Confessions of A Naughty Girl

An Open Letter To My Favorite Astronaut

Dear Captain Lisa Nowak,

What the f*ck were you thinking?! You used to be my favorite astronaut, you know. Actually, I don't really know any astronauts, save for maybe Neil Armstrong and Tom Hanks, and maybe Lance Bass, had he been able to put his platinum record money towards buying his way into space, but still. You were my favorite once I found out you were arrested, but then you let me down. You let me down because you weren't arrested for drug peddling. Or armed robbery. Or some sort of exciting conspiracy involving Sputnik and a really sketchy guy named Vladimir who has greasy hair.

You were arrested for attempting to strangle a bitch.

Lisa Nowak, this is not okay. I don't care what the circumstance is, but space chicks can't go around strangling bitches, or threatening to harm them. And even that aside for a moment, the worst part of this whole thing is that it is over some guy who's last name I can't pronounce, much less spell. Captain Oofenfroof, or whatever.

I can see how it all started. You worked with Captain Oofenfroof, and he looked at you kind of funny. In fact, you could swear he was eyef*cking you when he asked you to pass the space ice cream in a flight mission. You caught yourself wondering what it would be like if he was to accidentally fall on top of you naked, even though the laws of physics prevented that from happening at zero gravity. But don't you know, Lisa Nowak, that you shouldn't get your meat where you get your bread?

So maybe you knew that. Maybe you knew it was wrong, but it felt right anyway. Hey, it happens. I'm not opposed to it, as long as you think it's the real deal. But you're married, Lisa Nowak. You're married and convince yourself you're falling in love with a guy because he offered you the chocolate half of his neapolitan space ice cream. Come on, girl. Get it together.

I know it must have been lonely up in space. I know they probably don't allow sex toys in space and you were frustrated. Or maybe we do make mistakes and look back and think that we should have married Captain Oofenfroof instead of our lazy sack husband who doesn't get off of the couch and won't put the kids to bed in time, but this was not the right guy.

You want to know how I know? Because he was poking someone else, Lisa Nowak. Another chick. Who lives in Florida. Near the space station. And that is not okay. Even if she is prettier than you. Even if she has better orthodontia than what your picture is showing me. Even in spite of the fact that I just Google imaged her and couldn't find even one picture (frustrating).

I know you don't read this blog, but Lisa Nowak, I sure hope you will. Take it from a girl like me who has considered herself to have taken quite a few to the chin where guys are concerned: no man is worth strangling someone else. NO. MAN. No man, no woman, no human (perhaps some animals, now that I think about it, but only if you're blind and someone stole your seeing eye dog, in which case you wouldn't be reading this, but perhaps your friend is Braille translating it for you).

Lisa Nowak, it is sad that with all of the NASA tests they give you, they don't give out a "Will She Ever Plan to Strangle A Bitch" test. Perhaps they will implement that this year, though, who knows. But even sadder is what you've reduced yourself to - a poor man's Juliet who thinks that the easiest way to reconcile a dysfunctional relationship is to just...well, kill the third person. Lisa Nowak, this is not the mature way to solve things. Actually, you might have thought about the worst possible way ever. I am not condoning checking his cell phone dialed list or even signing him up for disgusting pornographic material to be delivered to him at work, but even those icky, non-ladylike ideas would be better than getting arrested in the name of love.

The bottom line, Lisa Nowak, is this: life is not a Bon Jovi song, although you do give love a bad name. You make it look possessive, and selfish, and harmful. And it's really none of those things. You will not go down in a blaze of glory, either. I am disappointed in you for making women look bad, and especially disappointed that we sent a weirdo like you into space. At the rate we're going, I'd have rather seen Lance Bass pop and lock from the now-demoted Pluto than your jealous ass.

I'm done.

Sincerely,
KA

posted by KA @ 10:15 PM