July Letters

Dear the 2 people who read this,

So sorry to disappear like that. Things have settled down now, though, so I can go back to blathering on about the nothingness that is my life. Not in a Seinfeld way though, I fucking hate that show.

hi again,
e

Dear creepy old man,

Um, ok. Telling me I have nice legs? Not the most offensive comment, I know. Not the most accurate comment either, especially since I have giraffe legs in that they are covered in spots because I bang my legs into whatever hard object that crosses my path.

But? Bringing it up again, two hours later when you discover that I work in the library you are currently camped out in? Not my favorite. You think you offended me? Not exactly. You should really apologize for being creepy and squirrely, that would make me feel better.

And also? Saying that you wouldn’t have brought it up if you knew I worked there? Makes me hate you and I’m not sure why.

Go away now,
e

Dear my hair,

Please stop doing that.

I’ll pull you right out, I swear,
e

Dear 6233,

Bye, buddy.

I know that it should be the memories and not the house. But for me, part of it, a big part, is the house. And I already know all the reasons that this is a good thing and all the things I shouldn’t be sad about and all the reasons it’s ok that a new family lives in you, but I am sad and it would be cute if everyone would just let me be and not act like moving out of the house I spent 98% of my life was something that deserved little more than a shoulder shrug.

Thank you for always giving me a place to come back to. Thank you for hiding me in the basement to eat a whole pizza at 13, play video games at 8, play with my brother at 5, work off my pizzas at 27. Thank you for not getting broken into. Thank you for holding my room up despite all its cracks. Thank you for being my home.

This whole thing is weird and it’s sad and don’t worry, I won’t bring it up again since it’s remarkably clear that not one other person is sad about it. So, I guess that’s enough.

Thanks,
e

Dear Coldplay,

How did you do that? I had successfully resisted you so far. Yes, I appreciated your artistic talent and thought you were perfectly fine. I saw the Coldplay obsession develop around me and just couldn’t quite get on board. Enjoy? Yes. Obsess? Not so much. Gwyneth Paltrow? Eh…ok.

And then, seriously, how did you do that? I hear your “speed of sound” song one time and I love it to the point where I want to eat it with a knife and a fork. I do NOT want to eat it with a spoon because it just is not really possible to eat anything with a spoon 100% effectively.

I got off track there somewhere,
e

Dear Fellow Gas Station Customer,

Oh my God, how I hate you. I mean…I really fucking hate you.

Here is why:

When you pull into a gas station and watch someone REVERSING their car into gas purchasing position, you do not cut them off.

And when you do, you do not first pull up to give them room, then BACK the FUCK up and push them away from the pump they have finally managed to maneuver themselves into.

And then when that person finally gets a spot at the pump next to you, DO NOT get out with your friend and stand next to the pump and have the world’s most fucking inane conversation about nothing sprinkled over not much.

AND THEN YOUR FRIEND SHOULD ABSOLUTELY NOT WALK IN FRONT OF MY CAR AT THE PACE OF AN eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEVIL TURTLE WHILE I AM PULLING AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously? Hate. You.

e

Dear Tom Cruise,

I think that if you really believe something, you just say it. And then the people that hear you know that you believe what you’re saying because you say it simply and do not feel the need to bug your eyes out at them while you are speaking.

So, this, more than anything, is what is bothering me about you these days.

Tom? Just say it. When you combine the just saying it with the saying it over and over as well as with the clenching, and the leaning forward, and the calling people, “Man,” and acting like Billy Bush is a) listening to you and b) smarter than a hammer, you lose a little bit of ground with me, and you had less than a little ground to begin with. I really do not give half of an anything about you, your movies, or your religion full of wacky hijinx, but the fact that you are famous makes you an expert on exactly nothing, and you need to pick up on that.

I’m sure you’re all studied up on whatever this nonsense is you’re blathering about all over the place, but you either come out smart, or you come out famous. You came out having sex on a train…see?

Who I’m really disappointed in is Katie Holmes. I used to think she was smart and interesting and normal. Now, I think she is boring. I blame you.

That’s enough now,
e

Dear cast of “Blowout,”

Y’all, I’m onto you. You can’t act. Stop it. Immediately. That nonsense phone call where the stylist who has gotten seriously better plastic surgery since last season “calls” his assistant was, I think, the worst fake reality moment of all time. Let’s just wrap this up before somebody gets hurt.

This is what happens when the egomaniac drives the bus. And? His haircuts? A little bit Dallas-y, no? I’m just saying. Sure, it’s a neato trick to blow dry an “S” into someone’s hair, but…that’s enough now, ok? Just give people what they’re asking for, especially that poor girl from Arrested Development who obviously got roped into some deal where she HAD to have you do her hair.

Really, just in general? Stop it.
e