Catching Up On My Correspondence

Dear Moving Process,

Please don’t kill my dad. I know that you are very demanding and important and you require lots of devotion and pretty presents, but could you take it easy? He has devoted many hours and days to filling your dumpsters and sorting through your boxes and spending oodles of money on dumpsters, boxes, and oh yes, new houses. Can we not relax now? Must we demand the removal of carpeting and floor tiles and the hiring of men to dig trenches in the basement? Stop hurting his back and his feet and clear up his eye immediately because he doesn’t need that sort of nonsense. He has a neurotic wife who thinks that her ridiculously sellable house on one of the selliest streets in Washington isn’t going to sell, millions of kids and grandchildren--any one of which may flounder off the deep end at any moment, and he just had a birthday!

Thanks,
e

Dear Dumpster Delivery Guy,

I apologize for not having any questions for you about dumpster installation. I was not aware that you were coming prepared for a full-out question and answer session. Plus, I mean, we were both on our phones with different people and having one of those totally not-funny-yet-always-on-tv conversations where we didn’t know if we were talking to each other or to the person we were on the phone with. HiLARious! And, I’m sorry, what exactly was I supposed to ask? Please let me know so that I am prepared for our next encounter. Our conversation was awkward at best and I definitely feel that you left here disappointed and I would love to remedy this situation. I don’t want our relationship to suffer.

Smooches,
e

Dear Man Who Decided to Name a Certain Eye Condition “Sty,”

When naming a common medical condition that occurs on the eye, could you not come up with something a little less…I don’t know, hickory-dickory-dock? Or was your goal to make everyone who has something that irritating feel like an asshole? Having to say “I have a sty on my eye” gives one the same feeling as saying “I have a mouse in my house.” The horror, fear, lack of sleep, and general irritability that accompany both situations is completely nullified by the fact that you know when you utter those words that the person you are speaking to is totally trying not to giggle and say, “You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it!” And that sentence? Makes people want to kill other people. Rhyming…I had no idea I was so against it.

Later gator,
e the bee

Dear Michael Kors,

Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a smidge curious about one little thing. Last night I was watching Project Runway, as everyone should, and I think I heard you say to Jay, “I felt you missed it on the color.” Um, Michael Kors, weren’t you…I mean, weren’t those…I could have sworn I saw you wearing…I mean maybe I’m wrong but did I not see…I guess what I’m trying to say is….weren’t you wearing SUNGLASSES? Just curious.

Respectfully yours,
e

Dear Kara Saun of Project Runway,

See what happens when you get a little big for your britches (And also, were those actual britches that you had on)? I think it was pretty clear from your newly acquired and highly disappointing smug attitude that you thought that you were not only going to win, but that everyone else should know it too and just sort of live with it and that is no fun for anyone. Be nice already! And I hate to point this out but you were TOTALLY CHEATING with the shoes and I’m glad they smacked you down. And I think you know you were cheating because you had the anger of someone who is angry that they aren’t being allowed to do what they know is wrong but think they should be allowed to do anyway. Classic sign of that sort of anger: “Just don’t talk to me.” And I think you do lovely lovely things and I’m all for being inspired but all your stuff looked not so much inspired by “The Aviator” as much as it looked like it was a big fat copy job with the backs cut off. Sorry. Besides, you live in LA and obviously have billions of connections. Jay lives in Middle-of-Nowhere, Pennsylvania and I think he has a little too much time on his hands. He needs the win more. And. He’s nicer than you and honest honest honest which I love love love. Yay, Jay!

Please ignore the rhyme in the last line,
e

Dear Wendy Pepper of Project Runway,

I’m all for makeovers, but why did you turn yourself into everyone else in America? Your black/white tent outfit and your crazy hair were horrendous, but at least they were original. And your daughter is cute but why do you cut her hair like that? And where was your husband? And is your mom a nutter? And why do you cry all the time? And why are you so mean? And why are you so smarmy? And why do you things that get you into arguments when you are bad at arguing and only know how to cry and say you have a daughter? Everyone has a daughter! Well, I don’t but my mom does and so do both my sisters and one of my brothers, so there. Wendy Pepper, when you are done answering these questions please remove your Wendy Pepper: The Longshot hat and t-shirt and put them in a teeny tiny box. Then throw that box on a big big fire because that shit is ugly ugly ugly and wrong.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter,
e

DEAR PEOPLE WHO WRITE EVERYTHING IN CAPITAL LETTERS,

Please stop yelling at me.

Regards,
e

Dear Person Who Sings the Song With the Line, “Make me your selection,”

I will preface this letter by saying that I unfortunately must admit that I love Matchbox 20 and so, obviously have horrendous taste in music and no leg to stand on in any quality music discussion. That being said, your song is awful. Please go away and take with you the Duff Sisters, Lindsay Lohan, Steely Dan, and Jesse McCartney who I haven’t heard sing but I saw a commercial of his video and I’m confident that I will not like him. Oh, and don’t forget Aaron Carter although I saw him in a little segment on Conan O’Brien last night and it looks like you may need to drop him off at rehab on your way.

Sincerely,
e

Dear Men Who Think They Don’t Need Haircuts,

You do. Right now. Go get one.

I’m not kidding,
e

Dear NBA,

Please go on strike and disappear forever. Ask NHL for tips.

XOXO,
e

Dear Duff McKagan and Scott Weiland,

I’m super-excited that your martial arts thing is keeping you off heroin and you are still alive and your band is so successful. And nice job on the Grammys. But why are you so scarily skinny? Please eat something. There is something really frightening about how tightly your skin is stretched down your necks.

Concerned,
e

Dear Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20,

Are you in their martial arts class or are you on heroin? Because you did NOT look good on the Grammys.

Just wondering,
e

p.s. Only Bono can pull off yellow sunglasses. Take yours off and put them in Wendy Pepper’s box.

p.p.s. Please stop writing catchy songs that I love. People are starting to look at me funny. I know that you are bad. Please act like it.