducing” also immediately come to mind.)
Then, of course, I became very worried for your safety, when Humphrey tried to eat your face, like a hungry zombie, closing in on an exceptionally tasty brain, after weeks of going completely unfed.
The way your hands haphazardly grasped at various parts of that Donut’s body led some viewers to thing you were “caught in an arousing moment.” But I could see that you were actually fighting for your life. I was about to call 911 on your behalf, until Monkey reminded me that this show is pre-recorded . . .
Fortunately, Serena arrived to distract the zombie from his brain-eating attack. And you promptly ran into the streets after her, in hopes of escaping infection by the undead and personality-free. Monkey and I cheered, when this happened.
I must say, I didn’t understand much about the argument you had with Serena, shortly after she rescued you . . . something about squashing your emotions like a bug.
I seem to remember once, back in high school — the first time I admitted to you that I might be harboring romantic feelings for you — you told me to murder the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. In that case, I’ll take your seemingly random comment as a clandestine acknowledgement of our everlasting love. Message sent and received, my darling, Queen B.
When it came time for the actual show, there was a ridiculous moment, in which the Serena character relayed to you, an experience in which Humphrey supposedly came to watch you read some essay you wrote in the fifth grade. She said this, even though you and Dan Humphrey did not attend the same school, during that time. (He was in public school . . . poor boy.). Also, I might add, you had no idea who the f*&k Dan Humphrey was until high school.
It was a charming story
in the way syphillis is charming, despite it’s being completely untrue. And I guess your response of “Dan loves me for me,” was supposed to be funny. The Upright Citizens Brigade is meant to be comedic, after all . . .
Now, I certainly can’t fault Humphrey for falling in love with you, Blair. You are perfect, in every way. You know that. The question is, what version of you does Dan love?
Does he love the strong, powerful, incredibly ambitious, and often manipulative, woman, who used to stay up nights with me, planning and scheming? Does he love the Queen B, who ruled the halls of Constance Billard High School, with an iron headband?
Does he love the woman I helped to become the perfect prom queen? The one who helped me build my empire, and pulled me back from the brink, after my father’s death?
Does he love the first woman to whom I said those ever elusive three words and eight letters? The woman who enjoys the finer things in life . . . posh hotels, king sized beds with soft sheets made of Egyptian cotton, in ridiculously high thread counts . . .
. . . a designer wardrobe, eating tasty macaroons . . .
. . . indulging in the kinkiest of foreplay, playing dress-up, and, of course, limo sex?
Or does he only love you, when you are at your most vulnerable and broken . . . a girl on the run, hiding from a life she never wanted, and pretending to be someone else, so that she doesn’t have to face the nightmare that her world has become?
I wonder . . .
But then you ran out the door again, and I assumed you must be having PTSD flashbacks of Zombie Dan eating your face . . .
When you arrived at the hospital to support Serena in her time of need, I wished I could be there for you. But Monkey and I were too busy plotting world domination, and my limo driver couldn’t get across town in time. Yet, I did call you. And the words you said to me, were statements I genuinely took to heart.
You are absolutely right, Blair. Being a good person, is more than just being kind to you . . .the woman I love more than life itself. Being nice to you is easy . . .
. . . The real test of reformation is being benevolent to all of gods creatures . . .
. . . even dull, squishy-bodied, slugs like, Dan Humphrey.
And thanks to your powerful words, I vow to be an all-around more decent person, in the future, Blair . . . even to those who are less fortunate than myself . . . or at least have less fortunate hair . . .
Then, you told Humphrey you had real feelings for him, and I started to wonder whether, perhaps, he had chewed out a portion of your brain, after all . . . I plan to have an in-depth conversation about this with my neurologist, later today. It’s a good thing you decided to stick around the hospital. Impromptu surgery might be in order . . .
Until then, I pray for your speedy recovery. Don’t you worry, though. I’m not going to make a Pact with God, on your behalf. Because that would just be ridiculous . . .
Forever yours, with deep and abiding love,
P.S. Dan sent that video of us declaring our love for one another on your wedding day to Gossip Girl. If you ever want to get revenge on his ass for pretty much ruining your life, you know who to call . . .