Why I think Amy Poehler and I would be good friends

Why I think Amy Poehler and I would be good friends
Me, holding Amy Poehler's book before I started writing this post

Tonight is ChicagoNow’s Blogapalooza, a monthly event at which bloggers are given a topic and one hour to write a blog post on it. Tonight’s challenge: “Write a letter to a celebrity (rock star, politician, athlete, movie star, etc.) convincing them you should become best friends.”

Dear Amy Poehler,

I suspect that your friend card is pretty full, but on the off chance that you’re looking for new ones, I’d like to submit myself for consideration.

I’m hoping you’ll say, “Yes, Please.”  After all, you write in your book that it is titled Yes, Please because you “like to say ‘Yes please’ as an answer to a lot of things in my personal and professional life.” And I really like hearing it, so I think we’re a match made in heaven.

Allow me to first preface this with the fact that I know I’ll never replace Tina. I wouldn’t dream of doing that. I know she’s your comedy wife. I would say I’d like to be a comedy sister wife, but that feels like overstepping. I’m happy to be a distant friend. I don’t want to ask for too much, but I do think we’d hit it off, for a myriad of reasons.

Your motto “Good for her! Not for me.” is my motto as well. I’ve been busy proselytizing for that concept. If all women could all adopt it, this world would be a whole more awesome.

My daughter is now repeating it, and I think you could really appreciate that, especially after your great work with Smart Girls at the Party. I’d be happy to help with that, by the way. I miss it.

I completely agree with you that “nice manners are the secret keys to the universe.” And I’ve written how I love your advice to avoid negativity, appreciating your body, and other important topics.

Drat, this is looking more stalkerish than I intended, but I’m just trying to show I’m a long-time fan. I can handle the commitment of friendship.

Okay, maybe this is getting weird, so I’ll go with the fact that we’re both really short so perhaps we could share shoes, or clothes.

I almost typed that I would need to lose a few pounds first, but then I thought that would tick you off, so I didn’t. See, you make me a better person. Don’t all friends want to feel like they’re having a positive impact on those around them? I can make you feel like you’re doing that.

And writing. I love your writing, your book, and your scripts. You  say in your book that you wrote it while your kids were in bed. That’s when I do a large chunk of my writing. We can write together. I promise not to interrupt too much, and to keep the snacks and drinks handy.

I’m not afraid to look silly. Ask my kid. I do it all the time. I agree with your quote “There’s power in looking silly and not caring that you do.”

We can commiserate over what it’s like to be a single parent of small kids, and I promise I won’t ask at all about your divorce, but I will be able to say that I’ve been there (or at least in the neighborhood), and I understand (at least a little).

You write: “The open-faced sandwiches who take risks and live big and smile with all of their teeth. These are the people I want to be around. This is the honest way I want to live and love and write.”

I must confess that risk taking isn’t always my strong suit, but I really smile with all of my teeth. I have people willing to vouch for that. Last week the dry cleaner asked me, “You always smile like that?” When I looked perplexed, she explained, “So many teeth.”

We were meant to be buds, I just know it.

Love (too soon?)


You can read all the ChicagoNow blogger responses to this topic here.

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