I let you down, Conan.

Dear Conan,

Hi. How are you? I hear you’re going to TBS soon. That’s awesome. Tough break about having to follow George Lopez though. I mean, I know how upset I was when TBS yanked the hour of syndicated Seinfeld and replaced it with his poor excuse for a late night show, and I didn’t even have to follow his act.

Sorry, that’s kind of old news now. If that were my only reason for writing, I probably should’ve done so sooner. But it’s not really, and they don’t make very many “Congratulations on your new show but sorry your timeslot has you following a complete hack” cards. At least not very many good ones.

Anyway, the real reason I’m writing is because I need to apologize. I let you down, Conan. When that whole late night fiasco unfolded, you really handled it with grace. You wrote that inspiring, heartfelt letter about not being cynical. Said we should work hard and be kind and that amazing things will happen.

The thing is, I’m still cynical. And I’m sorry.

It’s nothing new; I adopted sarcasm at an early age. Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest and the rest of my family was kind of over the whole “child-appropriate” talk by the time I was in first grade. Maybe it’s because I watched a lot of tv skewed toward an older television audience. Either way, I wrote a story about my hamster for a young author’s competition when I was nine and the entire thing was riddled with wit and sarcasm and hilarity. It beat the pants off that other kid's sappy happy story about a teddy bear or whatever. My story made the Top 100. I got a certificate.

In sixth grade, I used to babysit these twin two-year-olds who lived behind us. (As a heads up, the ripe age of twelve isn't old enough nor mature enough to handle twins in their Terrible Twos for any extended amount of time.) I remember being surprised that sarcasm didn't deter these kids from acting like, well, two-year-olds. "Oh, you're going to rewind the Air Bud so we can watch the exact same scene for the 147th time this evening? Good. I'm so glad. I didn't want to see the whole movie anyway." They just looked at me, squealed and clapped their hands in delight. Babies.

When I was in high school, the guy who sat next to me in U.S. History started calling me “Bitter.” Not as an adjective. As a nickname. Sure, you’d be hard-pressed to find a teenage girl who doesn’t have a bit of an attitude. And this is the same kid who told me I had wide hips which a.) probably didn’t help with my disposition and b.) goes to show that high school boys are assholes. But I was a smart ass. Definitely the most sarcastic one on the pom squad. (I was a cynic in cheerleader's clothing.) Maybe not “bitter” per se, but my cynicism was burgeoning at 16.

Then one year in college, when Lent rolled around, I decided to give up swearing, complaining and all negativity in general. It was a long, quiet 40 days. One of my friends commented about how boring I'd become. And it wasn’t like I’d even given up any of my really fun, really devious habits. I was just trying to cut back on the snark.

And here we are today. I’m as sarcastic as ever. My banter is peppered with sardonic wit. Smart ass comments fly out of my mouth before I even have a chance to stop them.

So Conan, I really am sorry. For my cynicism, my sarcasm and my sardonicism (oh yeah, that’s a word. Dictionary.com that bad boy.). I work my ass off and I'm a lot nicer than this letter would lead you to believe, but I just can't do it without a little snarky commentary.

Good luck with that midnight/11 p.m. Central timeslot. I’ll be rooting for you.
Brenna

p.s. Do you like the nickname Coco? Like when people say, “Hey Coco!” on the street, do you think, “hey man, that’s me!” or are you filled with fear that when you do turn around, you’ll see that someone was actually just calling to their chocolate colored poodle over in the park? Just wondering.