Dear National Security Administration,

First and foremost, I’d like to take this opportunity to congratulate you on your recent successes in obtaining the private and deeply personal information of 99.9% of the American public. While I, personally, have neither the political inclination nor the stamina – I have been known to max out after a mere four episodes of The West Wing – to organize and execute an act of terrorism against our great nation, I do hope the fruits of your labor blossom into large, ripe mangoes. Mangoes that bear striking resemblance to Scarlett Johanssen’s breasts.

I mention Scarlett Johanssen’s breasts because they activate my greater Bartholin glands and send torrents of liquid down the sides of my vagina, causing them to weep like The Wall that guards the Seven Kingdoms on a hot summer day. But you already know that because you saw my Google searches for naked pictures of Scarlett. Which is totally fine with me! I’m obviously not a terrorist, and I obviously want you to catch the people who are. We’re on the same side. Friendsies!

And since we’re friends, I just want to clear up a few things you may have seen.

With regard to the excessive use of acronyms: No, I’m not hiding anything. It’s not a code. That’s just how I talk. The following details a list of acronyms that may have caught your eye, which I promise have LNS (literally no significance):

LTW = Literally The Worst

LTB = Literally The Best

NSA = Non-Sexy Actions

OSB = Oral Stimulation Badass

PTSD = Put Toilet Seat Down

FDA = Fingering Dat Ass

DEA = Desired Entrance Area

POW = Pseudo-Orgasmic Wetness

WMDs = Women’s Menstrual Dilemmas

Glad we cleared that up. Second: Regarding the plethora of takeout orders placed on Facebook’s Yelp Application between 2am and 6am: binge eating is a serious disorder. My nutritional affairs are some of my most private. On that note, the Gwyneth Paltrow cookbooks are none of your beeswax, which, incidentally, is a healthy alternative to butter when it comes to greasing pans and preparing baked goods. Not that I’m eating baked goods right now. Gwyneth doesn’t recommend it.

I’d also like to note that any and all downloads of “A Midsummer Night’s Cream” were merely accidental. Typos. I was trying to read the Shakespeare play, and a virus must have attacked my computer mid-download or something because instead I got Stephen Canterbury’s full-length porn movie. ‘Twas merely an accidental – albeit merry! – wandering in the night.

Finally, spare yourselves the details of the yeast infection I acquired last May, as well as that instructional video I made on how to fake an orgasm, by not reading any emails with the subject line “The Bread Has Risen.” Yeast infections aren’t exciting. They’re just universally accepted plagues upon the female vagina that happen to be widely discussed amongst female friends. It’s not like they’re STDs. Which I don’t have. So please also disregard any Google searches, bookmarks, or WebMD links emailed-to-self related to vaginal problems and complications. Questions like “What does it mean if the discharge is yellow?” and “How long between sexual encounters until it hurts like I’m a virgin again?” and “Can I get AIDS through the open wounds of my bikini wax?” are completely normal. I have every right to ask.

I hope this helps clear up anything that may cause you to pass judgment on my character. I’m just a normal girl trying to have a normal sex life, both on and off the Internet.

Best wishes,

Grace