Never Say Never

Is it too late now to say sorry? 

If you haven’t listened to JB’s newest masterpiece — you are missing out. If you had asked me a couple years ago if I would ever utter those words, I would have bet money on a big fat no. When something gets me vibing, grooving, call it what you will — I can’t ignore it. To deal with this foreign territory of love for the Biebs, I penned an open letter to the girlish looking boy man himself. 

Dear Justin,

It is weird for me to be writing this to you. I always thought if I was writing a letter to any Justin it would definitely be of the Timberlake variety. Maybe even the one who lost to Kelly Clarkson on American Idol’s first season. Life happens though, throws some curveballs, and here we are.

Lately I’ve felt off. Am I sick? Do I have a cold? It is the time of year where all of the above is normal, but what I am feeling is something I’ve never experienced before. My condition is not something that can be remedied with antibiotics, NyQuil, or a double bottle of Moscato. What I have is incurable. I’m fully ready to admit I have: BIEBER FEVER.

I’ve been immune for so long. You first hit the scene with your hipster bowl cut, singing about love, and I knew full well your balls had not yet dropped. Love to you was like sharing colored pencils or flirting beside lockers before class. I just couldn’t jump on that bandwagon. I was honestly perplexed that Usher took you under his wing. URSHERRRR, the King of Swag, lead to Luda being on your tracks. LUDA – who wants to know your fantasy was now rapping in bowling alleys with you. Clearly there was something about you. Maybe you were a vampire and actually well beyond your years. Maybe you were hypnotizing the hip hop community first so that all the world would end up Beliebers? That honestly made more sense to me versus what was really happening.

Tweens. I get it. For the most part, screaming adolescent girls who still shopped at Limited Too Justice shot you to fame. I was once one of those girls, except I had mad love for Nsync and Backstreet Boys. (If frosted tips doesn’t scream hot to you then GFTO.) It didn’t take long for more than tweens to be digging your vibe. You hit puberty, and I started taking note. I jammed to “Boyfriend” and suddenly felt it necessary to find a partner who was down with fondu. 

Just as I was dipping my big toe in the Bieber pool -- you started pulling shit like egging houses, bringing monkeys inappropriate places, and performing altogether douchey shenanigans. I wanted to flick you right in the middle of the forehead. You also tried to act like you were going to fight people.  At this time you were tiny enough to sleep in a hot dog bun. I shook my head at you many a time.

Things started to turn around. I watched your ROAST. It was magnificent. Martha Stuart shined like the lightweight thug she is. You took it like a champ and then apologized for your previous terrible antics. Suddenly I felt like the Grinch at Christmas. My heart for you was two sizes too small, but in that moment it grew.

Fast forward to your album dropping. I had to listen, I mean the singles previously released were legit. 
(We happen to do a killer jazzercise routine to “Where are U Now”— just saying.)

I continued listening and realized I was VIBING every song. Banger after banger – I couldn’t even pick a favorite because I liked so many tunes. It’s clear. You found your Purpose. You made me a Belieber. 
I also feel like every song is to Selena, so I hope you two work things out. After seeing your leaked nudes, I’m not sure why she ever left…

I’m rooting for you. I’m cheering on those new platinum locks. I hope you conquer the world tour in your favorite Calvin Klein boxer briefs. I hope you sprinkle swag in every city you stop by. I hope to join you in Louisville on 4/20. I can only imagine how you will pregame that concert. ;)

All the best Biebs, 


I really do wish Biebs all the best. I wish he was playing the 50th Superbowl, instead we have Coldplay. 

To my lovers and my haters:


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