open letter to english speakers

Dear English speaker,

Please take note: the word "important" has TWO t's. It is pronounced "imporTanT." it is not "impor-ant" or even "impor-an'". I implore you: please say the damn word correctly. It is not hard to to say. The ts do not necessarily have to be hard, but please, do not say the word with a long "an" at the end. It's super irritating.

This letter brought to you by a morning viewing of Project Runway.

ImporTanTly,
Angie

Hip Hip Huzzah!

I heard a story on my way back from lunch on NPR about the first gay and lesbian couples getting married in California, prompting me to draft the following short notes:

Dear Gay and Lesbian Couples,

Mazel Tov! Many happy returns of today's joy.

Love,
Angie

Dear California,

Right on. Keep 'em coming!

Love,
Angie

Dear Damn Near Rest of the U.S.,

Seriously, get with it. It's 2008. All people deserve equal rights

No Love,
Angie

The most heartfelt thing posted in this blog yet:

Dear Tom Brady:

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!

Suck it long, and suck it hard. Hubris just made you her bitch.

But 18-1 is still good.

Love,
Angie

Dear Eli,

You are not as awesome as your brother, but congrats anyway, and you're still pretty awesome.

Enjoy the ring!

Love,
Angie

DVR and CBS-enemies?

Dear CBS:

I don't know what was wrong with your network timing AGAIN this week, but this is the second time in four weeks that I've DVRd The Amazing Race only to have it not start at the appropriate time. I missed the last half of the episode, you douchewads! Get with the program!

HATE you,
Angie

Weekend Letters

Dear Cheesecake Factory,

Thank you for opening up ten minutes from my house. This was a wonderfully kind gesture on your part, and I very much enjoyed half a slice of Snickers Cheesecake last night, and intend to thoroughly enjoy the second half after I mow my friend Jen's lawn. Also, thank you for being $6 a slice, thus ensuring that my ass will not immediately grow to eclipse the sun.

Drool,
Angie

Dear Swimmers/Parents of Swimmers at My University,

I can't imagine whatever school or planet you come from is fully loaded with retards, so why is it that you get stupid when you come here? I know, I know. We have a big pool, this is where you compete or watch your kids compete. And given the fact that you or your offspring know how to dive off shit and open your eyes underwater and tread water and do a myriad of things I'm not currently capable of, I have to assume you're capable of using a parking garage. Why, then, do you show up at mine, and drive like someone replaced your brains with speedos and noseclips? Also, don't walk down the middle of the driving lane. It will be very hard for you to swim after I slam into you with Libby the Toyota Corolla of Justice.

Swimcerely,
Angie

I'm beginning to think my unconscious mind take peyote while I'm sleeping. In the past week, I've dreamed that Jon pissed me off by going to a Thanksgiving pageant in Pennsylvania without me, that I was extorted by a small child who wanted less money than I was offering and treated me like I was stupid, and that my twin and I were househunting in California. (We're not, and not planning to as far as I know. Plus, Adam would probably be pretty pissed.) This is to say nothing of the dream I had about a month ago where David Bowie wanted me to hang out with his daughter so that she would look prettier, and therefore become more famous, in comparison to me. Who knew David Bowie was such a twat?

Letters, Knitting, Etc.

Catherine was lovely enough to ask how the knitting goes! Well, I only know how to do the one thing, the knit stitch, but I’m getting pretty decent at it. My practice scarf is long enough to be a scarf, and there are only 3 or 4 really egregious drop-stitch mistakes, so that’s not so bad. I absolutely love knitting, I’m having so much fun. Visions of me giving people throws and making hats and stuff dance through my head. And the cats have started to learn that the knitting yard’s not a toy unless they want to get punted. I’ll try to figure out how to post pictures soon. And I so want to learn to make the stuff in this book if I ever get good enough.

And now, letters to persons and subjects of interest.

Dear Ben and Jerry’s S’more Ice Cream,

The love I have for you is deep and very true. Though I can actually hear my thighs expanding as I eat you, I want to have your adorable little ice cream babies, though I would probably eat them, and that would be really weird. Thank you for being exactly what I was craving, though I did not immediately know it.

Yours,
Angie

Dear Pushing Daisies,

You may be pushing the quirk envelope to the absolute max, but I do love you. Jim Davis, you are king. Come narrate my life. You could make getting my cereal in the morning and letting the dog out sound interesting.

Pleasepleaseplease don't get cancelled!
Angie

Dear Money,

Please grow on trees. I need more of you. Soon.

Bleh.
Angie

Dear Boyfriend,

Yay! We've been dating for five months! Good for us. Here's hoping we continue to rock.

*smooch*
Ang

...and the mental well's gone dry again. Oh well.

Oh Hi, I still exist

Sorry for the dearth of posts lately. Things have been so busy and kind of dumb lately, with some family drama and work being busy, etc. But today, you will get a mishmash of my thoughts! First, a letter:

Dear Pope Benedict,

Listen, I know I'm a lapsed Catholic at best and you have virtually no reason to listen to me, but I really have to get some stuff off my chest. This whole thing, where you decided that Catholics are really the only Christians? Really pisses me off. One of the few things that I felt like the Catholic church really had over some of the other branches of Christianity was that it didn't do that. Before, it was like, "Yeah, you guys have some of the truth, but not all of it, but that's cool, you're on the right track." And your recent statement still sort of says that, but now you're all haughty and snotty about it. You do realize that Christians the world over work under the assumption that Catholics aren't really Christian, right? Like, we're kind of a confused cousin. And I've argued valiantly on the side of Catholics here, even though I don't agree with various parts of Church doctrine, et cetera, because my basic opinion is, God is smart enough to know we're all going to have different ways of finding Him. And no one has any business telling another person that they're wrong, because unless you've actually met the Entity, gotten your picture taken next to Him/Her, and have a t-shirt that says "I met the Creator of the Universe and all I got was this lousy t-shirt, and, oh yeah, affirmation of the Universe," I don't think you should speak with "infallible authority" about His will and truth. I don't know if you remember, but the Church and other major religions have kind of caused some major trouble with shit like that. (Reference: The Inquisition, The Crusades, the Holocaust, etc.) I understand that this is your faith, and it's truth and real to you, but I've found telling other people that they're wrong is not necessarily the most persuasive activity. Dialogue is. And your statement kind of shuts that down, and I don't think that's cool. Also, you sound like a pissy 12 year old by basing your argument on "Since you guys can't trace your origins back to the Apostles, you only sort of count." I don't know if you're aware, Your Holiness, but some of the wearers of the big hat bought the office, sold the office, screwed the office, et cetera. You can't tell me these were all divine descendants of Peter and tell me that you guys are infallible. Not buying it.

Seriously, if you want people to come to the Church and participate in it, you probably shouldn't make an effort to come off like a cranky, racist grandpa. Just my opinion. Oh, and looking like Emperor Palpatine doesn't help at all, either.

Chill out, be blessed, et cetera,
Angie

So that ended up being kind of long, and should probably be a post unto itself. More later, then!

Venting Keeps Head from Exploding

Letters are turning out to be some of my favorite ways to vent/update. Away we go!

Dear Wendy’s,

So, I needed to go get my tire patched at lunch, and I figured I would swing on in to your lovely establishment on the way back to work and grab a bite. Nothing complicated, just a couple of cheeseburgers and a small fry. I was handed my bag quickly and it felt about the right heft, and I was preoccupied with getting back to work and talking to my dad on the phone (I know, I know, don’t cell and drive; don’t you judge me, Wendy’s). So imagine my dismay when I got back to my desk at work and found not the food I ordered but two boxes of chicken nuggets.

Now, I hear your chicken nuggets are lovely. But I don’t like chicken nuggets. Not even with the ranch sauce you so thoughtfully provided. Which is why I ordered cheeseburgers. Which is why I drove back to Wendy’s to obtain said cheeseburgers. I’m sorry I disappointed and inconvenienced you by returning for my food; perhaps I should have just taken what I was given and been grateful. But I did pay $3.21 for my lunch, and I wanted what I wanted. And you cost me 30 minutes of my life I can’t get back, and some gas. Uncool.

I’m calling later to demand free shit, FYI.

Get an IQ,
Angie

Dear pResident Bush,

Wow, we have a lot to talk about today, don’t we?

First of all, why did you show up in my dreams last night? Second of all, please don’t ever do that again. I dreamed that you were driving me to my car in a ridiculously large Walmart parking lot, and we were even having a fairly genial chat. I informed you that I was a bleeding heart liberal, and you didn’t throw me under the wheels of your SUV, which was nice of you. But please, my psyche is fragile enough without someone I generally don’t care for or respect who is not a serial killer showing up in my dreams. So you stay out of mine and I’ll stay out of yours, okay?

My next bone is to just let you know that vetoing the stem cell legislation is a shitty thing to do. I watched my grandmother die of ALS, sir, otherwise known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. In case you aren’t familiar with it, it’s fucking evil. Basically, it shuts people down from bottom to top, encasing a sharp mind in a body that eventually can’t even swallow. Stem cell research is one of the few tools in the arsenal that stands a real chance of fighting ALS. And it’s not the only one: Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s Disease, cancer, there are so many applications it’s mind boggling. The embryos being used for this research are not gathered specifically for this purpose; they are the leftovers from in vitro fertilization, generally speaking. If they’re not used for stem cell research, they are literally thrown in the trash. Now, I ask you, sir, which seems to be more respectful of the potential of life: allowing that potential to be realized in some fashion, or tossing it with your empty Diet Coke? Furthermore, I have to wonder if you have never seen someone that you love dearly suffering from a disease that stem cell research might benefit. Even if you haven’t, I guarantee, someone else that you love has. Your moral opposition to this makes zero sense to me.

And finally, regarding your remarks last night at the Congressional Picnic:

THE PRESIDENT: Beats Workin, thanks for coming. (Applause.) Kermit, come up here. Kermit, we're proud to have you.
MR. RUFFINS: Well, thanks for having us.
THE PRESIDENT: Kermit Ruffins and the Barbeque Swingers, right out of New Orleans, Louisiana. (Applause.)
MR. RUFFINS: Thank you. Thanks for having us. We're glad to be here.
THE PRESIDENT: Proud you're here. Thanks for coming. You all enjoy yourself. Make sure you pick up all the trash after it's over. (Laughter.)
God bless you, and may God bless America. Thanks for coming. (Applause.)
…what? Seriously, what the hell? Is there any way that what you said is not racist, disgusting, ignorant, stupid? Because if there is, please show me, as I am genuinely confused by it. Come on, you’re the most visible representative for our entire country. Use your brain cells. Or at least let your speechwriters tell you what to do.

I understand you’re busy driving the country to hell in a handcart, I was just wanting to mention these things.

God Bless America, I didn’t Vote for You,
Angie

Oh Dear

Hurray! It's time for more letters that won't get read!

Dear Person Who Left a Note on My Car Last Friday,

You left the following message on my car window last Friday, in the parking garage at work:
"Shame on you! For taking up more than one space!!! You have been reported to Parking Service!"

I sincerely apologize for parking slightly to the right of the line. I didn't notice it that morning because I was running late to work, and the person parked next to me was about two inches from the line on his side, so I had to compensate a little to, you know, not hit the fuck out of our cars. But really. This is how pissed you get about someone parking slightly over the line in a parking garage that is not even moderately full at the time? This stirs your moral outrage? This causes you to SHAME ON ME? Wow. You really don't have a lot else to get pissed about, do you? Because if you watched the news or read the paper and saw that people kill other innocent people and kick puppies and cheat poor people, et cetera? You would lose your fucking mind. But really, thank you for pointing out to me what a horrible, immoral person I am. When my illustrious career as a serial killer begins, I will blame you. (And given our justice system sometimes, I'll probably get off!)

Take a Valium, Bitch,
Angie

Dear Kristy Swanson,

Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. Did you really need to go all Tonya Harding on your lovechild's dad's ex-wife? In Canada? Well, if you didn't, thanks, because it's still kind of awesome.

See above re: Valium,
Angie

Dear Screech,

Fuck off some more. The Celebrity Fit Club people this season seemed nice, but you're a giant doucherag, and I hope someone shits on your head. I'm not talking about you ever again.

So go away,
Angie

Dear Humidity,

FUCK. OFF.

Angie

Dear Wario Ware, Inc,

Jon lent you to me over the weekend, and I have to say, I think you're going to be trouble. Ridiculously short games tend to hold my ADDed attention span just fine. Last night, I spent 25 minutes "five more minutes"-ing you while I should have been falling asleep. Consequently, I tossed and turned for an hour waiting for my brain to shut down. However, I don't think I'm ever giving you back to Jon.

With love,
Angie

Letters whilst babysitting

Alex has already gone to bed, and I'm watching TV. It has prompted me to write the following letters:

Dear Daily Show with Jon Stewart:

The Shaw-skank Redemption? Fucking awesome. God bless you.

Love,
The Shmaily Shmoe with Shmon Shmewart

Dear Paris,

Suck it. Giant temper tantrums shouldn't get you out of jail, so fucking cope with it, douchebag.

Anti-Love,
EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.

Dear Screech,

Yeah, I'm not calling you Dustin Diamond. You'd have to earn that, since you seem to hate the entire reason anyone knows who the fuck you are anyway. I'm not proud that I watch Celebrity Fit Club, but I'm just waiting for people to kill you. Marcia Brady and Kimberly Locke may not fuck you up (although I wouldn't put it past them), but Brat, Cledus and Warren Fucking G might, so step lightly. I know the show's already over, but I hope Harvey finds you and eats your brains, if you have any. You're hilarious in your transparency and desperation to cling to famousness in any way. You're a dumb bastard, please go away, I hate you.

Overcompensating asshole.
Not Impressed

Various and Sundry

First, an open letter/rant.

Dear People Who Use Their Cell Phones in Public Restrooms,

What in the HELL is wrong with you? We call it a restroom, but we are not resting! Most of us are actually GOING TO THE BATHROOM. That involves noises that are unsavory, not to mention the 1,000 decibel sound of the toilet actually flushing. You come into the bathroom, yammering away, and then you go into a stall and are taking care of business. The yammering should have stopped! I guaran-frickin-tee you, you are not talking to anyone that is so important that you cannot say, "Hey, I have to use the bathroom, I'll call you right back."

Even if it doesn't bother you, it bothers your fellow restroom users! I have gone to the bathroom for a reason, and sometimes that reason involves Very Bad Sounds. I'm sure you and your boyfriend have a wonderful, solid relationship, but none of us have met, and I don't want him to hear me going to the bathroom, or have you tell him "Damn, it stinks in here." It's a bathroom! Sometimes they stink! They're not phone booths! Call. People. Back.

Sincerely,
Two stalls over, eavesdropping and judging.

I had the most messed up dream ever last night. I don't remember all of it, but part of it involved being in Manhattan, and part of it involved a slammin' hotel. Also, Donald Trump was there, and Mommy Hilton, whatever her name is, and in my dream they were married, and also relatively pleasant. At some point I went off on someone at a beauty counter, because she was threatening to try and withhold my inheritance. I think she was Darryll Hannah, and I know I threw cosmetics at her. Also, I was watching Alex, this kid that I baby sit, and that was weird, too, because why would I take him to New York? And at one point we were getting food and I got him a cheeseburger or something, and there was 40 Year-Old Virgin themed hot dog stand, which was weird, because the names were all really sexual. And I ended up getting a cheeseburger there as well, which I also didn’t understand. Weirdest of all is that there was a guy who was doing something lewd that involved having his junk out, and he was going to get caught, so he stuck it in a bun, and it was the size of a log, and passed it off as a hot dog. And he took a bite of it so he wouldn’t get in trouble! I’m not even going to try and analyze that dream, because it is the most fucked-up thing my brain has ever thrown up.

Couple of Letters, a little review for good measure

Dear Weather,

You know, I know I complained that we went straight from winter to summer, but I was not, in fact, requesting we slip back to winter. The Easter Bunny's going to freeze his little cottontail straight off.

Ptthhthbbbbbt.
Angie

Dear America,

Gina goes and Sanjaya stays? Well, this is the country that elected W twice.

Ptttttthbbbbbt.
Angie

Dear Crystal Light Iced Tea Water Thingies,

You are way yummier than I had anticipated you being. I'm really happy about that. Now, help me get rid of my fat ass.

Baby steps, right?
Angie

Blades of Glory Review

Went and saw this last Saturday with as passel of friends, and let me just say, this is a good movie to see with a passel of friends!

Given my superlative reviews as of late, this review may end up coming off as me not liking the movie. That's not it at all. It was very good. But it was dumb, and it was supposed to be dumb, so I can't really talk about the depth of John Heder's or Will Ferrell's "performances." They were both very funny, Heder endearingly so, Ferrell in the way he usually is. Jenna Fischer was delightful in her role as sister to the Evil Duo, played by Will Arnett and Amy Poehler. Frankly, I think they and Craig T. Nelson as the skating duo's coach were my favorite part. To be a villain in this kind of movie really means you get to munch the nearby scenery, and they took full advantage of it.

Honestly, it was a fun movie. It would have been more fun if Heder or Ferrell had actually been able to skate a bit more, but it was still good times, and I'm glad I saw it. Bottom line, catch it in a matinee, get a bag of popcorn, turn your brain off, and kill a couple of good hours on a Saturday. And bring your friends.

Please Note!

Dear America:

PLEASE STOP VOTING FOR SANJAYA MALAKAR. I know some of you think he's super cute and you love him, but you're wrong. And I know some of you think that he's awful and he's exactly what we deserve for propagating such a horrible show, and I don't necessarily disagree. But the boy had a row of ponytails last night to serve as a fauxhawk. He's losing it. He can't sing well enough to win, and he makes my earholes hurt. Please, please, please, please. Stop voting for him. Vote for Jordin instead.

Way too invested,
Angie

Requests

Dear Starbucks,

As you probably can tell by the amount of money I have fed you in the past couple of years, I am a big fan of your work. Your coffees are delicious, your caramel apple cider is almost criminal, and you even have a damn tasty tuna sandwich. But your biggest hold over me is the Iced Venti Soy Chai, and we both know it.

Oh, Starbucks, this drink is so delicious, so refreshing. I could have one every day from now until I die, and I would still find your beverage to be divinity in a large, clear plastic cup. So imagine my surprise this morning when my delicious, icy beverage was served with a side of rage. This rage, Starbucks, is because in the cup, along with my 2/3 chai 1/3 ice ratio (don’t think I don’t notice that, barista-types. I would yell, but I like my drink cold.) was about half an inch of air.

Starbucks, this is not acceptable. As you are aware, I allow you to rape me at least weekly for the four odd dollars it costs to procure my wonderous beverage. I will not have you short-changing me out of what has to be at least a good ounce or two of delicious drink. I’m not kidding, I was so irritated by it I wanted to chuck the drink at the barista’s head. And why? Why should you do this to me, your loyal and humble bitch? Please don’t hurt me like this again. Ice should touch lid, mmkay?

Fill it up,
Angie


Dear Warm Weather,

Please don’t get me wrong. I do appreciate and enjoy you, and the daily walks have been endlessly pleasant. However, it’s March. It shouldn’t feel like mid-May. My sinuses are confused. Could you please crank it back to the 60s? Just briefly? I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but if you could work that out, it would be great.

Go Away Global Warming,Angie

Dear Functions and Logarithms,

You are all that is between my degree and I. Don’t screw this up for me. I just. Need. To pass.

Then You Can Go With Global Warming,Angie

Letters to Creatures and Objects

Dear New Office Printer,

I. Love. You. You are so awesome you make up for the fact that I was not allowed to kill the old printer a la Office Space. You are bigger, more beautiful, and, most importantly, you do not get jammed every frickin' two minutes. The hugs I have given you this week are not out of sarcasm, but straight up adoration.

Muchos Besos,
Angie

Dear Old Office Printer,

Rot in hell, you piece of crap bitch. Actually, you probably used to be nice, but you really drove me nuts in the meantime. Hope you're recycled into a toaster.

Bye-bye!
Angie

Dear American Idol Contestants,

Melinda and Jordin--you two are the best! You're so damn cute, the two of you together may end up saving humanity at large. If either of you are voted off before top 5, I may set the building on fire.

Haley--Who are you? You show up every week and I never remember you. But last night you shook your knockers and now I do. And I'm a girl, and don't feel that should have been my focus, but I can't remember your vocals, so there you go.

Lakisha--You're good and all, but next to the lovefest I have for Melinda and Jordin, there's no chance for you to be my heart's Idol. You really are great, though!

Chris R--I like you, but I don't get you. Mostly I call you "Not Blake." Whatever.

Chris S--I really liked you at first, but you're starting to bother me. Sound less like Meatloaf and maybe we'll talk.

Gina--They tell you to get in the box, and the Simon yells at you for being in the box. That's some bullshit. You're not going to win, but I love you, so keep being great and hang in there!

Blake--You're like everything cool about N'Sync (DON'T JUDGE ME) rolled into one. Charm and love from girls whom you have no interest in will get you quite far, which is good, because you amuse me.

Stephanie--Come on, girl, you're falling into that Haley category of, "Who?" And you're better than that. If you live through tonight, step it up.

Phil--If only you were less "Buffalo Bill" I might really be able to cheer you on. Congrats on the kid, though.

Sanjaya--Sweetie, go home. You're probably supersweet and cute, but you're barely weaned, and you bug the bejeezus out of me. Also, what the hell with the t-shirt and the thumbs in the holes and what not? Oh, and your hair disturbs me and I believe it is probably some sort of demonic lure.

Randy--Sweet god in heaven, must every critique you utter begin with "Yo, yo, yo, listen up, dawg, my dawgie dog---" You're not in high school. You're not cool because of that. You are, however, a talented musician and producer. FOCUS.

Paula--Whatever rehab you are in, I think it's working. Your crying last week was awesome.

Simon--I love that there are good people for you to be all awesome about, and bad people that you can be all awesome about, and that your mission for the season seems to be to out Ryan Seacrest. Please, please, say mean things to me and then let me make out with you. (Sorry, I may have said too much there.)

Ryan--Damned if I don't love you, you tanned, frightening little thing.

Crying kid from last night--I hope your parents didn't tape that so you won't be subjected to it in 5-10 years.

Love, your bitch,
Angie

Dear Pets,

I need you to help around the house more. The apartment's a mess, and so far, nada. Seriously, you can't freeload forever.

Aggravatedly,
Angie

Dear

Dear Canker Sore,

Hello there. I've noticed that you moved into my lower lip about a week ago. I appreciate that you find me to be a hospitable host, and hope you've enjoyed yourself.

But.

You are roughly the size of a pea. You hurt. Excessively. You don't seem to be getting better so much as you seem to be getting more comfortable. Normally, I'm able to ignore this sort of thing and let bygones be bygones until you go away, but you're making chewing hurt. You make licking my lips hurt, which is unfortunate, because when I have a cold, I lick my lips approximately three hundred times an hour, and I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm getting over a cold. So I could do without your aggravation. So if you wouldn't mind, I don't know, buggering off, that would be great.

Thanks,
Angie