Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Dear Young Guy Who Works at the Walgreen's Pharmacy,

Every single time I go to pick up my meds, you're working and that's great because you're much nicer and more competent than the other pharmacy tech people who work there.

Since you see the myriad of prescriptions I pick up on a monthly basis, you know I'm all kinds of crazy, which is fine, I'm glad we don't have any secrets. I would like you to know, though, that even though I blank on the most basic information in front of you (last month it was my PIN, today, my home address), I'm not a complete simpleton, you're just very very cute. Distractingly cute. Just thought you should know now since I probably won't be able to remember the spelling of my last name next month.

xxoo,

me

Labels: le crazy, letter to

Friday, February 08, 2013

Dear Lady In Front Of Me At The Grocery Store,

That look of disdain you saw on my face when I got in line behind you was because I was judging you for allowing your adult son to wear fuzzy Paul Frank pajamas in public.

Then when you started getting all handsy with your "son" and calling him "Baby", I may have felt a momentary flash of grudging respect that you landed a guy who was at least fifteen years younger than you.

Then it was back to the disdain because I was judging that you felt the need to get all handsy in the grocery store AND because you were okay going out in public with your boyfriend who was wearing fuzzy Paul Frank pajamas.

Seriously, it probably took him longer to tie his shoes than it would have taken him to put on pants.

Pants, okay, they're your friend.

Labels: letter to

Monday, December 03, 2012

Dear Every Website in the World,

Listen, if I wanted to "connect with [you] on Facebook" and "let all [my] friends know what [I'm] up to", I'd find you on Facebook. I don't need two pop-ups and a blinking sidebar asking me.*

I don't have my Facebook connected to my blog, my Tumblr, my Twitter, my Instagram or any of the other 90 bajillion social networking websites on which I have accounts. I do that on purpose because I don't necessarily need my uncle in Indiana, that guy I didn't really know in high school and that lady I met once at a party all up in my business**.

Just wanting to dick around on the internet in peace.

xxoo,

me



*not to mention, at least 58% of the websites I visit/things I search for would either get me unfriended or put on some watch list

**and let's be fucking real. No one needs that. No one needs notifications across fifteen websites that you're watching a tv show or that you're working out. NO ONE FUCKING CARES THAT MUCH ABOUT YOU.

Labels: letter to

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Dear My Period,

Imagine my chagrin when I happened to take a peek at my period tracker thing to find that you were scheduled to arrive on the move day. Like I really needed something else to worry about when I'm venturing back into the fun-filled world of Los Angeles area traffic.

And even though you rarely arrive on your scheduled day, I do appreciate that you waited until today, when I finally unpacked enough boxes to find some tampons.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear People Who Did The Packing,

1) I appreciate that even though you were specifically instructed to leave the clothes (INCLUDING MY UNDERWEAR) in the drawers and just move the dressers as is, you decided to pack all the clothes that were in the drawers (INCLUDING MY UNDERWEAR).

2) I really appreciate that I had to go through no less than 8 boxes of stuff marked simply "Kitchen/Glassware" to actually find a single glass or plate. Every time I've moved, I've done a shitty job of marking boxes, but it's not, you know, my JOB or something I'm being paid to do. You might as well just have marked everything as "stuff". Because of your shitty labeling, I'm still unable to find the dish drainer, my embroidery stuff and the bathroom trash cans.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That being said, it's strange and nice to live in a house where more than the bare minimum maintenance has been performed - we now have windows that are double-paned and open because they aren't sealed shut with years of mold, toilets that flush, a garbage disposal, a refrigerator that hasn't yet frozen the stuff on the top shelf and no constant smell of mildew... in retrospect, it kind of seems like my crazy-ass landlord just might have been a slumlord. I used to write it off as him being European and being raised in a poor-ish Community country (it was no good to even ask him about repairing something until it was 200% broken - one of the bathrooms developed a leak, the hot water thing wouldn't turn off and he wouldn't even come over to look at it until the dripping turned into a steady stream), but I think the dude might have just been cheap.

Labels: first world problems, letter to, pointless whining

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Dear My Landlord,

I understand that it's important to you to "spruce up" the house and get it re-rented as soon as possible, but it's also worth noting that... we still live here.

If you want to weed the front yard that I've kind of neglected for the last couple months while I was healing up from back surgery, I'm cool with that. (To be brutally honest, I'm probably not going to be going way out of my way to do a whole lot of landscaping.)

If you need to get into the backyard, though, since we do have dogs, one of whom hates your guts*, it might be a good idea to, you know, ask.

Since you decided to go into the yard today (without letting me know ahead of time) to work on the sprinkler system that's been busted for a year, I don't have a whole lot of sympathy for that bite mark on your ass**. My dog has more of a right to be in the yard than you do. Hopefully this will serve as a reminder that, you know, WE STILL LIVE HERE and we're not really interested in disrupting our lives anymore than absolutely necessary.

Thanks a heap,

me



*it's so weird - my dog loves everyone, but is violently opposed to my landlord and always has been. Clearly the dog knows something we don't.

**he's a super sweet (if a little neurotic) dog and has never bitten anyone, but he ran right at the dude and nipped at his butt

Labels: letter to

Friday, March 30, 2012

Dear Neighbors 2 Houses Down From Me,

I've got to give it to you guys. Just when I thought that you couldn't be any more obnoxious, what with your 25 people in a single-family home, your cars parked all the fuck over the street, your blasting calliope music on every holiday, how you caught and ate my landlord's pet rabbits* and your asshole dog that you can't seem to keep contained on your property, you guys go and get a rooster.

Chickens are gaining popularity these days, they lay eggs, they eat the bugs and you can use their poo as fertilizer. They're also pretty quiet 90% of the time. You know what roosters do? They fucking crow ALL DAY LONG. This wouldn't be a problem if we lived, you know, on farms and your nearest neighbors were miles away, but seeing as we live in a city** and your house is maybe 50 yards from my house, it's a really asshole-y thing to do.

Thanks a heap for not even considering that you have neighbors,

the girl who's going to be planning on the best recipe for that fucker if I happen to find him outside


*he couldn't seem to keep them contained in his yard so I guess he just gave up after a while.

** we live in a part of the city that's technically unincorporated so some people have livestock - there are a few people a couple streets over who raised some goats for 4H and m neighbors across the street have some chickens

Labels: letter to

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Dear Neighbors 2 Houses Down,

It's been super duper nice of you guys to share your pounding calliope/mariachi music all day!

And it's so nice of y'all to have it so loud that the whole neighborhood can hear it!

And while I super duper appreciate being able to feel like like a part of your Christmas Eve celebration, (even with all the windows in the house closed!) I now have a headache and can feel the bass pounding in side of my head, so I wonder if you guys wouldn't mind turning it down just a touch. Not just for me, you guys have at least 5 or 6 kids living in that house and going deaf won't be good for any of them.

Thanks a heap and Merry Christmas!

Labels: first world problems, letter to

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Dear Snotty Community College Girl Who Comments on The Kid's Facebook Too Often For My Liking,

First of all - I know we didn't have Facebook when I was a kid, but 7th grade boys were not on my radar when I was in high school, let alone after that, so it's kind of weird that you have so many Facebook friends in junior high*.

Second of all - Even if you're trying to be helpful and mentor-y to The Kid, your comments are usually unnecessarily condescending and less-than-helpful.

Third of all - While you try to be all holier-than-thou to all these kids, like you're someone for them to look up to, it's kind of hard for anyone to take you seriously when your profile picture is you wearing a bikini top and booty shorts, dropping it low and looking more than a little bit wasted**.

How about you get your own shit together before trying to parent kids 6 or 7 years younger than you (all of whom already have parents, btw)? You want to help them out? Maybe you could try to set a good example instead of looking like you're auditioning for Girls Gone Wild, mmmkay?

kthx,

the mom who, for some reason, never liked you to begin with


*not to mention if the genders were reversed, you'd be on a watch list somewhere

** as pointed out by one of The Kid's friends when you were lecturing The Kid on the importance of respecting all adults

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting, letter to

Monday, September 12, 2011

Dear My Child,

I appreciate that after a summer full of various injuries (sprained ankle in a basketball game, disgustingly bruised finger and various contusions from running into a pole on your bike, bloody scratches and scrapes from falling off of a quad in the middle of the woods), you decided to wait until THE EVENING BEFORE SCHOOL PICTURES to do trip over your own feet during a football game in the front yard and faceplant on the concrete.

Way to go!





you so much can't see the cut from this angle, but you can get a pretty good idea of the lumpy goose egg that had swelled up ON HIS FACE within about a minute of his accident.

EDIT: picture day pictures to show how well the bruise has bloomed

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting, letter to

Friday, August 26, 2011

Dear Local Person Who Owns My Car Twin,

Please stop shopping at stores where I shop when I shop in them because I feel like a complete idiot every time I stand behind your car and furiously press the button on my keyfob for five minutes before I realize that I actually parked five spots over.

Thanks a bunch!

xxoo,

me

Labels: I'm an idiot, letter to

Monday, August 01, 2011

Dear Pet Snake,

That was my finger, not your lunch. You're lucky I'm such a badass that I managed to not drop you.

In the future, please stick to chomping on rodents.

Thanks a heap,

me

Labels: I take pictures, letter to

Friday, July 29, 2011

Dear Endless String of Vapid 22-Year-Olds Who Sleep With Hugh Hefner,

PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT HAVING SEX WITH HUGH HEFNER!!!! I don't want to see it trending on twitter, I don't want to see a blurb about it on CNN, I don't even want to think about it.

He was born in 1926, HE WAS A SENIOR CITIZEN WHEN YOU WERE BORN!!!!

Also, it's okay to keep some of the details of your private life private, I promise the world will not stop turning.

Thanks,

The Rest of the World

Labels: letter to

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Dear Sea World,

The Kid has a basketball tournament in San Diego next weekend and San Diego has a Sea World - yay!

Who doesn't love a place to get close to super awesome marine animals without the possibility of being eaten by a shark?

So of course I go to your website to see what kind of exhibits you have, since it's been a few years since my last visit and guess what I found out?

It costs $70 per person to get in (plus $14 for parking, plus however much it costs to get lunch).

I can only assume that this price includes my very own real live penguin to take home with me.

I mean, it doesn't say on the website that everyone gets a penguin, but I can't imagine another reason why it would cost so much.

Of course, with the economy being as gross as it is, I'm a teensy bit worried that building and maintaining a penguin habitat in the yard might be a bit cost prohibitive, so maybe we could opt out of the penguin and just pay a more reasonable entrance fee - you know, something that doesn't equal 3 weeks worth of groceries for a family of 3? Let me know before I try to sell The Kid on a trip to Ikea instead.

xxoo,

me

Labels: letter to

Thursday, June 16, 2011

(necessary backstory: it's been about 2 months or so since I've felt anything but bummed out and mostly absent from my own life, so I finally decided to suck it up and make an appointment with the doctor - he upped my anti-depressant and sent me to get some blood drawn so they could make sure there was nothing wrong [past the obvious, of course])

Dear Doctor's Office Lady Who Left Me A Somber Voicemail That My Bloodwork Was Back And She Wanted To Speak To Me About It,

I really appreciate you not returning my call after I returned your call, I really appreciate having the entire night to watch episodes of "House" and stress the hell out and about what it potentially wrong with me (past the obvious, of course).

Thanks a heap!

xxoo,

me

Labels: le crazy, letter to

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

"Wife committed to Weiner"

"NYers slightly favor Weiner"

"Weiner calls Bill Clinton"

"Weiner's got competition"

"It's a matter of time for Weiner"

"What was Weiner thinking"

Dear Representative Weiner, 

The only thing I know about your politics is that you're super liberal (OMG, ME TOO!) and I don't care whether or not you tweeted your pics of yourself to random skanks, that's between you and your internet service provider (and your wife, too, I suppose), but seeing your name in headlines makes me giggle so much that I hope you stay in politics forever and ever and ever.

xxoo,

me

Labels: letter to, random pop culture reference

Monday, May 30, 2011

Dear Spider I Trapped Under a Can of Bathroom Cleaner 2 days ago,

HOW WERE YOU STILL ALIVE TODAY WHEN I GRABBED SAID BATHROOM CLEANER TO USE IT????

That's not right.

Sorry I tried to assassinate you with Scrubbing Bubbles, which apparently aren't an effective arachnid killer... and then sorry I swept you up with a paper towel and tossed you into the trash to assumably die a slow death - it would have been easier for everyone if I were capable of squishing bugs, but, alas, I am not.

Hope you're not still alive and waiting to come attack me in my sleep.

Hopefully your family members will learn to stay the fuck out of my house.

Thanks!

Labels: letter to

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Dear Woman Who Continues To Call At All Hours, Disregard My Voicemail Greeting And Leave Messages For Her Daughter (who isn't me),

Please stop calling at all hours, disregarding my voicemail greeting and leaving messages for your daughter (who isn't me).

Also, when I was nice enough to call you back to let you know that you were calling the wrong number (because you sound about 400 years old and pretty frail and sad and I felt bad for you), you acted like you had no idea what I was talking about and claimed that you never use your phone. Even when I repeated back your messages to you, pretty much verbatim, you still claimed innocence. Fine, whatever, be like that.

Sincerely hoping that you don't drive,

me

Labels: letter to

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Dear Fuckface Who Stole the GPS Unit Out Of My Vehicle Last Night,

I hate to tell you you, but that unit is 1) super low-end, 2) about 4 or 5 years old and 3) I've never updated the software - If you're planning on using it yourself (which I doubt, since you're obviously on foot) you're screwed. If you were planning on pawning it, you'll be lucky to get enough for lunch off of a dollar menu, no way you're going to get enough to support your crack habit.

Sorry I didn't have more for you to steal.

Good luck with your life and your choices.

p.s. you forgot the cord

p.p.s. eat a bag of dicks


EDIT:

Dear Super Cute Sheriff's Deputy,

Thanks for being nice and not making fun of me for 1) filing a report about my stolen old, not-worth-much GPS and 2) admitting that I'd left my vehicle unlocked last night*.

xxoo,

the girl who was glad she remembered undergarments, makeup and brushed hair this morning



* shut up, I'm not the only one who thinks it's a safe neighborhood, apparently I was the 4th person this morning to report a theft in the neighborhood and it was only 9AM when I filed the report.

Labels: first world problems, letter to

Friday, March 04, 2011

Dear Flotsam and Jetsam of Walmart

I have accepted that, while I'm living in this tiny little hamlet, I will have to shop at that wretched store for some items*, but I'd like to let you guys know that the following things exist:

1) Parking space lines (that way I won't consider "accidentally" hitting your vehicle with the door of mine as I'm wedging myself into mine)

2) Personal Space (that way you won't run into me when I pause to go down an aisle. Also, the hair on the back of my neck won't singe from your 10AM stale beer and cigarette breath)

3) DEODORANT (that way I won't have to smell you from two aisles over)

4) Other People (that way I won't have to say "excuse me" three times [twice politely and once kind of sarcastically] before you finally move your cart and your ass out of the way so I can get to the shower curtain liners.)

Thanks a heap,

me


*today it was a toaster - I got grossed out cleaning out the one we have and needed another one and it's just a toaster, I didn't need one designed by Michael Kors or whomever else Target has kidnapped and forced to work in their sweatshop.

Labels: letter to

Friday, January 07, 2011

Letters

Dear Mom of Some Kid on The Kid's Basketball Team,

I don't understand how you had time to pick out earrings for your outfit for the game, but didn't have time to CHANGE OUT OF YOUR PAJAMA BOTTOMS. I'm judging you for that.

~~~~~~~

Dear American Movie-Going Public,

I'm totally judging you for making that effing Fockers movie number one at the box office. I mean, really, how starved for entertainment are you?


~~~~~~~~

Dear "Celebrity"/"Star"-type Reality Show Producers,

Would it be possible to raise the bar on who we're considering "stars" or "celebrities" now? Like, if someone is only known for being on another reality show, can we not consider them famous until they've contributed at least the tiniest bit towards society?

~~~~~~~~~

Dear Whomever Decided To Publish A Book By Snooki,

Really? I mean REALLY?

First of all - is the publishing world this desperate for material? How would you not resort to going door to door looking for writers?

Second, and, I feel, most important - are fans of Snooki's the type of people you'd expect to find in book stores?

xxoo,

the bitter, unpublished writer

Labels: letter to