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

Hate. Hate. Hate. Intensely.

I'm sure you've heard of those horrible people who protest soldiers' funerals with their "God hates fags" signs, and they've sunk to an all new level of absolutely repulsive. DO NOT click this unless you're prepared to be furious and lose a shred more faith in all humanity.

The thing that blows my mind about these awful people is how they take the life of a person that they supposedly believe in who was all about love and acceptance, and turn it into a hateful, disgusting pile of shit. They claim that God hates the entire world. Does this exclude them? Are we supposed to believe that God threw Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Evil out of petty anger? The being you supposedly believe in who endowed you with a soul and free will is actually a petty kid with a magnifying glass, burning up ants just so he can feel powerful over something? I don't get how these people try to justify worship to a God who clearly has contempt for the entire creation he made, and who finds his people irredeemable.

These people make me so deeply sad and angry.

Uplifting post in just a bit! I'm not dwelling on this disgusting crap for long.

How Not to Get Called a Douche By Me At a Concert

Observed whilst seeing Guster play the lawn last Saturday.

1. Do not pop the collar on your jacket or polo shirt up. I know you think it is a cool fashion statement. It is not. It makes everyone around you call you a douche. Why? Because you are. The only time this is acceptable is if it is freezing cold and you are trying to protect your neck. No? Collar down, skippy.
2. If you are obviously pregnant, like in the neighborhood of 4-9 months, don't smoke AND drink in public. Everyone around you is judging you. Harshly. And you suck.
3. Don't make fun of people for liking the opening band. I love Guster because they opened for Barenaked Ladies. Shut the fuck up and listen, or get a drink and chat, but mocking doesn't make you look cool, it makes you look like a douchewaffle supreme.

I still haven't finished reading Harry Potter yet. Can you believe it?

My Super Sweet go F' Yourself

Every single person who has been on "My Super Sweet Sixteen" should be put on an island and forced to Lord of the Flies each other. Seriously. I have never seen a single child on that show who could behave like a human being. This girl freaks out and sobs and pitches a tantrum the size of Alaska because her mom gives her a brand new Lexus at school on her birthday rather than at her party. "You fucking ruined everything!" she cries. Seriously, what the hell kind of entitled bitch acts like that? And what kind of parent allows it? Fine, you get to be on TV or whatever, but now the entire viewing audience of MTV knows that

• if you're the girl, you're a giant, pissy, bitchy twat
• if you're the parent, you're spineless and your kid owns your ass.

And how the fuck do you not know that? You know MTV cuts this show to make you look like the biggest asshole possible. Why play into it? Why not be sweet and normal and fuck with them instead? If I had at any point in my life acted for a moment like one of these kids, my parents would have slapped the ever loving shit out of me, and rightfully so. Jesus. This is the kind of stuff that makes me hate everyone.

asdlr;rkjasasdgajkerawhatemylife

My life has become a frigging comedy of errors that is not funny. This is not a PG-13 entry, if you don't like bad language, bye-bye, please.

Today is my 25th birthday. Hooray. Here is what I am doing to celebrate so far:

• I rear-ended a dude on the way to work. He didn't want to call anyone or exchange insurance, which I guess is my birthday present considering I can barely afford my insurance as it is. I must have hit my chest on the wheel or something, though, because it hurts.
• I spent three hours at school last night getting myself to the point where I felt I only had another two hours of paper left to write. Somehow, I did something that caused the paper not to be saved fucking anywhere. So every word I wrote last night is fucking gone. Just gone. This is for a class I have an incomplete in, that is frankly so far overdue as to be fucking ridiculous. I now get to spend tonight and tomorrow getting this goddamn thing done, which is great, considering I hate it so much now I can't stand to look at it.
• My parents are going to court today to decide whether my mother should get spousal support. I have a feeling it is going to be very bad.

I am so overwhelmingly unhappy at the moment I can't even try to be cute.

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.

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

In Defense of Marcel

I admit it, I am reality TV's bitch. In particular, I seem to get roped into the Bravo! network shows. Project Runway is easily one of my favorite shows, though I could have done with a lot less meanness and bullshit drama (Jeffrey and Keith, I'm looking at you). Now, while Top Chef is not as entertaining to me, it’s still a really good show, and I really enjoy watching it. But this season has been absolutely dreadful. The drama had very little to do with the competition, and the competitors just seem to be douche bags.

I get that it's a competition, and I don't necessarily expect everyone to love each other and be friends, particularly if different people have grating personalities. Tiffani last season is a good example: as a person, I couldn't stand her, but she was a good chef and that was largely what made her good TV. Sure, Dave couldn't stop crying, and Stephen was obnoxious with his sommelier crap, but still, that was all competition, and it frankly made for a good show.

When this season started, I was looking for Marcel to be this season's Stephen: probably quite talented as a cook, but an obnoxious git. But unless the editors aren't giving him a fair edit because he ultimately wins, he hasn't been that bad. Yes, he is a gigantic dork; his rapping on the roof is as much evidence of that as his bouffant hairdo. But what strikes me as so odd is that everyone else is constantly bitching about how irritating he is, and last night Elia went so far as to say he "cheated" in previous challenges, and we have seen absolutely zero evidence of that. Okay, his personality may be grating in person, but let's take a look at what he's being accused of:

1. Being disrespectful in the kitchen: Okay, when? Because what we have been consistently shown is that he tries almost without fail to be extremely respectful in the kitchen. He offered to help Betty more than once even though Betty was a complete ass to him. He asked repeatedly for people to keep the refrigerator door closed, which affected them all and was very inconsiderate of who was not doing it. And every team challenge it seemed, Marcel seemed to take whatever course was left over instead of being a bitch and fighting over it. On the other hand, we've got Ilan, who yelled at Marcel for "snapping" at Betty when Marcel really didn't, and the rest of the chefs all refusing to help him until he had apologized. We've got Ilan blatantly insulting Marcel by trying to foam Italian dressing in one of the quickfire challenges just to mock him. And all of the chefs seemed to insist on shunning and bitching about Marcel, both to his face and behind his back.
2. Cheating: This is such crap. Prove it. Show one instance in which Marcel cheated. Did he accidentally "steal" a case of lychee? No. Did he alter his recipe in the dietetic challenge? No (Betty). He didn't even take a discount he was most likely entitled to because he didn't know if it was allowed. So, sorry, I'm not biting. There were cameras up your ass at all times. You're telling me you can't find one instance of him doing something underhanded? Oh, he moved your pot Elia? When your burner wasn't even on? After he announced he was moving it? How awful for you. Suck it the hell up.
3. He's irritating: Granted. His personality could very easily come off as irritating. Anyone that you live with is irritating at least some of the time. I didn't see them treating Betty like shit, and she was irritating. Mikey could be horribly irritating, and everyone loved him. All it ended up looking like was "the cool kids" picking on the kid they decided was the enemy. And the funny thing is if they hadn't done it, I probably wouldn't be rooting for Marcel, because he does have personality ticks that bug, and (far more importantly) his food isn't necessarily the first in line I'd like to taste. But that doesn't give these people the right to try and smear him through the mud, physically assault him (Cliff), slam him on personal things and generally be giant dicks.

It'll be interesting to see if we find out stuff in the inevitable reunion special that shines some light on why Marcel was so reviled. I seriously doubt these people can find a way to justify their deplorable behavior, but I have to believe something was going on that we weren't being shown. In any case, when TC3 starts airing, I seriously hope the drama comes on the side or not at all.

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