Dear Next Target,

It seems as though I've already reeled you in. Nice. Piece of cake.

I'm wondering if it would be kosher to tell you that I fully intend to take advantage of you. Something tells me you could def do a body good.

There is one problem though...I'm not really into dating you. It's not anything personal...I just don't feel like messing with the formalities which only hinder me from getting.that.ass.

While it seems as though what I am going to offer you (pure hooking) should be something most boys your age dream of, I'm worried about how you will take it. You've already called me out on playing games ( B!). I'm guessing you will assume I'm a slut...which is quite on the contrary...but honesty is the best policy, right?

Hoping For A Big One,
Dear High school Boyfriend,

WTF?!?!?! You seriously think that you can call me out of the blue after 7 years and I am just going to drop everything and move back to Atlanta for you?!?!?! HELL NOOOOOO!!! Did I not make it clear enough when I broke up with you in high school, you are a LOSER!!! I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but most of us graduated after 4 years, and it took you 7. Just because you have a college degree from a shitty school does not make me want to have sex with you (although it was pretty good and it is the one thing I miss about you). Thanks for nothing!

Hoping that the eligible bachelors of Boston come out of hiding sometime soon : )
Dear Britney Spears,

Die already...

or go on a super world tour that will help you to redeem yourself from your sad, bloated, childless, bald, Starbucks-infested life.

Thank you.

Tired of that crackhead beezy on TMZ,

p.s. Dear The Rest of the Sucky Spears clan,

Please stop doing all of the following:
writing books about parenting, procreating, drinking Starbucks while pregnant, writing each other "discreet" notes and publicly hand-delivering them to one another, getting married, driving with children on laps, marrying losers, going into rehab and blaming your parents for it, selling your children to tabloids, exploiting your unborn children for the cover of a tabloid, and breathing. That'll do for now. Thanks a lot and Happy Freakin New Year! :)
Dear world,

Is it just me or Benazir Bhutto’s kid kind of hot?

Just wondering,
Dear Facebook,

I don't like you. You show me pictures from events that my friends went to and didn't invite me. Apparently "married" = no longer invited.

Thanks biotches.
Dear Cousin-in-Law of My Ex,

You and your glasses and your sweet Southern drawl are freakin' adorable. I have a total crush on you, even though you are only 21 and I tend to have a predilection for older guys. And the fact that you sent me texts saying, among other things, that you wished I'd missed my plane so we could've hung out longer, that you sort of wish I'd have given you strep, and (earlier this evening) a simple "Miss you", well, I think you probably have a crush on me, too. Isn't that awesome? We're both heartbroken, grieving, and attracted to each other. It's the perfect storm.

Too bad you're still two semesters away from graduation and two time zones away. My resolution in 2008 is to not do the long-distance thing, but hey... I might take you up on your invite to Mardi Gras.

We'll Laissez les bons temps roulez in February,
Dear Idiots,

When your away message says this: "Babe comes home today!! So excited about our date night tonight :)"

I read: "I am so insecure that I need to broadcast the fact that someone of the opposite sex actually cares about me in order to validate myself in this world. I need everyone to know that I'm capable of being loved because I'm not so sure that I am."

Sack up, Bitch. Nobody reads that and thinks "aww that's nice".
Dear boy I haven’t spoken to in six months,

New rule: You don’t get to not answer my calls for half a year and then Facebook poke me out of nowhere. But while we’re at this new peak of communication, I want my Season 2 box of Arrested Development back. Like, you’ve totally disrupted the entire series.

I just blue myself,

Dear Coco,


Denim-style leggings are always a bad idea. Especially when paired with the bustier made out of someone's old Sunday school dress and the camel toe. Just because Ice-T seems to really dig your look doesn't mean the rest of us are obligated to.Why not try a nice v-neck and a real pair of jeans? Oh, and while you're at it, please fire whatever obviously-stoned fourteen year old boy you have as your stylist. Maybe if you put them away, people will realize you actually do have something north of your breasts, yaknowhaddamean?

Praying you'll stop getting dressed on a porn set,
dear adorable boy,

please cease the mindfucking immediately.

we are flirty best friends, which was an excellent arrangement until you started holding my hand and constantly texting me sweet nothings and asking me what i was doing for new year's eve a month in advance. can we say mixed signals??

i like holding hands with my best guy friend as much as any other girl, but of course since i suck at life i'm trying to turn it into something else.

so basically, i'm going to pretend like i didn't have the funnest night of my life cuddling with you and having revealing talks about our pasts and giving boy tips to your adorable 8th grade sister (who by the way idolizes me like i have never been idolized before) and trying to figure out if you were going to kiss me when you walked me out or not.

because, you didn't.

but we're going to get really drunk tomorrow night.. and maybe then you'll like me?

fuck my life,
Dear Tom Brady,

Sorry to be lewd, but let me spell this out for you:

I want to roll around in your semen til the end of time.

Dear 5 Year Old Boy At The Zoo Today,

You made my day by screaming "Tampons!!!" like a million times. You even further made my day when your mom asked you (between giggles) "do you even know what those are?" and you replied "YESSS! Girls underweaw!" (you couldn't say you r's).
Dear d2,

wow. I thought I was the only one that just got a fucking check.

To add (or one up) your sorrow. This year, I finally received my promised 21st birthday present (diamond earrings) on my 29th Christmas.

Lovely. Beautiful, but fuck me - that's not my Christmas present. It's a way overdue IOU. And with interest, they are smaller than they should be...(I know I sound snotty and spoiled but when you have 15 years of insincere gifts, you get a little me).

Call me. We'll go out with our big fat checks and I'll buy you something, you buy me something...

Truly thinking of you,
Dear 25-yr-olds,

Start Saving. Now. Botox rocks. I am 29 and just got my first teeny tiny dose. Aging happens slowly (aka between age 22-29). Botox works in just 3-4 days. It's worth it but remember these words: moderation is key. Even moderation will cost you some cash.

Studies prove that intervention is the best way to prevent wrinkles. Tackle the lines before they start and your 39-year-old face will thank you! AND the earlier you start, the less often you will need "doses" over your lifetime. (just an fyi).

To each her own, but I am just sayin...go for it. Save up and you'll thank me girls! I think it super rocks that when I laugh my forehead now crinkles in a minimally cute way instead of a "she's ugly when she laughs way".

finally looking forward to 30,
Dear Cellphone With Dinosaur Stickers,

Thanks for leaping from my hand last night and plunging to the bottom
of two flights of stairs. I am sad to report your death/suicide to my
friends and family via facebook. Also: props to that triple-axle you
did mid-air before careening into the floor.

We didn't need the dramatics. You could've just stopped working, man.

I will miss you,
Dear Everyone,

Just wanted to send you this uplifting note. If you are having a bad day, consider this: Today I just started my period and am feeling like shit. Think about what it might be like to have 1000 sharp blades carving into your lower abdomen at once while bawling your eyes out over phantom emotions and that's basically the gist. Then, on top of all of that, all that I have left in my house is Midol that expired in 2004 and considering there are zero dollars in my bank account, this is what I have to rely on. Since it expired a decade ago, I take 3x's the dosage and am now buzzed and loopy yet still feeling like there are small grenades going off in my ovaries every couple of seconds.

So, while wanting to kill someone bc my pain is so intense and in the midst of being jacked up on triple the dosage of pain meds, I also get pulled over on my way to work this morning. And get a speeding ticket along with being slapped with at least $400 in court costs, speeding fines, and other bullshit. This coincides nicely with the negative balance in my checking account.

Just wanted to let you all know that if you are having a bad day, it may not seem so bad now when compared to mine. Oh and by the way, it's 1pm and I'm at work where I am one of 2 people insane enough to be working during the holiday season. Therefore, I have cracked open a beer and am chugging it to add to the pain and dizziness that I already feel. I fully plan on being wasted by 3pm and I dare that same motherfucking cop to pull me over on my way home. Then I will be speeding AND driving drunk. What are you gonna do about that, asshole?!

Fuck Everything,
Dear Condescending Arrogant Co-Worker's Girlfriend,

I am sorry that I referred to you as 'Dingbat'. It wasn't nice of me to do such a thing. But, in all fairness, first impressions really matter to me, and on Halloween you didn't leave me with a good one. However, I realize now, that you aren't so bad. It's not your fault that Condescending Arrogant Co-Worker is a prick and it isn't your fault that he is dating you and not me. Initially, I considered befriending you because it would be an excellent way to undermine your relationship with CACW. I am the competition, but you don't know that and I would have a leg up. Since I have met you my lust for CACW has turned into undeniable hatred, so I think you and I should be friends just to make him nervous and irritate him - seeing as how I haven't said so much as five words to him in the last two months and it would only be a matter of time before I got drunk and told you that he used to put his penis inside me. It's not you I want to hurt, it's him.

And wouldn't it just be a kick in the teeth if you dumped him and we became good friends?!

Extending my hand in friendship,
Dear Nursing Coworkers and Pregnant Acquaintances My AGE,

When you openly discuss cracked nipples and sagging boobies, yes, my eyes widen in sheer horror. I didn't know boobies can bleed because of a suckling baby. I also didn't know that electric breast pumps cost the same as my new ipod. Do you think its funny when you remark, "you'll be next" or "soon this will be you?" I've stopped drinking the water at work. I hope pregnancy is not contagious like the plague.

My uterus is on official lock down,

P.S. Shameless will you notify my live-in bf.
Dear Flirty Co-worker,

You've been flirting with me since I started this job. We have gone out once and you got totally drunk and puked all over me. Did that change my feelings for you? NO! You've held my hand, commented on my thong and put your head in my perfect breast. So,I was shocked to find out that you got engaged over the weekend to your illegal girlfriend. When I say illegal, I mean no a US citizen and were you not just commenting on how she was going back to her country in November?. WTF man? I was really hoping to have some incredible, mind blowing sex with you. Now all I can do is smile and tell you congratulations. BTW, the whole marriage thing is over rated. Why don't you just have great sex with me instead!

Totally Bummed Out!

P.S. we all know she is going to take that $8,000.00 engagement ring and hock it in November when she moves back to the mother country to build her village a house.

Don't be so stupid!!!!
Dear Sunshine,

Where the heck are you?? It's been like a month and I really need some quality time! I mean, you've been unavailable after 5:00 p.m. all winter. And now you're just never around.

I was beginning to think you'd called it quits all together, until I ventured out West for the holidays (sans sunglasses) to see you out, all over the place.

Your neglect had me believing I was no longer a sunglasses kinda girl! Well my friend, I spotted you blazing away out in Colorado – so it's not me, it's you!

Fed-up, because it's NEVER sunny in Philadelphia,

P.S. You owe me a chemical peel (to undue the UV damage caused, since in your east-coast-absence my skin was entirely unprepared) AND some Botox treatments (to help me recover from all the squinting done this week, by delaying any further wrinkles).
Dear New Juicy Couture Tracksuit,

You were my Christmas present to myself because I didn't get anything good.

and i'm still pissed that no one bought me the High School Musical dvd (the only thing I asked for).

Dear Panera Bread:

In you, I have found all the answers to my skinny jeans woes. With your help, we can assure that I will never again fit into anything in the single digit category, thereby eliminating the possibility of wearing said skinny jeans.

However, I take issue with the fact that you pre-make sandwiches with onions on them. Most people who eat lunch at you have to go back to work. I'm just sayin.

Yours in a bread bowl,
Dear Dad,

I am sorry to not be grateful, but perhaps next time you buy presents without asking me what I need first, you could buy me real jewelry instead of three cheap necklaces your wife probably got for free at her job.

Could you stop pretending that after all these years you actually know me at all?
Dear Mom,

A shirt that says "Shut the duck up" as a gift? Really?

Tu Eres Loca,
Hello all,

So it's Christmas ... be thankful for all that you have. I received that wonderful and generous check from Mom and Dad. But I would trade it for a stupid present that I'd never use or want ... or even just a card that someone took the time to find. For the last 4 years I've said the same thing to myself ... maybe next year. Enjoy your Christmas world.

Giving up,
Dear TomTom,

Thank you for safely directing me from point A to B to C and beyond this weekend in Louisiana. You give clear directions, repeat yourself often enough to be reassuring but not annoying, and don't scold me if I choose to take a different route. You'd be pretty much perfect if, in between all the "Exit right, then stay left" and "Turn left, then take the motorway", you threw in a few compliments, too. "Keep left, you gorgeous being" or "In 200 yards, you have reached your destination you Greek goddess you".

Either way, I love you and promise to cherish you for better or worse, as long as we both shall live.

Looking up "Point of Interest: Mr. Right",
Dear Men that Like Me,

I feel so sorry for you. I am fantastic at making you think that I like you too, that you have a chance, or that I am not doing the same thing with at least 3 other guys. Even if you are a great guy the second I realize that:

I might like you too
You genuinely are into me and/or a nice person
[I know I'm a frat boy] but get you into bed or realize the chase is over
Get entertained by someone else who is pretty
I become 100% flaky, never return your phone calls, text messages and just ignore you in general. Yeah, I'm just a bitch/tease but, like clockwork, I seem to get that "itch" that it's time to sabotage my "relationships" or destroy any resemblance of happiness I could have. C'est la vie.

pretty and damaged,
Dear Boy I Dated Earlier This Yr But Didnt Really Like,

You are going away very soon and im really upset about it. Im also a little jealous that you will prob find the girl of your dreams who will fall in love with your accent and your XL penis. But before you go grow some fucking balls and call me. I send you flirty text msgs all the time especially asking when we are catching up and NOTHING. You obviously dont understand that we could be "friends with benefits". I refuse to text slash drunk dial you again until you realize this.

Take the initiative.
Dear Old Guy Sitting In The Row Across From Me On The Plane This Morning,

Was it really necessary to stare at me for the entirity of our 4.5 hour flight? I'm really not that interesting. If I were you, I would have been spending my energy checking out the dude with the purple mohawk sitting next to you...but that's just me.

Also, thanks for stanking up the lavatory.

Merry Xmas,
Dear London,

You are NOT ready.

T Minus 4 Days...

Things Are Not Looking Good...

Dear A,

I had a similar incident with the eyelashes on my right eye, after drunkenly attempting to light a cigarette by stooping over the rings on the hob of my cooker. Sadly they still haven't caught up with my left eye and it WAS quite a while ago.

let's hope they return in time for christmas,
Yet another missed connection hahaha
Dear Gentleman Gigolo,

I'm really upset that you died. Even though I don't even know you, but read your blog everyday, I feel like I just lost one of my friends. My prayers and thoughts are with your family and friends. I'll really miss our time together!!!

Prayers for you~ meamia

Someone's Idea of a Sick Joke

Dear Santa,

I know I may not have been the best girl ever this year. But I don't deserve these...

Leaving out extra cookies,
Dear A,

Just wanted to be the first to say great job on the lashes.

Dear W.,

Thanks for bringing an awesome vacation option to the third world. Way to lead by example, that's all the international community has asked for, and the thank you is long overdue. Honestly G, you very well could be the coolest guy in the world, preaching the Capt. James hook philosophy of fun "to die would be a great adventure." You're letting people come to camp and giving them adventure after adventure after adventure.
It's a fact that I was always jealous of the people who got to go skiing and snowboarding when there was not a flake in sight; and I think it's great that you've given people their own little Aspen, Guantanamo.
"Hey, what are you doing this weekend?"
"I'm going waterboarding bro!"
"You son of a bitch! can I come?"
"No way dude, I'm going to a little hideaway that I'm not going to tell you any more about"
"Ass hole, I hope you die!"
"Me too man, me too"

And here I thought only family vacations were torture

I love you,
- Lost to religion

PS the only thing scarier than not impeaching you is impeaching you and having president Dick.. last time that happened we had to shove it deep down our throats, and the second time is always worse.
Dear Eyelashes On My Left Eye,

I just went to go put mascara on you...when I realized you were significantly shorter than normal (and the right eye for that matter). It seems as though I singed you off last night in my attempt to smoke the mary j. i knew it was a bad idea lighting my malfunctioning piece too closely to my face...but at the time i did not comprehend the repercussions for said actions.

Hoping You Grow Back Soon (And bring my eyebrows back with you!),

And They Say All Video Games Are Made For Boys

This game is addicting.
Dear Vintage Earrings I Just Bought,

Jesus Christ you are cute!

Dear Five Bottles of Champagne,

Oooh we are going to have so much fun together! I got you for FREE at work today, thus reminding me that my life is both ridiculous AND fantastic!!! You are good champagne too, with labels in French which I can not read but which are full of promise. The promise of drinking until I can no longer remember that it is Christmas day and I am thousands of miles from home with no fireplace, family or presents. But at least I will have bubbles!

I'll see you five on Tuesday,
Dear Ex-Roommate/Ex-Friend,

So… what the hell?? You call me for the first time in like six months to talk about how great your sketchy-ass life is, that you’re trying for a baby soon, are breeding dogs for a living and how you wanted to make sure I had your new address because your 1st wedding anniversary is coming up… SERIOUSLY?? Are you for real? Let’s review.

1) You’re younger than me.
2) Not even 21 yet.
3) Married a guy you knew about 3 months (ONLINE)
4) In the courthouse.
5) In Wal-Mart jeans
6) And a T-shirt.
7) And you’ve dropped out of college.

Do you seriously think I’m going to send you an anniversary present? Doesn’t the fact that we weren’t even on speaking terms when the wedding occurred count for anything in that I clearly am not in support of the union?

So glad I have classier friends now,
Dear The Other Young Co-Worker In My Office,

Please stop making me look bad. You are like my doppelgaenger, but also SO different from me in so many ways. You are young and cute and a girl (check, check, check), but you also just moved in with your boyfriend, have completed two years of Intensive Finance Something-Or-Other Training and are now working in Investments (???) while I sit at the front desk looking pretty. You and your bf spend your Monday nights cooking dinner together and go to bed at 9pm to wake up early to go running -- I spend my Monday nights blowing lines in the bathroom of a bar and my Tuesday mornings trying not to puke in the work bathrooms.

Then there's the Office Holiday Party: you network the shit out of that function, mingling with all the old people and introducing them to your bf whom they all love (OF COURSE) bc he is an ex-frat boy also working in Investments (???) and is now going to run a leg of the Real Estate Games relay race the company holds in Nantucket every summer (WTF??). Meanwhile, I am in the corner with my roommate gettin shitty off of free Jack and Cokes and talking trash about my entire office.

Guess Who's Probably Not Invited To Nantucket?,
Dear High School Acquaintance,

You are one of those people who tends to parade your love for your girlfriend around on facebook -- with the photo albums, status updates, countdowns (blech), etc... and while I find this superbly annoying, I'm also kind of drawn to this crazy couple-y behavior because it is so ridiculous to me. It's kind of like watching some carnie freak -- I am both simultaneously horrified and unable to look away. But now, thanks to facebook, I find out that you just got ENGAGED?!?! WTF. You are a year YOUNGER than me. I have a serious aversion to even the thought of being in a grown-up, committed relationship. Seeing people who are a couple of years older than me getting married/starting families was already enough to give me panic attacks, but you?! Are you even out of college yet? Are you EVEN 21?! You and your gf are mad cute, I will admit, but don't hate me when I start taking bets for how long the marriage is gonna last. Just sayin'.

Hope She's Not Preggo,

The Best Quote I've Read In A Long Time

"The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good."
Good Ol' Casey
Dear Vacation In A Warm And Sunshiney Location,

You cannot come soon enough.

(that's what he said)

Dear Dear Lifers,

Obviously this girl was dunzo....but I thought you'd enjoy this picture that literally came out of nowhere. C- I like shots of bourbon. When are we going. And A.... when is the engagement party?

Jon in Denva
While discussing Britney Spears:

Friend: I've never seen such a nosedive in the history of ever.
C: Seriously, right?
Friend: Federline had us worried and then the timebomb went OFF. What a nightmare.
C: Its kind of like the Pearl Harbor of our time.
Friend: This is serious.The terrorists have won when no one cares about Britney's choo-chah.

He's so right.


ps: We miss you and your catchy tunes, Britney. Hurry home soon. Get your shit together first, though. Do it for America!
Dear New Boy,

Why can't I figure out if I like you or not? You're good on paper, and by all rights I should be WAY into you (based on your similarity in looks and personality to other guys that I have previously dated/been attracted to). But I just don't know. What the hell?

Ambivalently yours,
Dear Orange Juice,

How dare you taste so scrumdiddlyumptious.

Love you,
Dear Life,

Maybe it's just me who thinks it's funny that when I went to post a comment, the security message I had to type in (to make sure the poster isn't a bot) said "oofuc" and I thought "ohhhh fuck". Hahahaha.

Dear Jon in Denver,

Find yourself a new honey. That picture doesn't just mean its time to move on, it means she's immature, too. You can do better. Chin up. Go get drunk. I'm visiting Denver soon. I'll buy you a shot.

Dear My 3 Younger Cousins,

The day i found out i will not be spending christmas lunch with you my heart jumped for joy. Not only do the 3 of you annoy the complete hell out of me but the thought of seeing you all makes me physically ill, does that make me a bad person??? well if it does i dont really care because my life does not revolve around you 3 im pretty sure my life revolves around getting discustingly drunk, smoking too many cigarettes and banging hot randoms - everything you 3 cannot do for at least another 10 yrs. if i see any of you between now and xmas or now and new yrs or now and never dont try to make conversation with me because im not interested at all i dont care whats going on with you and your lame lives. However i feel like i should personally thankyou for having other plans on christmas day because for the first time i can really enjoy my most fav meal of the yr without looking across the table and being turned off watching the 3 of you stuff your faces with every kind of food you can get your grubby little hands on.

Enjoy puberty.

Dear Life,

When do I officially throw in the towel on this girl? I really don't like being taken for granted, or not communicated with, or flaked out on. I hang in there and it only becomes more apparent every day that I should have let it go at least the day before. Dear Life readers....I put it to you.... when a girl puts the picture above on her facebook wall, is it past time to move on? I'll take your response off the air.

- Jon in Denver.
Dear Dear Life,

So is everyone I know officially on You now? I get nervous at the idea of ranting to what I previously thought was a random group of individuals.

-Jon in Denver
Dear Hangover,

Haven't seen you in a while. I thought that I was immune to you considering the many nights of careless drinking and tom foolery without your filthy, rotten effects to remind me of how retarded humans really are. And then BAM! Five hours of drinking sounded like a good idea until you showed up this morning (really it wasn't morning, it was more like 6:15 in the PM). Seriously, though........FUCK OFF ALREADY!!!!!

Trying to make the world stop spinning,
Dear Me,

You are awesome. Your decision to move from Oklahoma City to Los Angeles was the best decision you ever made. In just 7 months, the people of Hollywood have finally realized your talents and all those years of hard work for low wages in Oklahoma have finally paid off. Not only are you getting paid boucoup bucks (tres cool) but you your work is now going to be seen on national television on a regular basis (tres tres cool). You are a testament to will power, hard work, and dedication. Okay, enough with the self-celebratory rant. Let’s go get some sweet presents for everyone who helped you get here and let them know how much you appreciate them. And drink some beer. Merry Effing Christmas.

Kicking Ass and Taking Names,

PS- That girl you’re dating? She’s money. Cha-ching!
Dear Jamie Lynn Spears,

SHUT UPPPPPPP! You're pregnant?!

You're sixteen. I didn't even know what a penis was when I was your age.

God Help Us,

Dear Jenna Jameson,

Some pancakes slathered in butter and maple syrup, a dozen glazed donuts, and a giant lasagna called. They all want you to consume that immediately.

Dear A -

Unemployed? Yep, he's a loser.

Listens to Pat Green? Big-time loser.

Kappa Alpha? He's a candy-assed punk, to boot.

That said, don't hate on the boy for driving a truck, unless it's a Ridgeline, Avalanche, or mini-truck, or it's older than six years in age.

Your pimped-out, 4-door, all-leather (with primo asswarmers), 4-wheel drive chariot awaits,
Dear Chicken Fingers And Blue Moon,

You were delicious upon consumption, but around 3:17 a.m your re-emergence was not a pretty sight. God knows I tried my damndest to keep you down, but you were just not having it and propelled yourself out of me at a rapid speed with great intensity.

I didn't even drink that much. wtf?
Dear Slut Who Inhabited My Body Saturday Night,

I know that he is cute and smart. I too am attracted to his humor and charm. But I must ask where you came from on Saturday. I'll admit in my 29 years, I have participated in some sketchy activities while nude with a guy. But sex in a porn booth? Have you no fear of rouge diseases that may be air born in these types of joints? What if someone had seen you entering or exiting this establishment? Where you not concerned that all the other patrons looked like men from To Catch a Predator? And no, drinking all day while Christmas shopping with above mentioned cute boy is not an excuse for this type of behavior.

In the future please alert me in advance when you plan to make a guest appearance in my sex life so I can at least wear a skirt,

A's Christmas List Item:

Christopher O'Riley's "True Love Waits" album (Radiohead covers)

So cute.
Dear person who pulled the fire alarm during my biology final,

Couldn't take it anymore, eh? Well, thanks to you we had a nice intermission in which all 750 of us had to file down to the front of the room to turn in our exams, then back up the stairs and outside where we proceeded to freeze our asses off for about 45 minutes, to the sounds of "BREEEEEEEEEP. An emergency has been reported in the building. Please evacuate immediately. BREEEEEEEEP."
Then, when we finally got back inside, we sat there for another 20 minutes while the TAs passed all the exams back out. At least I can take comfort in the fact that you're probably doing a lot to help the curve.

*eye roll*
Dear Mo,

I invited Mr. Huge Deal to our Monday night happy hour. If anything we'll just use him for entertainment purposes and then talk about what a douche he is after he leaves.

Free Drinks?
Dear 2008,

Can you be better than 2007? Or at least the past four months of 2007? Which I hate with the passion of a thousand red-hot suns, and here's why:

1) I had to break up with boyfriend, with whom I was in love, because he pretty much treated me like shit.
2) My roommate has Issues. We'll just leave it at that for now because in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor point. But it involves a failure to pay bills on time and an inability to put dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
3) One of my best friends? Yeah, her boyfriend was killed in Afghanistan. Cue last minute trip to Salt Lake City and much drinking and crying.
4) I had the horrible experience of being the Other Woman. Seriously, why would I meet my soul-mate only to find that he is engaged to another woman? Fuck me.
5) I get my job duties changed with nary a warning, and start getting way more stress and more white hairs. I'm too young for white hairs.
6) My ex? He gets killed in Afghanistan less than two months after his friend, my friend's boyfriend, gets killed. It's literally one of the worst experiences EVER.

So. Now. It's about a week before Christmas, I'm drunk on sangria and champagne and trying to avoid breaking down into tears every five minutes over this whole thing. I get to try and find last minute tickets to Louisiana the week before the yearly celebration of the birth of the little baby Jesus. For a funeral. That's right, I gotta take leave of my job and head straight to the heart of Cajun-country to bury a man who taught me more about life and living than anyone I've ever known.

So, 2008, if you could not suck so bad as 2007, I'd REALLY appreciate it. I know in theory you already hold more hope than 2007 because I might get to go to Switzerland on a business trip (best idea ever!), but really, I'm not asking for much. Fewer deaths of my near and dear, fewer reasons for me to go to my gyno and ask for Paxil or Xanax for my fake anxiety attacks (okay they aren't fake, but I'm not agoraphobic, I'm just stressed). That's all I ask. Plus, I'll be officially entering my mid-20s-- there's no pretending I'm still in my early 20s after next month-- and frankly, I can't afford to be such an effing mess. So sack up and be a good year for me, the last year before I start my third dozen years of life.

Begging you with what little pride is left in my soul,
Dear Handsome Coworker,

The other night was a nice change and I was looking forward to a lot of heavy petting and kissing. Instead you threw up on me. I mean WTF??? Can you not handle your drinks? I was highly disappointed and I expect you to make this up to me in a huge way. When I say huge I mean fantastic mind blowing sex. You have one more chance to get this right.

Can't wait to see you tomorrow!

Victoria Beckham, I want to be you.

“I’m proud I still have a really good sex life with David. He is very much in proportion. He does have a huge one, though. He does. You can see it in the advert. It is all his. It is like a tractor exhaust pipe!”

- Victoria Beckham
Dear Pretty Boy With An Excellent Sense Of Humor That I May Have A Date With This Week,


This is good stuff. Normally I don't like these kind of things, but this one touched me.

1. There are at least two people in this world that you would die for.
2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.
3. The only reason anyone would ever hate you is because they want to be just like you.
4. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.
5. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.
6. You mean the world to someone.
7. You are special and unique.
8. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you.
9. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good comes from it.
10. When you think the world has turned its back on you take another look.
11. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.
I still love Brit.

I can't help it, I like it.
Dear Birth Control,

I'm excited about being on you (which could actually be applied to many different things/people), but I am a stupid bitch for starting you the week before finals. As if I wouldn't be flipping my shit enough WITHOUT 203478234 extra gallons of estrogen coursing through my bloodstream; I cried myself to sleep 3 nights in a row this week over things like having a messy room and missing Private Practice on Wednesday night. I am emotionally drained and my eyeballs really hate you.

Much love, though, for protecting me from the evils of pregnancy,
Dear Friday,

Don't lure me into a false sense of security that you are going to be quick and painless, of which you have been neither.

Boo you whore,
Dear Commitment,

Just when I think I am ok with the idea of you, you throw me for yet another loop. Somehow, it seems, the word "boyfriend" (it's even hard for me to type), just no longer seems to be in my vocabulary. Dating and hooking up are words that I am ok with. But the "B" word? Forget it. I can't even bring myself to say it out loud, much less utter it in reference to a male human being. Every time this word is on the tip of my tongue, a little voice inside my head screams, "Run for the hills!!! Get out now! GO!"

Dear Fate,

You sure threw me a ringer on Monday night. Just when things are going my way you decide to test me, you tricksy bitch.

I go to Boots to buy some condoms because for the first time in seriously about a trillion years I am actually getting laid on a regular basis (hallelujah). Should have been an easy errand to run but YOU decided to trip me up with your surprise Buy One Get One Free Condom Sale. I didn't even know condoms could go on sale! Some less silly people might view this as a good thing, but I am onto you Fate, and your fickle ways. All I wanted was a 12 pack of condoms, but if I participate in this "sale" I walk away with twice as many. I am not superstitious but I KNOW that if I buy 24 condoms I am virtually guaranteed to never get laid again. Break-up, natural disaster, act of god, who knows- but that is just how the universe works.

I stood there, pondering my options:

1. Do the sensible thing and buy the rubbers in bulk. See if I can survive another 18 months without penis action.

2. Pretend the sale doesnt exist and just get my twelver. Stupid idea, seeing as I'm practically broke. Plus it would probably cause a scene at the counter and I really prefer to be discrete in my prophalactic purchasing.

3. Back away slowly. Lame.

Very tricky this time fate. I'm not kidding when I say I stared at that display, deer frozen in the headlights style, for about ten minutes. People were staring at me like I was some kind of safe sex fetishist or something. Finally I settle on a third option, grab my extra thin condoms, grab a random bottle of lube which I really don't even need and make a run for it.

So take that fate! I beat your twisted game AND I got to have sex on Monday night!

I probably need professional help though...
Dear Fat Kid Who Isn't Talking to Me,

Yes, it's true that I got wasted and had sex with you. Bad life decision. But your thinking that my wanting to maintain our friendship afterwards translates into being in love with you? You could not be more wrong. In fact, you were the last dude I fucked before I decided that maybe I liked chicks. What does that say about you?

Good luck trying to get poon as hot as me,
Dear A,

I just though you might like to know that sometime between last night and this morning, the Dear Life blog was blocked at my work because it's been "deemed inappropriate". I'm slightly devastated by this, and it's making me paranoid that the IT people have some of that keystroke recording software secretly installed on my computer so that they can track everything I ever wrote.

However, I think that it all just means props to your blog.

Cut off from Dear Life until after 5 PM from now on,
Dear Freud,

Something tells me that dream about when I couldn't save my father from drowning and then weeping in the fetal position on the dock when I failed to find him in the dark waves of plankton, seaweed, and quicksand might not be all that random.

Or the one about my mother painfully embarrassing and rejecting me.

Dear Jack Daniels,

A good time to stop drinking you is right around the fifth time I ask my friend, "What's the name of the one I'm gonna hook up with again?"


You Are The Devil (But You Taste SooOooo Sweet),

P.S. - On a sidenote, I think if there was a real man named Jack Daniels he'd be really really ridiculously good looking. Like a mix between Jack and Sawyer from LOST. And I'd probably (definitely) tap that. Just sayin'.
Dear Homeless Man That I Let Kiss Me and Hold My Hand For About 2 Blocks Last Night,

You were super fun and nice, and I'm sorry I told you that you should "probably get a house" -- that was kinda harsh. But if you give me any of those cuddly diseases I posted about yesterday, I am gonna be REALLY pissed off.

Exfoliating Like There's No Tomorrow,

Dear Kellie Pickler,

America called, they told me to tell you and Jessica Simpson that being a dumbass is not hot anymore. That went out with Suzanne Somers in Three's Company.


Also, every woman on the planet called. They said thanks for training men to treat women like morons.
Dear VW Jetta,

Fuck you. I thought I was getting a reliable, dependable (and yes, cute) car when I bought you new 6 years ago. But, nooooo. I soon found out what you're really like - needy, high-maintenance, and possibly demonic.
Take for instance, last night. After a relatively uneventful month in which I drove you exactly twice (once to the shop for new ignition coils, an oil change, and a $120 check engine light diagnostic), I thought we were in good shape for a couple weeks. Instead, driving home in a snowstorm, your windshield wipers suddenly stopped, spasmed, and died. What the hell?! Are you trying to kill me? Also, I just had them replaced last year (when they broke during a blizzard, thanks).
I've also been told that your clutch is going, and that your starter doesn't have long. I thought I had already had every part of you replaced, like twice.

How I regret the day you rolled off that assembly line in Mexico, and into my life.

Sack up, Asshole.
Dear VD,

Let's snuggle!

Dear Accounts Payable,

Is it humanly impossible for you to process anything in a period of time under 3 months??? You make me look like a raging idiot when our vendors are bitching me out on a daily basis because you guys can't get your shit together. It's not that complicated people. I ask you to cut a check for something as simple as toner, and you take 8 weeks to do so. This is unacceptable, and Konika-Minolta agrees. Cut to them yelling at me and sending overdue notices every 3rd day. Get your act together before I fly up to DC myself and fire every last one of you.

Make it Work,
Dear Friday's Date: told me I was a keeper when you were drunk. Forgiveable. You also told me when you were sober.

We've been on 2 dates, more or less. You have no way of knowing whether or not I'm a keeper. This point is driven home by the fact that I think you are nice, but don't want to have your babies, which you obviously don't realize. I'm really sorry, but I don't feel it, even though you seem to be a nice, cute, witty, well-employed man who is way into me.** I really don't want to have to hurt your feelings, but I can see you planning our future, and it weirds me out.

Dating is the major pits,

**Note to self: you cleary deserve to die alone
Dear VD,

Let's snuggle!

Dear Nashville,

Thanks for showing me a wonderful time the past 5 days. Hitting the highligts of lesbian hang out Lipstick Lounge, Tribe- the gay bar, and the Hustler sex store was thrilling. Whoever said Vegas is Sin City has clearly never visited you. I can't wait to come back. Maybe on my return you can share with me some seedy strip clubs and prostitute hang outs.

Corner of Broadway and what?
Dear Mom,

When I have G in town visiting, it is completely tactless to come to her asking how to block my father on gmail, spend the entire weekend on the Internet printing out every ounce of information you can find on divorce, and vehemently announcing that you will be taking legal action.

Oh, and then say (In front of G!) that I have until Jan 1 to vacate the premises.

You're ruining my life.
Dear Adderall and NoDoz,

If I EVER graduate from college, (which should be this year barring failing the exam I have within hours) I will be writing the makers of you cute little guys personal thank you notes. How else would I have been able to stay up for days on end writing and studying while at the same time being able to laugh off the stress yelling "I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so....scared!!!!" with other fellow majors in my same position at random points to relieve the tension. Sure, I can't really see straight. And sure, typing this is impossible because every third letter is wrong and I have to go back and re-read everything. And sure, my heart feels like it's going to pound of it's chest. But you are going to get me a passing grade. And very honestly, I couldn't have done it without you.

D is for Diploma,
Dear In-Depth Fantasy About A Threesome With 2 Guys Which Randomly Occurred To Me Today,

a) Why have I never legitimately thought about this before?
b) How can I make this happen?

Dear Life,

Why can't i stop calling everyone "Snitch"? Like, where did i get this and why am i being so obnoxious with it?

Peace Out, Snitch,

Where in the HELL did this Britney go? Seriously, anybody? anybody?

How do I always forget what a badass she used to be?

Dear new gynecologist,

While I appreciate your openness with me as a brand new client, I do not need you to describe in gory detail why anal sex is a great form of birth control. Yes, I realize you are mad at me for having unprotected sex with my monogamous partner and thus refuse to give me the handy new Depo-Provera shot until I know I’m not pregnant. But, I do not think that gives you permission to give me oral sex 101 and ask if my boyfriend might be willing to trade that out for regular sex for the next few weeks.
Additionally, I think its great that you told me anal sex and blow jobs are no stranger to you and your husband, but I don’t need you to invite me and my boyfriend to join the two of you for a company event at our mutual employer at the exact moment you’re inserting your cold speculum in my vag.

And no, I don’t agree with you that it’s better not to know if I have herpes or not because “ignorance is bliss.”

On second thought, I loved your gentle touch. See you next year!
Dear finals,

Could you please stop gnawing on my Christmas spirit?

Dear Step-Sister,

Why are you such a bitch?! You have to steal everyone's thunder. Can't you just let other people be happy for once? Every time something good happens to anyone you have to one up them. It's getting really annoying. Especially when I tell you where I am getting married (if it ever happens), and now, surprise, you're planning your wedding for the same venue.

Grow up, you aren't in high school anymore where everyone worshiped the ground you walked on. Now they all talk about how big of a whore you are.


PS- you know that guy you are totally in love with and would cheat on your fiance with at any moment who won't give you the time of day? Well, we're kind of dating...maybe my wedding will be better after all.

This is why I love Vanessa Anne Hudgens.
Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false, and the false with the true.
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
Dear Drunk Future Me,

Clearly alcohol lowers our inhibitions and makes us do things we otherwise would not- it's part of why we love the stuff so much. However, I really think our lives will be infinitely easier if, Future Me, you could refrain from any and/or all of the following activities when trashed:

- Making expensive, rambling and pointless drunk dials to the states

- Spilling and or smashing any object in a three foot radius (Just think how unhappy we are that Drunk Past Me busted our brand new camera last weekend. I know we're a klutz but let's try to exercise just the smallest amount of hand eye coordination).

- Making suggestive comments/ sharing inappropriate personal information with the Australian roommates

- Eating literally any and all expensive, greasy and fattening food you can get your hands on (this one especially needs to stop. all that pizza and beer is going to lead to a very pimply and overweight future future Shameless)

If you can follow these guidelines I predict that our future liaison's with le alcohol will be much happier and safer.

Such a stain,
Dear Girl I Met My First Day in London,

It's kinda awkward that you are supposed to be my friend and when I woke up this morning you were in bed with my roommate... and still are. At 1 pm. And I can hear you guys giggling in there. Sick me out.

Get up already,

Call me a hopeless romantic, but this scene still never gets old.
Dear $110 Spent At Sephora,

What did I even spend you on, because I still don't know? Last thing I knew I was walking around trying on various make-up products and then I blacked out until I was looking at my receipt wondering what the fuck I bought WORTH as much as my whole family's life insurance plan.

Will anyone ever notice that I'm wearing "Eye Brightening Pencil"? Um, no. Did I still drop $18 on it for no good reason other than the ecstacy I feel when I swipe my pretty debit card with the park scene printed on it (i love that)? Yes.

I'm a sick individual, but at least I can say I own expensive make-up. I'm glad I concentrate my efforts on bettering my character by making sure to get the $25 bronzer (solely chosen because it has the best packaging).

Changing The World One Day At A Time (while wearing "Bad Girl" $19 mascara),
Dear Person Who Stole My Sidekick,

I would like to thank you, again, for being a complete scumbag. You're making everything suck. I have to cash my first, SHITTY ass paycheck and spread it evenly among everything. Should I pay my Grandma back or get car insurance?! Hmmm. And, I need a Sidekick. Since they cancel my plan and charge me $175 if I don't have one after a certain amount of time. Yeah! This is awesome. So, again, thank you for fucking everything up.

Dear Boys/Men/Guys/Members of the Opposite Sex:

I f*cking hate every last one of you. Ass-faced bastards. Even so, hurry up and do me already.

Go straight home after,

PS Okay, okay, so this is not exactly accurate. I only wanna do SOME of you. I still definitely hate ALL of you, though.

PPS Why did I say yes to a date tonight w/ someone I don't wanna do when I wanted to go on the pull instead? Not so smart.
Dear Static Cling,

Please stop Whenever I leave my desk to go down the hall to the copy room/kitchen/other offices (which is basically every 2 seconds), you make my tights/skirt interact and clump up somewhere around my crotchal region. And I look all bunchy and weird. It's really embarassing, and also... I'm kind of terrified of getting a shock to the vag. It doesn't sound fun to me. So, if you could quit it, that'd be great.

Dear b,

If you could fed-ex some of that ballsiness to NYC for me, my sex life and heart would be eternally grateful.

atta girl,
Dear Universe,

Oh, good morning! So today is Pick-On-CF Day, huh? Is that what's goin' on here? That's coooooooooooooool. I wake up drunk - not hungover, but DRUNK - and was apparently sleeping in whatever strange Exorcist/contortionist position I landed in when I nosedived onto my bed last night, because my neck hurts like a bitch and is practically immobile. Also, other random places on my body hurt, for no apparent reason whatsoever. Then you decide to make it sleet/hail on me as I walk to work, looking like a fucking idiot in my huge ass sunglasses (because the drab grey clouds of winter are too bright for my hangoverface? WTF??). But it's not enough for me to just be in pain and look mildly like an idiot, is it? Nope. Then you have to make me WIPE the fuck OUT on the escalators, causing me not only to flail like an asshole and provoke multiple pity stares, but also to miss my train, making me even more late to work. AND now that I'm at work I have to go run fucking errands all morning? In the hail? In shoes that are apparently treacherous for walking in such conditions? UGH.

I Need 12342465334454 Advils and Maybe a Beer,
Dear Self:

I just want you to know that while you can truly, TRULY horrify and embarrass me, you also really impress me. You just actually called the dentist and asked the awesome receptionist there to pass your info along to the wicked hot guy checking out next to you. Yes, the one you were checking out. And who was maybe checking you out, a little too, no? Yum. So tall, right?!?! Anyway, I hope he's not married or *gasp* Conservative. And that he also likes everything you register for at Williams Sonoma and Target.

Here's to Keisha the receptionist and to being totally ballsy and putting yourself out there,

PS You may be single forever, but it won't be for lack of trying, just so ya know.

Not gonna lie, this video makes me want to:

a) lez out with nicole scherzinger
b) sit on T.I.'s lips
c) force them into having a threesome with me, despite the fact that they are both 1,000 times more attractive than I am
Dear Life,

You're just kicking my judgement's ass lately. For months/years, I have been cursing that this generation has brought about an age of dating that doesn't require a phone call at all. All men only text or email, phone calls come later. And I, in my own act of rebellion, stopped speaking to said boys that couldn't be coerced into calling at least every once in awhile - at least to ask for ONE proper date. (ha)

But then, I meet a boy and he calls. He calls everyday. I respond by text one day, he calls back. I respond by email another, he calls back. And I am turned off. It's too much I say...but LIFE please clear my habit formed judgement. I am clearly jaded. I am not used to this. Yes, he DOESN'T need to call every day - as he is 2000 miles away, but the fact that he calls...not so bad. It's what I asked for, right? And when I finally called him back tonight, it was nice. I think he was actually turned off by my lack of phone skills.

Beginning to second-guess my judgement...
Dear A:

If you'd had my heart-stopping, blood-curdling experiences w/ the offensive "m" word, you'd definitely add it to your list. And I don't mind "panties," either. However, put the "m" word together w/ the "p" word and add "milky." OR, have a total creepy hooker-murdering perv co-worker draw it out ("moi-eee-sss-ttuh") and then raise his eyebrows in a suggestive way. Yeah, you kinda hate it now, don't you?

Thank Margo and Mark in Austin for the trauma,

PS I actually had to make a drink after reliving both of those memories. *shudder*
Dear b,

Unlike every other woman on this planet, I do not find the word "moist" to be aversive. When I think of the word moist, I think of cakes infused with sour cream, or something equally as delicious and calorie filled.

Nor do I dislike the word "panties". It's actually a good word in my book as long as you are an attractive human being that's saying it.

You Did Remind Me That I Hate The Word "Womb" Though,
Dear A:

Please add "moist" to your list of words no one can say to you. And by you, I mean me.

Sick me out,

PS I now understand that totally rand-o post from T. That list didn't pop up when I first read it and I thought he was just a total stalker. I see now that he is...just weird.
Dear Dad slash Miser:

You are rich. Don't offer to buy my plane ticket home for Christmas and then immediatly follow it up with, "And that would be your Christmas gift." a) I didn't ask you to do that and b) that would have been fine but since you SAID it, it hurts my feelings and makes me wonder why I'm not worth $300 (and must be reminded of this fact) when you just almost bought a $45,000 entertainment system. And told me about it. And your new children expect Iphones and laptops and are not even double digits old. And you, new wife, and her diamonds go to Hawaii, New Orleans, or California every 3rd day.

Sorry I came from the wrong womb,

PS btw, bitter is the new black, and it's free. Looks like you got me another Christmas gift after all 'cause I'm wearing a shit ton of it. Jerkface.
Dear British Chap,

I think I've been waiting my whole life to get the following text message:

"Two Questions: Do you have a posh frock? And are you free Friday night?"

Yes and hell yes. So when you texted me again half an hour later to say "nevermind" I kind of wanted to die.

Quit playing games with my heart,
Dear World's Best Brother:

You are seriously the definition of shit awesome. I can't even believe we got so drunk that we did an interpretive napkin dance. In a bar. Where there were other people. Whom we knew. I mean, I love interpretive napkin dance and any excuse to flit about or twirl or click my heels on the floor in a semi-recognizable version of Spanish flamenco dancing, but you are 6'3" and built like a linebacker which makes it maybe the funniest thing pretty much ever that you also leapt and twirled and waved napkins in front of your face. I'm also super excited about the 4-person Conga line we did to Christmas music.

Also, thanks for rescuing me from my prison between the wall and my bar stool when I fell off that one time.

Oh, and I'm glad you didn't karate chop me into oblivion at Mom's when I took your keys out of the ignition and threw them in the yard so you couldn't go home. You looked at me and then laughed hysterically instead. More flitting ensued in the yard (me) while looking for your keys in the total darkness (you).

If I moved back to our hometown, we would cut a swath through that town the likes of which have never been seen. We would sully the good _____ name and end up in jail, dead, or maybe both. It would be pretty fantastic.

I love you and am really sad I won't see you over Christmas b/c I think we can top the napkin dance,
Dear Snow,

(Just don't make me face-plant on the sidewalk on my way to class, k?)

Can't wait to throw you-balls at Freshmen,
Dear God,

I know, I know, you are omnipotent and omniscient, and I'm a peon. My minuscule human mind cannot comprehend your plans or powers. But if you could just throw me a frickin bone here and help me understand WHY you would set in my path my soulmate, but make him be engaged?!?, I would appreciate it. I mean, really. People say that everything happens for a reason. But what possible reason could you have for having me meet the one truly perfect person for me, minus that whole fiance aspect? What am I gaining from this, aside from sheer torture of my soul, a devastating blow to my ego/self-esteem, and the inability to believe I will ever find anyone who loves me, that I love, that isn't a douche? Not to mention the inability to concentrate on my job... Sure, *HE* gets the chance to affirm that his g/f is the one he wants to marry, the chance to set aside all doubts by getting to compare and contrast me to her (like I'm the effing SAT or something). But me? I get shit nothing but heartache.

And while I'm at it, what the crap is up with the white hairs I've been finding this year? I am far too young for this! Is this because I'm Lutheran? Like, several centuries late justice against ol' Martin for rocking the boat? Seriously.

Feeling like a Huguenot in 16th Century France (i.e. persecuted here, thanks),

PS Thank you for tonight's new low in my life, whereupon I actively tried to throw up in a restaurant bathroom despite not suffering from the flu. And *failed*.

PPS And thank you for making it so I need to start getting to work at 7:30 every morning, I really love that one like I love salt in the ol' wounds.

PPPS Yes, bitter is the new black.
Dear college dropout I dated,

You were fun in an inhibition-free, I’m not even sure what I am going to be doing in half an hour kind of way… ok, ok it was only fun for about twenty minutes into our first date, you know that part when we ordered food. Why did you take me to a restaurant way out of your price range again? Man that was awkward. It’s super romantic when you order for me and get the cheapest thing on the menu.

And yes, I know you have nothing going on. But must you remind me constantly with texts like “I’m not doing anything today, write back… c u l8er.” And yes, I got the thirteen others you sent that day, before noon.

Good thing when I ended things you told your friends such a believable lie. I wanted to have sex all the time? Really that is the best you can do?

Let’s pick the one that applies best:

A.) If I ever did want to sleep with you, you would be all over it. I’m bangin.
B.) I never wanted to sleep with you.
C.) You don’t have health insurance.
D.) All of the above.

That’s right fucker, the answer is D. At least you still have your GED.
- Disease-Free
Dear Fiancé of my ex-boyfriend,

So I hear you guys are living engaged and living together now. Congrats! I couldn’t be happier for the both of you. I also hear from my friends who have met you, that you are the definition of elegance with your classy “Pam Anderson-esque” barbed wire tattoo that wraps around your arm. Nice. Did I tell you that the moment that you left for the weekend, he called me? We went out for drinks and spent the whole evening together in which I denied him sex (no way I’m going there after your skanky ass was there) despite his multiple requests. We did however make out in my car like teenagers and it was pretty awesome.

You have a successful job, a mediocre rock on your finger, and are living/engaged to my ex-boyfriend who cheats on you. I live with my parents, am mildly successful (but then again your 28 (read: old) and I’m 23 (read: young & hot)) and have weekends were I make many questionable alcohol-fueled decisions, make-out with randos and have fun with my friends. I wouldn’t trade my life for yours for all the money in the world.

Good luck getting married to that cheating asshole.

We have a betting pool for when you file for divorce,

P.S – He told me he hates your ugly dog and that he kicks it when you’re not around (just kidding, but he did say it was ugly).

P.S. – As much as I have no feelings for my ex-bf (trust me, you can have that scumbag), I’m simply returning the favor for when you hooked up with him when you knew he had a girlfriend.
Dear Mo,

No worries. They were both balding anyway.

I Love You,
Dear Frankie and Jason the Chiropractors,

Thank you for making my day of hell complete. You waited until the perfect moment, when I was all alone, and then you approached me only to ask "Hey, what's your friend's name? Is she involved with anyone? And does she have any illegitmate children?" Take my advice, if you wanna get in good, don't make it so obvious that you are bypassing me and going for my friend. You are both old, balding, and have a twisted obsession with the back.

Keep your back breaking man hands away from me,
Dear boy from my past sleeping downstairs,

It's 1 am as I sit in my bed checking my facebook/myspace instead of making out with you. Who in their right mind does this?

We hooked up in college and now you are here again, 2 years later, back at my door like it's yesterday. Do I play the friend vibe, because I'm honestly not sure if I could ever like you again like i did back then...or do I let my inhibitions go and sweep you off of the couch like the sexy Cosmo book article I read monthly....

I don't do long distance but God knows it's been a while since I made out....

Who says it has to work out for longer than tonight,
Dear Life,

Saturday immediately following UT’s loss in the SEC Championship, I chose to drink, as many of my friends did. Yet while they mellowed out with their two beers or so, I shotgunned my beer count into the double digits. It seems you, life, have blessed me with the inability to exercise control over alcohol. Needless to say, only a mere hour into my drinking and my lips were already glistening from the spit that accompanied my drunken shouts. I threw in the towel rather early and gave the University of Tennessee’s ‘drunk bus’ a call. A bearded man pulled up to the corner of 19th and Highland, and opened the bus doors. Being the only passenger and refusing to let the rattle of the bus make the only sound, I struck up slurred conversation with the driver. He claimed to have to pick up four other people, all of which were no shows. So in a thirty minute midnight conversation, me and Larry the bus driver talked politics, women (in place of the word ‘women’ I had used what I felt as the more accurate word at the time ‘Cunts’), but mostly life. I believe our discussion hit a high note when Larry confessed his dilemma. You see, Larry had been offered a coal truck driving job that paid ten dollars an hour better, but he would spend an extra hour everyday commuting for this new job. I consoled my dear Larry. “Yeah (hiccup) man, life’s got some…tough stuff. But man, commutes suck!” Larry and I hit a special chord that night.


Okay, I know probably everyone has already seen this already, but in case you haven't...

I want to BE this couple. I've already made it known to all my friends that me and my husband will be nothing short of "the fun couple" who will be dependable to provide comical relief and good times all around. My home will be referred to as "the fun home" (seriously, ask my friends, i've already planned this out). Also, our children will be as phenomenally good looking and well-dressed as Brooklyn and Romeo Beckham. I will be a milf. My spouse will be a dilf that i wilf on the daily. prob multiple times. on the front lawn.

Maybe I'm delusional, but as far as I'm concerned, that's what my future looks like.

OH MY GOD. I wish I came up with this stuff!
Dear Random Rash on My Left Ring finger -

Could you be anymore of a blatant sign! Gaawwww! Ok, I get it! I am not meant to be in any sort of committed relationship. Obviously the very thought of it caused you to appear on the one part of my body that represents a future with someone. I realize my sorry attempts at a real relationship have been nothing short of pathetic, but if you're not a sign that I should run away from any sort of serious relationship then I don't know what is. If I promise to abort all embankments toward a committed relationship, will you please stop itching and go away?

You're Fug Anyway,


This is effing hilarious. P.S. James Franco is like INIFINITY TIMES hotter than Justin Bobby.
Dear Bouncer,

I appreciate you "doing me a favor" by allowing me entrance into your club last night. How kind and generous of you to let me proceed with my "too short of shorts" but "just this once" and make sure I "don't come back in those". Call me an ingrate, but how am I supposed to be appreciative of you're generosity when I'm still paying $10 (RIDICULOUS) entry fee anyway?!?! I'm a WOMAN. This is NASHVILLE, not NYC. We don't pay covers here. Especially if we have tits. Which brings me to my next point....

Since when do GAY CLUBS have DRESS CODES?! Last time I fuckin checked you've got employees walking around in there with their dongs tucked between their legs and pasties covering their prosthetic breasts. How am I being offensive to anyone? NO ONE IS EVEN LOOKING AT ME! They're too concentrated on the sausage fest around us to be thinking about that they might catch a glimpse of the junk in my trunk peeking out of my hotpants.

Anyway, my outfit was clearly not an issue, so don't start shhh with me just because you're jealous that I have a functional hole for a penis to penetrate below my waist and you don't.
Dear People On Facebook,

You are NOT ALLOWED to list your boyfriend's name as an interest. That is douchy.

You've been fairly designated your section to proclaim to the world that you're in a relationship in the "relationship status" category.

Go to town. Define it. Identify the person you are actually in a relationship with, if you prefer, and leave it at that.

Interests are for things like "hot yoga" OR "oil painting" OR "covering my body in latex because I happen to like the sensation". Acceptable interests do not include: "Michael", "Doug", or "John Blake Pressburg III ;)!!!!"

Wondering how many hours a day you spend thinking about if you can start a wedding registry at Lilly Pulitzer in hopes that you'll get a ring before graduation,
Dear Southern "Gentleman",

There is a fine line between chivalry and manners. Asking me if I am okay on my own before you get up to visit the little boys room is polite and considerate. Refusing to go to the bathroom because you assume I am completely unable to stand at a bar by myself, surrounded by men,for 5 minutes, is sexist and arrogant on your part. Listen, fucktard. You just stepped off the plane for your very first trip to NYC. I have lived here, by myself, for 4 years. How in the fuck did I ever survive this big, bad city without you by my side? Bestill my fucking heart. I am not helpless, don't you fucking dare try to even insinuate I am.

If we were to go head-to-head in a contest of hard-knocks, you would call "uncle" years before me. My rent is more than your fucking mortgage - and you have 2 incomes. I don't live in the same zip code as my parents. Don't act like I am some wilting violet and you came to my aide. I am more successful and strong than you will ever be.

Views like yours are the reason I don't want to get married. I was joking that since your wife actually likes to watch football, and you still watch her shows that you hate with her. There really isn't a compromise there, you're just whipped. Your reaction to stare at me and tell me that if I EVER EMASCULATE my husband in any way he WILL go cheat on the first woman that gives him a compliment is both completely disturbing and FUCKED UP. Could you have overreacted any more? And could your views be more tainted? Really, the fact that your wife tricked you into watching Felicity would be grounds for an affair? Maybe you misunderstood the minister, Felicity wasn't mentioned in your vows, asshole, fidelity was. I PITY your bassakwards marriage.

By the way, the word faggot is unnacceptable in the year 2007. The fact that you so freely said it in a bar in New York only furthers your ignorance and my disgust.

Your red-neck is showing,

ps dearlifers- This was not a date. I am not a homewrecker. An old friend, whom I clearly have grown apart from, was in town on business and I met him for a drink.
Dear Love Life-

Tonight, with the persuasion of Bottle Of Wine, i have decided to give
up on the hopes of you due to the fact that i am 24 and haven't felt
requited love once in my life aside from that of my parents. Yeah, i'm
young, but i figure getting this out in the open and accepting it
right now is a good idea. No more crushes, no more expectations, no
more chances for outside sources, only me and my cat and a bottle of
wine. And my best friend. Spending my Saturday night crying every so
often is not my idea of fun. I should be out on the arm of some hot
guy being the hot biatch i am. But, i am not. So, whatev. Why is it
that every guy that goes after me and I give a chance to is a

Sad And Drunk-
Dear Mom,

1994 called, it wants you to take AOL off the family computer because it's making everything else slower than a three-legged tortoise. Also, it makes it sound like your hardrive is preparing for landing everytime I click the mouse.

Despite what you may have last heard, you can make the Internet work without an obsolete program that went out when Friends stopped airing.

Welcoming You Into The 21st Century,

P.S. Also, there is this new thing called text messaging. It helps people convey thoughts to eachother without having to leave infinitely long voicemails cluttered with formalities. It's awesome. Give it a whirl. You'll never look back.
the word hard-on makes me laugh.

slash kinda makes me sad because i haven't seen/felt on ramming into my thigh since like the mesazoic era. not fair.
Dear Hairdresser aka "Miracle Worker",

You saved my life today. Change my part completely??? Who would've thought this drastic decision that you implemented on a whim would be so refreshing and amazing. I'm seeing volume that has been flat for months, and there is a fullness to my 'do that is just out of nowhere. I don't know how you do it, but I am forever grateful.

And seriously, girls out there- change your part and it will change your life!

Loves It,
This is the most touching video. If you need a good cry.

Dear God,

Please make me end up with someone who calls me "quite a woman", thinks I'm super special, and adores me as much as my dad.

Dear Men,

If you sleep with a girl that you are dating, it's imperative that you call her the next day, if nothing more than just to validate her actions. If I'm giving it up to you, especially as early as date 3, a call is what we as females see as an appropriate way for you to show that you a) don't think we are sluts b) want to still go out and c)still have some respect left for us. No matter how chill, secure, and level-headed we appear, it still our WORST FEAR that you will sleep with us and never talk to us again. Even if you think it is clear that you are "not that type of guy", guess what, there are shittons of guys who look, talk, and act just like you who dick girls over on the daily. All we really ask for is a quick "Hello" and "I had fun" or "Let's do it again sometime." Is that too much to expect?? Extend that common courtesy. Just do it. You are saving us massive amounts of paranoia by staying consistent. Just trust us, you don't know what it's like.

If you don't initiate contact after a bedtime rendevouz, we are left feeling used and filled with regret. Especially if we really like you.

Don't Fuck this up for Everyone,
Third Date Girl

I've been watching TV all day long. I've seen this commercial like infinity times and every time I just want to grab a drink and shake my ass.
Dear Bear Grylls from "Man vs. Wild",

Good God, I want to do you. No, I want you to do me. Hard.

THANK YOU for finding an excuse to disrobe and show your bare ass (perfection) nearly EVERY episode. I don't care that you get your nutrition from grubs, raw snakes, and various animal's testicles in front of my very are still sexy as shit. You animal, you.

I wish I could meet you. I would just stand next to you and smell your manliness. Mmmmm

Dear this past week,

You can suck my non-existent dick. Seriously. Three midterms the week after Thanksgiving? Did you expect me to study while I was drinking a hole in my liver and eating my weight in turkey? I think my family would have thought it was rude if I whipped out the physics textbook while we were having coffee and pie. Also, you and your friend, the facebook newsfeed, need to shut the f*ck up. Why the need to twist the knife you've been shanking me with when I was taking a study break on Wednesday night? After hours of being miserable and feeling stupid, I didn't need to log on to facebook and see that extremely-attractive-possibly-too-cute-for-me boy (who I hooked up with and have been nursing a terrible crush for) has a girlfriend. A hot one. And they look really effin' happy in his profile picture, making cutesy-kissy faces at each other. I mean, it's not like I wanted to be his boo forever, but couldn't she be at least a little less physically perfect? Thanks for letting me know there's one less good-looking single boy out there.

At least my best friend, Friday night, is helping me out here. I get to see my girl M.I.A. tonight.

I'm going to dance this one out so hard I'll forget all about you.

Peace, Bitch!
Dear my new roommates,

Three Australian Boys. Three. Australian. Boys. Given my past track record with Australians (and my penchant for making out with them) this seems like a poor idea from the get go. But you guys are cool, and friendly, and seem to like me a lot for some reason. We have similar hobbies like.... drinking. and drinking more. I think this has the potential to be super fun as long as I can restrain myself from jumping your bones.

Now let's go get crunk,

PS. When I smile and nod like an idiot, its really just because i can't understand a word you guys are saying. Try to talk slower and less jumbley.
Dear Drunk Packing,

You'd think after multiple previous encounters with your repurcussions as well as a few angrily penned Dear Life entries from various other contributors that I'd have learned my lesson, but nooooooo. When will I learn that you are always a terrible idea?! I tried to pack for a weekend trip last night after happy hour, and woke up this morning burrowed halfway into a mountain of clothes that were strewn about my bed and NOT, in fact, in my suitcase where they were supposed to be. Thanks to you, Drunk Packing, I had to sacrifice my morning Starbucks run to cram handfuls of random articles of clothing into my suitcase before rushing off to work. It is not gonna be pretty when I unpack tonight in search of a cute Going Out-fit. Plus where I'm going this weekend it's like 10 degrees and snowy and I have a sinking feeling that in my drunken brain it was still early fall because I really wanted to wear that cute new dress I just bought and can't afford. UGH.

Gonna Have To Drink Til I Can't Feel the Weather,
Dear Liver,

Yeah I know I worked you hard in the days before I left town to come to England. I'm sorry if you thought you would be getting a respite here, i really am. But now that I've moced in with the three Australian boys who regularly have a beer (or five) to unwind every day after work, I need you to step it up a notch. Tomorrow night we are going out, Aussie style, so I'm going to need you to bring your A-game. The level of drinking they are capable of is virtually incomprehensible to me and we're going to need to take em beer for beer.

Don't worry,you can sleep when we're dead,
Dear Fellow Human Males:

Video Games? Sure, they’re entertaining and technologically impressive. I give you that.

But they are Kryptonite to women, fucktards! Here’s what women think of video fun: “Look! A bunch of cute boys in a room ignoring me. BYE!”

And you “don’t dance?” Uh…that’s something women do in DROVES. If you even show up and bounce you gain points. Actually become GOOD at it, then you can be seen as “fun.” You know, somebody about whom she thinks, “Oh, we have to call HIM, we’re going out!”

On second thought…nevermind. Carry on. I’ll pick up your slack.

Just wondering how our species isn’t extinct,
Dear Hot Vengeful Women Angry with your Boyfriends:

I heart you SO much. You use sex and hotness as a WMD. When you decide to cheat on your perfect, square-jawed J. Crew model men with somebody successful but fug, just to turn the knife that bit more (to eleven), you make my day. And when you pick my non-hottie self as the instrument of revenge you make an excellent choice. I am doing well enough AND un-pretty enough to give your man’s bloated ego that double-whammy pounding that we both need and love so much.

So thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for letting me tap the otherwise unattainable you with little effort, AND giving me reason to smile smugly at every Mr. Perfect, never-worked-for it, dumbass prettyboy for weeks following.

Never, ever change,
Dear Girls Who Claim To Be My Best Friends,

I know boys suck, a lot of the time...believe me, I know. But, please try to refrain from talking about how you're all boycotting boyfriends and relationships and how anyone who doesn't is a loser when *I'm* in a relationship, and a pretty good one at that. Not to mention I'm clearly making a point to spend time with you fools and not him 24/7. Next time, think before you let out your word vomit.

Insert Foot Into Mouth,
Dear Life,

Number of weddings i have partially been responsible for (because the
bride asked me if she should date the man to become her future
husband): Two (2).

Number of remotely successful relationships i have been in: 0.

Sick Of Yenta-ism,
Dear Blondie,

OMG. I have spent the day worrying about your lady parts. How can this happen? Most importantly, could it happen to me? In your honor I have removed every battery operated sex toy from my home. During my sex toy exfoliation, I swear my vag cried. I have promised her to buy new ones immediately under the condition that you lead me toward a safer option. Please advise, no need for anyone else to make the same purchase that lead you to such a distressing situation.

fearful of third degree burns,
Dear Coworker,

You are not fooling anyone. When you say you were "working from home" but show up the next day with your luggage, it is clear that you have just arrived from your Thanksgiving break cruise.

Hope you got seasick,
Dear Resume,

Lick my balls…. I'm sorry, that was crude…. scratch that, I meant it, lick my balls! One page to sum up my life? I'm not a fucking golem living in cave. Besides, how the fuck am I supposed to define myself on a piece of paper, there are a lot of douche bags who look cool on paper.

Please oh please let me be that douche. I'm working on it, really I am. I fucked your mom and she liked it; I'm going to take her out to a nice fish dinner and never call her again. I can sign you up for porn, I know your e-mail so don't sweat it, you don't even have to give me your credit card, I swiped your wallet while you were in the bathroom…but I digress.

Resume, all I really want to know is why you are so deceiving. You look so easy, like the hooker at the end of my street. But every time I wanna go get my rocks knocked I realize you could be a cop waiting to fuck me over. So resume, ho ho ho, don't fuck me, and help me get my jollies.

Merry Christmas,
Lost to Religion
Dear Shameless,

ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU for moving into a flat with four hot aussies!!!! The only thing hotter than one aussie is four aussies under one roof. And the only thing hotter than four aussies under one roof is four aussies under one roof with a CF in the middle.

Can't WAIT to Come Visit!,
Holy Shit, my vag is petrified now.

Dear Vibrator,

I am speechless. You caught fire. Super close to my vag. I really don't know what else to say to you about that. I am still staring at you in disbelief.

I am one hot lay,
Dear Life,

I liked you significantly more once i had woken up this morning to the familiar sound of air running through my heat vents. My cat seemed genuinely confused by it, but i think she has taken quite nicely to the change. Getting out of the shower is going to be so much more awesome this morning!

Happiest I've been in a long time-

(!!!!!!!!!!! heat in my apartment!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Dear Boyfriend: The Real Reason I Don't Want to Hear About Your New Phone

I think I should probably tell you about my issue with 'the phone' in writing because I have yet to be able to vocalize it, and you don't seem to get it. Or feel that there is not a problem, in the least. However, now it is just becoming a trigger for me, and I want to poke you through the temple with the really 'good' chopsticks every time you discover something 'new' about the phone so here goes:

We had a discussion a week ago about 'birthday's', and how you were so broke from not working for three months (due to the strike) and were wanting to catch up on your bills and such. I agreed and said we would do something in Mexico for both of our birthdays. You then called in sick for what I think was the 3rd time since you had been back to work in a period of a month (remember I have been working at least 12 hours a day with my new job since September, and am really, entirely, beat and really, really not into hearing you complain about your boring little job where you a) don't have to think and b) don't have to prove yourself a billion times a day), and then came home with a new $500 phone which you tell me you have put on your credit card. True, you needed a new phone. And I wouldn't have a problem with it, except that you seem to have a) totally forgot about my birthday and b) have not been able to stop talking about the phone since and c) have not made any attempt to pay back the money you have owed me since before the strike. Yet you have always had booze, drugs, a good time out, etc. (Oh, and earlier last week after I got home late (again) from work and you didn't feel like cooking and ordered a pizza and didn't want to 'put it on your credit card'….)

Honestly, I woke up on my birthday feeling rather annoyed, and the more I thought of it, the more annoyed I became. And the fact that I didn't even receive so much as a card, flowers, whatever, was a bit off-putting, not to mention embarrassing when people at the party asked about it. I don't know, but it just seems that I don't figure in the big picture. It was embarrassing to a point on Saturday when I had to take my head out of the oven to go and answer the door because you were too busy showing off your phone to our various guests.

So, yeah, basically I feel pretty much not very important, and also do not wish to hear any more about 'the phone'. Like seriously. Ever.
Dear Self,

You are up for a promotion at work. The boss said you are "at the top of his list." Try not to blow it by making idiotic and disrespectful remarks to that same boss while he's still in the process of sizing you up, seeing if you have the chops to make it as an editor. Be humble and keep your distance, moron. And keep your nose clean by staying off Dear Life when he could be walking up behind you.

With your best interests at heart,