Dear God,
I’m sorry that I didn’t keep my life very “Kosher” for the past year. To be honest, Mr. G, it’s been very hard. I’m a teenager trying to find my place in life, and therefore, we make many mistakes. I apologize for yelling “Jesus Christ” on the bema when I forgot a line during my bat- mitzvah service. It was also wrong of me to go to the bathroom and text my friend from New York during the service when my twin sister was chanting. There’s a lot of things I probably shouldn’t tell you, but since you basically let me live when I was premature in the hospital, I owe you. I also regret praying for 4 days straight every night because I wanted to win a pair of AMAZINGLY ADORABLEY UBER-FANTABULOUS CUTE pair of jeans on E-Bay. I know that I should be praying for world peace and for Patrick Dempsey to marry my mom (she told me to pray for Mc Dreamy), but the whole world knows it’s going to take a miracle for those things to happen. So, that’s where you come in. You are so called the “creator.” Aren’t you supposed to make the magic happen? Bring in the ca-ching when we really need it in these financially tough times? Stop all the hurricanes in the Bahamas’s? Tell Santa to stop eating all of our fruit snacks in the pantry when he comes for Christmas when he knows we are Jews? No offense, Sir Almighty, but nowadays, you are a pretty popular guy. People need you. They want you. They want to hear your Darth-Vader like voice. I’m not trying to tell you to get a Blackberry, but you really need to step up your game, and listen to the mortals you made. We are screaming for you, but you are obviously aren’t hearing anything except the “Best Holy Songs of 200 B.C. “soundtrack on your I- Pod! I know it is rude to speak this critically of you when you did something to make Parker Evans like me, but being an honest and truthful teenager (which is rare these days), you are lazy. Lazy. Lazy. Lazy. We have innocent men being dragged into war, making up for the countless troops that have fallen. We have wild-child celebrities partying like there is no tomorrow, giving the paparazzi plenty of dough to feed to their family. We have gardeners losing their jobs because the grass has been getting so many nutrients from all of the rainy weather we have received from the permanent clouds in the sky. And then, you have me, Morgan, not knowing how to make her mark in the world, just going with the flow. I’m not exactly a “follow along” type of person. I march to my own drum beat. It’s really difficult not being able to change the world all by yourself before you graduate 8th grade. How could a little shrimp like me change the way people look at the world? Let alone, I can barely change the mind of my soccer coach when he cut me from the team. God, I have so much potential and knack, but no one sees it except my supportive mother and boozy grandma. Oh, and my dog Leo. I know I’m going off to a whole other chapter in my life-story novel, but if you could look into my beautifully almond- shaped eyes, you would see past the materialism and high-maintenance like behavior, and soon see a real human being that is desperately trying to piece the world back together. Hey, to earn some brownie points, I did stay late after school to help my math teacher correct and grade tests; well, actually, it was detention, so I had no choice. Master Immortal, I’m really trying hard, but I could use a miracle. And I’m not talking about some dang oil lasting for eight days. First, I need you to tell my sister to shut up and threaten her to be nice to me or else….. her whole wardrobe will be transformed to vintage Batman shirts and hot pink Bell Bottoms; Maddie is terrified of bats and the Brady Bunch. Next, I need you to turn every Mc Donald’s fast food resturaunt in America to a 200 calorie and under salad buffet. Oh vey, are we on a roll or what? So, those are just a few of my endless wishes that need to be solved ASAP. Dude, ( I can’t keep calling you those cheesy names), we look up to you. Well, of course we do because you are always sitting on those clouds. You are the imaginary friend little kids have when they have a time out in the corner of a classroom. You are the unknown voice that comes out of the speakers from a Wal-Mart store. You are every actress’ hero when they win an Oscar. You are the exclamation in a 26 year old’s voice when he wins a big radio contest. You are God. Don’t forget that. Don’t take it for granted. For all the mistakes and blunders I’ve made in the past year, I’m leaving it up to you to fix a fraction of them. 70% of them wouldn’t of been made if you never created “backtalk” and “disrespect” to your elders. Right now, your status is the world’s biggest myth, so maybe you can change that! Come down from the sky, come over to my house for Shabbat dinner, shave that beard of yours, and I’ll take you to the mall for some spankin’ new clothes. Before I wrote this soon-to-be novel, I watched “Bruce Almighty” to get a feel for what you are really like. Can you really walk on water? If so, you might actually be “off the shizzy” after all. See you soon Chuck Norri—I mean God.

Sincerely,
Your future intern


(p.s. I’m actually really thoughtful because I include you in every single one of my conversations…OMG, rite?)