The Final Lesson Plan (34 page)

I hope I didn't offend you; purple is a fine color for a dinosaur. If we're being honest here, I look pretty good in purple myself. But if we're putting all our honesty out on the table, then you should know that neither I, nor my children have ever watched one episode of your show. I've seen snippets here and there, but never really watched the whole thing.

Dear Matthew McConaughey:

You're still my favorite in
A Time
to Kill
. It was such a great movie, and an even better book. I totally had diarrhea at the end when the verdict was coming in. I was so nervous. I kept putting my book down and running to the bathroom. Then, I just said, "Screw it," and took the book with me.

You are pretty damn smoking hot. But what really gets me is your voice. Sexy as Hell, sir. Love it. And just because the character in my book wanted you to put your shirt on, that is in no way any indication of how I feel. Take it off Matthew, take it off. I'm pretty certain that I don't have much of a chance with you, since I just admitted to my bowel issues. Oh well, it's better to be honest up front.

Dear Darren Star, Aaron Spelling, and E. Duke Vincent (Creators of
Beverly Hills, 90210
)

I might get a little teary-eyed here. You are my past. You are my present. You are my everything. I'm Deena Bright, and I'm a 90210 junkie. The new, the old, the reruns, whatever you got, I'm watching it. I used to identify with it so much that I actually waited to lose my virginity until after Dylan and Brenda had sex at the Spring Fling dance in the hotel. If Brenda Walsh from Minnesota could do it, then so could Deena from Ohio, right? Okay, I may be exaggerating a little here. But the truth is, I was a big fan. I even watch the new 90210s, even though I cannot connect with it like I used to. I watch out of total loyalty.

However, I do have a problem that has stayed with me much of my adult life. Just why? Why do all high school shows insist on having the best friend sleep with her best friend's boyfriend? I don't get it. I had friends in high school, some pretty promiscuous friends actually, and they never touched my boyfriend. I've taught high school for 15 years. Girls do not sleep with their best friend's boyfriend. I mean, I guess it could happen and might happen, but it is not the norm. When Kelly started fooling around with Dylan in the pool while Brenda was in France, I got so pissed off and physically sick to my stomach. I know, I know, Brenda was hooking up with Superman. I get that. But Rick (Dean Cain's character's name) wasn't Dylan's best friend. It was just ridiculous.

Now, I'm on the soapbox; I may not be able to dismount myself. Take
One Tree Hill
for instance, Brooke and Payton were best friends, went through everything together. Payton would never have slept with Lucas, knowing that Brooke was falling in love with him. It doesn't happen. Stop giving these young girls ideas. It's bullshit. I end up hating the bitch for the duration of the show. I wished that Kelly would've been burned to a crisp in that fire. I wished that Payton would've been shot in the face by Jimmy Edwards in the school shooting. Okay, yes, I'm a teen drama junkie. Fuck off. We all have our vices. I guess I'll stop now before y'all have me committed.

Dear F. Scott Fitzgerald (Author of
The Great Gastby
):

I loved the book when I read it in high school. I loved it in college when I copied a paper off of my roommate. Yes, I used her paper as my own. The bitch was smarter and a better writer than I. Shit, I hope she doesn't find out about the Indie author craze. She'd roll me up and smoke me when it comes to writing. People would be like "Deena who?" and be all over her.

So, Mr. Fitzgerald, I have a confession to make. I used to think that you wrote the "Star Spangled Banner." Now, when I say, "used to," it wasn't until I started teaching the novel,
The Great Gatsby
, in my American Literature class at my old school that I finally figured it out. I don't know; I think F. Scott Fitzgerald and Francis Scott Key sound very similar. I thought you were the "the bomb," writing our National Anthem and
The Great Gatsby
. Well, you still are pretty cool. I mean think about it, Jay Gatsby was the original Christian Grey. It's true people. Christian Grey is the modern day Jay Gatsby.

Dear Harper Lee (Author of
To Kill a Mockingbird
):

Is it wrong and nearly sacrilegious to say that I'd be interested in an erotica novel, featuring Miss Rachel, Calpurnia, and of course Atticus? Would that be crossing the line? In all sincerity, I'd like to thank you for your contribution to American Literature, breaking barriers that needed to crumble, and sadly, that still need to be shattered. As an adult, what I hope for the most is that I can be ½ the parent and role model that Atticus Finch is, opening my children's eyes to the injustices of the world, but also opening their minds and hearts to all human beings, teaching compassion and acceptance along the way. That's right, bitches; I just got a little serious and philosophical up in here. Smell me!

Dear Yum! Brands Inc. (Owners of Taco Bell):

I'm sure you've taken a hit since the C-word restaurant became all the fast food Mexican hype. (No, not the 4-letter C-word). I do want to say that after a late night of alcohol, hot, sexy dancing, and hoopla, you're the only way to officially say, "Goodnight." There were countless mornings, when I found shredded lettuce in my bra, and that's when I knew that once again, you put me to bed after a night of fun.

Dear Bill Gates (Founder of Microsoft/Xbox):

I pay my sitters around $8.00 - $10.00 an hour. Do you take checks? You've entertained my sons more this past year than any babysitter I've ever had. The Xbox is truly my built-in, electronic nanny. I wouldn't have one ounce of sanity left if it weren't for you. Gratefully, I bow down to you.

Dear Pinnacle foods (Mrs. Butterworth syrup):

I've been waiting for nearly 35 years. What the fuck did I do wrong? Never once has my syrup bottle come to life and talked to me. That is some serious bullshit and false advertising. If she doesn't do it soon, then I'm switching to Log Cabin. Damn snooty-ass bitch.

Dear Genesis, or God, or Moses (Whomever really wants to take the credit for Adam and Eve):

It was an apple. An apple! You greedy little witch. How dare you give us monthly bleeding, pain during childbirth, and sin throughout the world for a freaking apple? Are you out of your mind? Did God even bother to give you a mind? What in the world were you thinking? I mean, if it were a hot fudge sundae, then maybe I could understand. It was a freaking apple.

Dear Charles Dickens (Author of
A Tale of Two Cities
):

Picture it: "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." I was at Ohio State, living the college girl's dream when my mom got sick and passed away. That quarter (Ohio State was on quarters back then), I was taking an English class and supposed to be reading
A Tale of Two Cities
. Well naturally, with everything going on, I didn't read the book. That however did not stop me from writing a paper on that particular literary masterpiece. I had to compare and contrast two characters. I hadn't even gotten far enough in the book to even know who the second character was. Now, this was before the Internet had all the answers right at your fingertips. (Thanks Google!)

So, I winged it; something many students do. I got an A on the paper, and my professor wrote something along the lines of: "This is such a well-written paper and so thought-provoking. It's amazing you could write such a thorough paper without even mentioning so-and-so's death." I had no idea the one chick died! I don't even remember her name at this point, and I am not looking it up. I closed that chapter of that book a long time ago—way before it even ended. I still got an A though. Hmmm…maybe I'm a pretty good writer.

Dear Clorox Wipes:

How did generations of families even try to exist before you came along? I should own stock in the Clorox Wipe company. I'm not going to lie; I've washed my children with your wipes. Clorox Wipes just make life better, cleaner, and less repulsive.

Dear HBO and Time Warner (Owners of Cinemax):

Every year in October, I start teaching literary terms. I have to teach the term "pun," which is a play on words. As a teacher, I'm expected to give them examples. I always give them, "I used to be a garbage man, but then I got canned." Clever, eh?

Anyway, I want to tell them a story (but I never do). I want to tell my students that when I was in high school, my best friend and I discovered that I had Cinemax After Dark on my cable network. We spent much of the night watching
Lady Chatterly's Lover
and
Emmanuelle.
On one of them, I'm not sure which one, the main female character goes hard and heavy with the landscaping, gardener man. (Leo?) Well, in one particular scene, she goes hard with herself. My friend was disgusted with the masturbatory scene and she said, "Oh gross, just go see the gardener, you hoe." It was the ultimate pun; one I doubt my students would ever forget. But, I do have the pragmatics to not teach the word, "pun" that way—even though I know they'd retain it better than all other definitions and examples.

Dear Bill France (Owner of NASCAR):

My husband used to be a huge NASCAR fan. To my delight, we've overcome that nonsense. I'm sorry; I hope that doesn't offend you. But seriously, cars driving around a circle over and over again? Yeah sorry, doesn't do it for me.

I will tell you a story though that you may enjoy. After my husband and I had been together for over a year and half, he told me that he wanted to take me away for Valentine's Day. He said that it would be a vacation that I'd never forget. Naturally, I assumed that he was going to propose. I was ecstatic. I bought the sexiest outfit, had my hair highlighted, and got my nails done. We flew to Nashville, checked into the Opryland Hotel, and went straight to his desired destination for Valentine's Day. Ready? He took me to the mother-fucking NASCAR café to watch that year's Daytona 500. No joke. Memorable? Ummm... yeah! I'll never forget how dangerously close I came to drowning him the cute little indoor river at the Opryland Hotel. Once we got back to the hotel, late that night, because of course there was a caution and delay from some stupid oil spill; I went through all the luggage, everything, to find the ring. No ring! He just thought it would be fun to go away for Valentine's Day to watch the race. Men!

Dear Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale (Writers of
Back to the Future
):

"Hey you, get your damn hands off her."

"Damn where is that kid? Damm. Damn."

"You're my density."

I love
Back to the Future
. Granted, I had to watch it four or five times until I fully understood it. However, it is one of my all-time favorites. Michael J. Fox is a personal favorite for me. I've loved all of his movies and all of his sitcoms. He holds a special place in my heart.

Dear William Shakespeare:

What's the deal with you and me? It's like you're the boyfriend I keep going back to—even though I know you're no good for me. My students hate you. I have a hard time teaching you, getting my students engaged. How can we separate for good? Isn't there someone else I can have? Chaucer? Hemingway? Twain? Why does it have to be you? You bore me. When a man bores me as much as you do, don't you think it's time I to move on?

Dear E. L. James (Author of the
Fifty Shades of Grey
trilogy):

You tweeted me once. That was like the coolest thing that's truly ever happened to me. Thank you for that. Now, if I could just get Shannen Doherty or Alyssa Milano to tweet me too…

Dear Richard and Maurice McDonald and Ray Kroc (Founders and owner of McDonald's):

Egg White delight? Nice one. You're getting there. Personally, I say "fuck 'em." If people want to come in and gorge themselves on Super Size fries and Big Macs, then they should be granted that God-given right. I do like the nutritional information listed on the menu, but if I want to exceed my daily caloric intake with a couple McDoubles and a Fillet-O-Fish, then so be it. I have to admit, once baseball season hits, Ronald spends more time in my kitchen than I do.

Dear Little Debbie and Hostess (Creators of the Swiss Cake Roll and Ho-Ho):

Yeah, nice work. My husband is a "taste test fanatic." We have taste test contests all the time; he insists upon it. We've taste tested Diet Coke vs. Diet Pepsi, generic pizza rolls to Totino's, and of course the Swiss Cake Roll to the Ho-Ho. At my oldest son's last slumber party, we had all 9 boys and my other children taste test them. I have to say; it was split pretty much down the middle, which pissed my husband off. He avidly believes the Ho-Ho is the better pastry. I disagree. I'm a Swiss Cake Roll fan. I love peeling the chocolate off, unrolling it, and licking the cream out. He likes to freeze the Ho-Ho. We've got different tastes. I even had to make sure that you shared the same accolade to keep it fair.

David Chu (Owner of Nautica clothing)

I love your clothes; my sons love your clothes. But let's get real here. Every single time I've been in your store, I'm your only customer. Now, I have an English degree. I'm no mathematician or Economics guru, but don't you think if you lowered your prices, then more people might actually frequent your stores? Just throwing it out there. Do what you want with it. By the way, that was free advice—no charge.