An Open Letter To My Fantasy Girlfriend, CMA Awards Co-Host Carrie Underwood


Dear Fantasy Girlfriend Carrie Underwood,

I want to preface this letter by letting you know that I am not a lesbian, nor do I plan on experimenting with women any time soon. With that said, I would certainly not kick you out of bed. In fact, you’re up there on the “People I’d Gladly Do If They Let Me” list with Paul Walker, Ryan Gosling and Tim McGraw.

While I was watching/sleeping through the CMA Awards last night, I was literally mesmerized by your legs. They’re perfectly toned, bronzed and otherworldly. For a moment, I thought I put my TV on mute, but it was just me—entranced by your limbs. You’ve had killer gams for a long time, but unfortunately, the trainwreck that was the 2013 CMAs, drew even more attention to the only appealing facet of the show other than Luke Bryan: your legs.

And since you exercised the shit out of those bad boys last night, perhaps you should take a seat because this might sting a bit. Here it goes … you sucked.

I’ve watched you blossom from a hopeful “American Idol” contestant into a country superstar, and I’m probably your biggest fangirl ever— but last night you were as stiff as Jon Hamm’s ever present peen. I like to believe that the teleprompter was functioning too slowly, which is why you sounded so robotic, but perhaps you were just thrown off by the painful, ear-bleeding acts.  For goodness sake, Jason Mraz, who shouldn’t even BE at the CMA Awards, forgot the lines to his own song when singing with Hunter Hayes, who, I can only assume, is still going through puberty. And don’t even get me started on The Band Perry.

Then there were your outfits. Oh, the outfits. Some of them were glam, and obviously you would look gorgeous even if you were covered in old, smelly pastrami sandwiches, but seriously, what the fuck? If you’re going to change your clothes 10 times, don’t go from bright, high-waisted floral bellbottoms that look like they’re from the “That 70’s Show” reject pile (left) to an even worse skirt that appears to have a championship boxing belt in the front and  mud flaps hanging off the ass (right). The world wants to see your ass. Let’s not deprive the people of beautiful things.

Speaking of things you shouldn’t hide: your talent. I was so thrilled when you sang not one hit, but four songs that I’ve been playing on repeat all year. You have more talent in your left nostril than I do in my entire body, but, needless to say, I was not “Blown Away” by your performance. You seemed out of breath, and I think it was because you were stomping around so much. Did your fabulous, sparkly booties have lead in them? Maybe you’ve been frolicking around the hills and the abbey too much practicing for “The Sound of Music” (which, by the way, is the most exciting thing to happen to me since the day I became a woman). Whatever it may be that kept you from being your best self last night, I forgive you. Let’s just fix that shit before next year’s CMAs. You’ve got this. Nobody solves a problem like Maria.

I love you even though you didn’t live up to your potential last night, and please don’t hate me.

Your biggest fan,