Dear Girls Who Kiss Other Girls (aka lezzzbians)

Why do you turn me on so much.....? No, really, WHY?

I Like To Watch
Dear Random Guy (Part 2),

In my state of exhausted delirium post 3 day Adderoll binge, I thought I was imagining the text messages I kept getting during my nap. Turns out I was wrong, because I just opened my inbox and there you and your meatus are. Sure enough you have sent me more than one depiction of your bare, erect penis.

How interesting. I'd give it an 8. But... is that a manzillian? Something looks very 11 year old girlish about your smooth pubus.


God, I can't even function right now enough to appreciate this. So sad.

I Can't Be Held Responsible For Showing Every Person In The Bar This While Drinking, Or, Ya Know, Sober In The Office Tomorrow,
Dear Johnny Gill,

I just saw you on an old DVR'ed E! True Hollywood Story about New Edition. Damn, you still look good. Also, you should have won a Grammy for your vocal performance on "Can You Stand The Rain." My dream is to have you sing that song at my wedding, then I would ditch my new husband and run away with you. Just kidding. But seriously, you were always my fave member of NE.

Rub me the right way,

Dear semi-new consulting job,

I swore up and down for the past year that I wanted to get out of the stuffy finance industry, but you have recently sparked a little flame in my attitude. The past two weeks you have allowed me to think very critically AND use my superior analytical and quantitative skills in a way I have never imagined before. I especially love how my superiors are drooling over my creative spreadsheets with intense formulas and begging me not to leave for the advertising industry. In the short time I have worked for you I have already established myself as the go-to guy (even for the seniors, which has to be embarrassing for them) on the extremely difficult problem sets. My last job made me feel like I was doing math homework for 8 hours a day. You, however, allow me to take control of my own projects and make me feel like a real asset to the team.

Too bad there are no hipsters who work here and its still stuffy as hell,

Dear Patient,

I checked you in and out yesterday. You had a $20 co pay. I thought you were very cute, I love skinny guys with glasses and curly hair. Too bad its frowned upon to ask out patients and that I won't be in town when you come back to get your stiches out. Though it seems the universe is keeping us apart, I still want to keep only fond memories of you so please don't come back to the doc for anything gross like herpes. Thanks,

Dear Talking Heads,
Why is it that I always fall back in love with you when I go to that god awful frat bar? I think I get my jollies from loading up the club playlist with Pixies, Bowie, Tom Waits and you instead of the usual Sublime fest.
Also, why is my new fave Talking Heads song "Girlfriend Is Better" after what happened last weekend? Am I expecting dude to dedicate that song to me and his remorse over cheating with his new found dedication to gf? Whatevs, I'm better because *I* don't want to be a girlfriend.
Your song still rocks RISD style,
Dear men in their 20s who are intelligent, funny, STD free, sincere, attractive and interesting,

Ask me out. I need a date/bone.

Dear Guy Who Answered My Missed Connection To Chris,

Ok, I DON'T KNOW YOU.....AND your name is not 'Chris'. So maybe the fact that the post was entitled "Dear Chris" should have clued you in that I probably wasn't talking to you.

And stop asking me if I 'like to play games'. This is not sexy time. Get off me and my inbox.

Don't Loves It,
Dear Manchild,

Hey! How've you been since you called me an ice queen in my parking lot last night? Or wait, better question, how've you been since you left the country six weeks ago and begged me to wait for you? Sorry, I forgot, you answered that last night. Making out with other girls! THAT'S how you've been! You may have noticed that I was giggling while you were crying, but you have to admit, it is pretty funny when you try to lecture me about being more open and trusting...after admitting that you stuck your tongue in two other girls' mouths. Without telling me. For six weeks. It should make me feel better that literally EVERYONE I told about you told me that I was way too good for you, but instead it makes me feel kind of stupid.

Cheers from the Ice Palace,
Dear Attention Span,

Why are you so short? I realize my job is boring, but it's really hard to get anything done when you are just all over the place; forcing me to look at Facebook, talk on Gchat and stare into space aimlessly. Will you always be this fickle? How will I ever hold down a real job? I thought that Adderoll was only for stressed out college students, but if you don't shape up, desperate measures will have to be taken.

Took me 15 minutes just to write this email,


Dear Heartache,

Can you please go away now? You came around last week, but I thought that you'd decided to leave. Can you please stop making me feel like i have a deli slicer in my stomach? I mean seriously, its like something sharp is just twirling around in there... and its definetely getting at my other organs. Like you know, my heart? That hurts pretty fucking bad, like its being squeezed and crushed by something really heavy. No one even invited you--in fact, I was actually trying to reach your distant cousin, Commitment. Yeah, I left this voicemail about how I wanted Commitment to come by and visit me and my boyfriend because he could really use a visit from her, but I guess you got the message instead. Well, I guess its ok because he didn't want Commitment around anyway. Listen, can you at least tell me how long you are planning to stay? While I appreciate the fact that I'm probably gonna get really skinny and hot because the mere idea of food makes me want to vomit up my intestines, I also do need nutrition and stuff. So.. you know.. oh and sleep, I need that too.

Fucking hell,
Dear Random Guy,

Please stop trying to engage me in textual intercourse. I haven't responded to a single one of your relentless messages in at least 6 weeks. Unless you're sending me pictures of your privates, I'm not interested.

And pictures of you in your basketball shorts with a raging boner that you're grabbing doesn't make the cut.

Dear Not Feeling Any Need To Sleep Last Night,

You make me come up with really cool ideas...

Like, how this fall, when I start school again, to get myself excited about it, I'm going to pretend I'm returning to another year at Hogwarts to nurture my emerging magic skills.

Frankly, sleep stifles my creativity,
Dear Person With The Surprise Case Of Gonn(orhea),

I was reading about your predicament today. I came across this line on wikipedia.

"Men may complain of pain on urinating and thick, copious, urethral pus discharge (also known as gleet) is the most common presentation. Examination may show a reddened external urethral meatus."

I'm sorry, this is a serious situation, but I've been laughing at the word "meatus" all day. Hell, I'm laughing right now.

Rough Stuff,
Dear "Candies" (part 2),

Who knew I didn't need food for like 48 hours?

Dear Little Blue And Orange Pills That Make Me Feel Like I Will Never Sleep Again In 2007,

Thank you. Thank you so much.

Also, I appreciate you making me feel so wired I could run to Maine and back. If only my heart didn't feel like it was about to jump out of my pupils. I feel as jittery as I did the first time a guy felt me up.

Ok, I'm gonna go do like 180 toe-touches, run a few laps around my apartment complex, and throw up.

See Ya,
Dear Research Proposal Due in 7 Hours,

My blood pressure may or may not be skyrocketing right now. I've been writing you non-stop for the past fucking week and you're STILL not as pretty as I want you to be. I feel so much like Jessie Spano on caffeine pills right now (except in my case it would be A.D.D. candies-and maybe we could portray me in one of her Showgirls outfits instead of her typical SBTB culottes). There's never ANY TIME! God Zach Morris, FUCKING HOLD ME!!!

I can't handle this pressure. Wait, yes I can. I will not crack. This will not be a rerun of the 8th grade dance and I will not hide in the bathroom...I mean....I will not make you anything less than an amazing product for all to adore and use as an illustration of my astounding level of intelligence.

Mark My Words, I Will Dominate You By The End Of The Night(...and that's what she said),
Dear Northern Boys,

They always say that there's just something about those southern boys. Sure there's something to their wild, rusty, masculine, muscular, sweat dripping ways, but you've got an entirely too underappreciated and too often forgotten asshole charm to you. What is it about the way you say 'forget about it' that makes my pants drop? Your sexy accent and rude confidence turn me on, point blank. Your don't-give-a-shit attitude is appauling, but its fucking sexy and I want more. By just saying 'how you doin' you give skeeze a good name. There's something about your bad attitude that makes it ok for you to be an asshole. Southern boys act like they don't care and it hurts my feelings, but you do the same and I just want to ride you. Show me a good time with some badass sex. Throw me around, you fuggin animal. Southern charm my ass.

Monkey Bar me out of town,
Dear Recent Injuries Acquired Within A 12 Hour Period Between Saturday And Sunday,

Ouch! Why do you bitches have to be so damn painful? While it may be true that I am a whiny-ass little baby when it comes to my tolerance of pain, the degree of agony caused by your aggregate afflictions upon my person are more than most people would find comfortable. The worst part is that I can not even blame alcohol for your occurrences...well at least not one of them. Ultimately I would not trade you for the wonderfully fantastic fun that was had at the hoo-rah, but for future reference, it would be nice if you could go a little easier on me next time.

Hoping You Heal Soon,
Dear rando girl I woke up with in my bed Sunday morning,

Did we?

Still Trying To Put Together Saturday Night,

P.S. Apparently I asked my roommate for a condom and he didn’t have any so hopefully I was smart enough not to.
Dear X's Personal Assistant of Indeterminate Sexual Orientation,

When I first met you, I thought you were a homosexual, and I was overjoyed. What girl wouldn't want a new gay best friend soon to be her coworker? Your hair is very pretty. Today, though, when I stopped in to deliver X's mail, you stared me down for what was most certainly an inappropriate amount of time. Just so you know, it is perceived as odd when you don't look at the file I am placing in your hand and instead choose to stare directly and unblinkingly into my eyes. Plus, your slight wonkeye makes it all the more sketch. Please decide if you like the manmeat -- and I hope you decide you do -- so I can then make an appropriate judgment as to whether I will associate with you or awkwardly avoid your advances for the rest of my days.

Thanks So Much,
Dear Single Men In Their Twenties,

Get your shit together, THEN worry about talking to me.

Zero Interest In Your Nonsense,
Dear Assorted Homeless Men Outside My Office Building,

Thanks for consistently complimenting my clothes/appearance. It's nice to know someone notices.

Dear Devin from Columbia Ultimate Frisbee Summer League White Team,

Just because your team was not good enough to make it to the championship game does not mean you have to whine about it on the message board. Your ‘knee injury’ happened three weeks ago and I have seen you play multiple times since then, including the stomp Blue team put on you last week. That is such a weak excuse to not play in the undercard match. I broke my wrist last year at a tournament and continued to play after I got back from the emergency room, which automatically makes me more of a badass than you. It might have helped validate your argument if you didn’t start the thread explaining that you would rather heckle the championship game than play for 3rd place and then when we all gave you our opinions you changed your mind and said you have an injury that would prohibit you from playing. You think you are an ultimate stud, but you are, in actuality, an ultimate piece of shit. How about you sack up and play tonight so we don’t have a hollow victory over your team?

Would Rather Play A Competitive Game Than Roll Your Team To Victory,
Dear Bryce,

I was so flattered to have our encounter be so memorable for you that you decided to post a Missed Connection on Craigslist. However, you are an ugo a complete UGO! I was not sure that night if you were attractive or not (lets blame the tequila) but facebook has confirmed that I actually cannot be seen in public with you.


PS but your friend was kinda hot...from what I can remember..which isnt much.
Dear 14 yr old boy walking around DC without a shirt on,


Massie, C.F., and Shameless
Dear Craigslist,

You are the bomb diggity. Thanks to you my roommate and I just furnished our ENTIRE apartment for free. Seriously. I know that she and I are magically amazing people, and that fabulous things just happen to us spontaneously, but you played a crucial role in making my Sunday awesome. So thanks!

Craig, whoever you are, you da man,
Dear Friday,

Could you hurry up and be here please?

Thanks so much!
Dear 3rd Floor,

Why are you the hottest place in the library? Seriously, you are about twenty degrees warmer than Brad Pitt on his best days. Did you and the air conditioning have some kind of falling out? If so, you two should chill out and make up. Please. If not for me, then for the sake of the "document delivery" worker downstairs who probably doesn't want to get dragged up here and raped by a heat-crazed me.

Although, I guess, you can't rape the willing.

A little disturbed by the thought of making it with Mr. Document Delivery in the children's book section (but not entirely opposed to letting him "deliver" my "documents"),
Dear Guy Who Doesn't Drink (Part 3),

So we finally hooked up. And afterwards you said something like, "I'm usually not that quick, but you know how it is when you haven't had sex in a long time..."

Sorry, but I don't.

This is why I drink,
Dear People Who Keep Going Back To Their Shitty Exes,

I'm tired of watching my friends get dragged through hell and high waters because of someone lame, manipulative, deceitful, and/or crazy. In case you forgot, there are people out there who don't do ANY of the following shitty things:

* Call you names even Comedy Central doesn't allow AFTER midnight
* Lie pathologically
* Give you 'the clap'
* Bang your friends
* Suck the life out of you
* Ask you not to call the house when their wife/husband is home
* "Accidentally" forget to take her birth control 5 days in a row
* Threaten suicide if you break up with them
* Give you a curfew
* End up crying every time they drink around you
* Deny any interest in anyone else...cut to you finding recently tagged facebook pictures of him meeting the parents of a girl that looks just like you with the album title "My Amazing BF Meets My Fam <3"
* Break every electronic device you own after you swear you weren't flirting with the cashier at the convenience store
* Conference call you together with your mother the hour after you break up with them for the 82nd time
* Have no problem sleeping with you, but to think dating you is taking it 'too fast'
* Coincidentally show up everywhere you go that has the potential of being somewhere anyone of the opposite sex may be

The other fish in the sea may not know your favorite color yet, but they probably won't make you want to kill yourself either. It's called onward and upward, bitches. Mediocrity is for unhappy people.

Staying With A Psycho Makes Your Friends Think You're The Psycho,

"DON'T DRINK YOUR DIRTY BATHWATER" - Russian Prostitute (courtesy of Jessica)
Dear "Missed Connections" On Craigslist Today,

You make me so upset I could cry. I hate it when people pour their tiny little hearts out ( so upset that they forget to have any regard for grammar, punctuation, or spelling, THEN some bastards ( ; have to come along and rip the poor girl/guy to shreds. As if they're not in enough agony already.

I read you for entertainment and lighthearted fun. Not to read people crush each other's (maybe slightly hopeless) desires.

Ok, I know I'm being hypocritical, but I don't believe in making people feel that their long as they're not a sketch guy in a bar trying to get inside my skinny jeans. I may not be the nicest, but I don't like kicking crying puppies when they're down. Or reading about it.

Shape Up,

P.S. Yes, I'm aware that I am the darkest of pots calling the kettle black. I'M A WORK IN PROGRESS, OKAY?!
Dear Hipster Couples Walking Around The Village All Day,

I'm so jealous of you. Sure, my parents might think you need a good bar of soap, but I think you are so cool. I wish I could pull off having nappy hair, tattoed arms, and an angstly look. That is so hot. I want to be that. I feel like my closet full of the likes of J.Crew, The Gap, and Banana Republic aren't really conducive to your look though. Maybe I should go on that MTV show "Made" and get braces and say dorkily into a camera "I want to be a hipster. I want to be MADE!". That would be awesome. Maybe then I could score a hot-ass boyfriend with tats everywhere, clad in skinny jeans and a headband, and possessing slightly feminine features that tend to threaten the everyday alpha male.

Green With Envy,
Dear 3pm on a Saturday at IKEA,

This is what hell must be like. And why do you smell like cinnamon?

Saying extra prayers tonight,
Dear Aids and Fellow Dear Life Bloggers,

With all of the not so hott events going down in my life, reading your inner thoughts give me a little pleasure. Keep up the good work.

Hopelessly Devoted to you,

p.s. Aids, I really cannot wait for you and s.s. to break up. I miss you much more than Summer does. Come back to me, come back to me. And maybe I won't jump off a bridge!

Dear Life Blog,

You get around. In the past week you have been eye-fucked on every continent except for Antarctica.

Dear Past Me,

Remember when you said last night in an attempt to avoid the situation, "You know who handles complicated situation well? Future me." Yeah, bad idea. While quite the funny line, not so funny when future me wakes up as present me with future friend as present friend with his future girlfriend as present girlfriend still out of town.

Damn You Stephen Hawking And The Space-Time Continuum,
present me, also known as "future me" from last night
Dear Summer,

My tan has faded, my bank account is overflowing, and I haven't had a drink in who knows how long. Instead of laying around in a bikini putting in barely enough effort to perspire, I'm strung out on Adderall nose-deep in research designs. I hate that we're not together.

Let's not make things harder and blame our split on summer school. That's neither here not there at this point. And truthfully, I don't even like summer school. I'm only involved with summer school out of obligation. If I had my choice, you would be it.

Anyway, I really miss you. I don't even know you anymore. I can't feel you're there. I can't connect with you. What happened to us?! I lie awake thinking about you at night, all the other people getting to enjoy you. It kills me to know you've been with others in my absence....probably in the pool, on the beach, in the ocean...(sigh)

Come know we're great together. Everyone says so.

I'm pleading with you, is there ANY WAY we can get what we had back? Maybe August is our month for steamy nights.

I'm breaking up with summer school next week. I'll be wide open. Call me.

Without You, My Skies Are Grey,

P.S. Say you miss me and my bikini too.
Dear Dizzy Spells,

I thought we were over. Why did you have to come back? You make me scarier than Linda Blair. Plus, if you really need to throw me out of my chair and go down on me, could we not do it in class? The floor of my apartment is much softer.
Not so into vertigo,
Dear Last Night's Bartenders,

Thank you for pouring the tequila with a heavy hand. I got obliterated enough that I could deal with the fact that the only people who asked me to dance at the club were a 70-year-old chain-smoker and a rather large fellow with an apparent need for any sort of female attention, but not so trashed that I felt the need to die at any point in the evening/this morning. I appreciate that. And speaking of last night, if the only males with enough balls to pay me any attention are either one foot in the grave or probably wishing desperately that they had lots of twinkies with them, well it's just proof that men as a whole are hopeless-- as evidenced further by the fact that I drunk-dialed my long-term crush/former hook-up/best hope for producing smart kids to make suggestive innuendos involving the washing machine, and he told me I woke him up from a needed sleep because he'd spent the prior night in jail (strike one) after getting arrested while on probation for DUI (strike two) while on a blind date (strike three). (He says they were just "hanging out" in his truck in the park. Sure they were. I've been in that truck. I know what being in that truck leads to, and it's not *just* discussions of the Middle East.)

Anyway, thanks again for the booze. Hope you appreciated your tips.

Happily drunk is the way to be,
Dear Body,

Maybe we could try this new thing called 'working out'. It's supposed to be really good for you. Think it over.

Just A Suggestion,
Dear White Hairs I Keep Finding On My Head,

There is something entirely wrong with this picture. This should not be happening. I just hit puberty like yesterday.

Freaked Out,
Dear Crassness, Vulgarity, and Profanity,

You are great for shock value and giggling, but I think you need to be SLIGHTLY tamed. You are turning me into Bob Saget....and not the Danny Tanner version.

Trying To Cling On To The Last Shred Of 'Lady' Left In Me,
Dear Avocados,

You are a major weakness for me. I'm concerned about how much I consume of you in a given week. This can't be normal. If I had to choose between a mouthful of Justin Timbs or you, let's just say it would be a close one.

Dear Tween Boy Sitting Behind Me At Fido On A Friday Night,

Please stop screeching, singing in a falsetto voice, and pretending you are sexually attracted to women. I'm trying to work over here. If the giant amount of papers spilled out in front of me didn't clue you in...I'm kind of a big deal. Ok, not really. But more of a big deal than someone whose claim to fame is probably being Clay Aiken's biggest fan. I have a massive research report due in three days and I really don't have time to waste listening to you say "OH-MY-GOYDDDD!" one more time.

Go Tween Out Somewhere Else,

P.S. I'm using the term 'tween' loosely considering you are actually probably about 20 years old.
Dear Life Blog,

You have grown more popular for me to read in one sitting due to my poor attention span and alcoholic nature. Congrats to the popularity...and the hilarity!

Rolling at my desk,
Dear Fergie, commonly (but most certainly not fondly) known as "Fuggie,"

Don't listen to them. I love you. You're totally bangin and I would definitely hit that. Along with your smokin' bod, you have many other desirable qualities. One of them being that you are compassionate enough to share your knowledge of spelling with the world. Thanks to you, I can now never spell glamorous incorrectly.

Without You I'd Never Win A Spelling Competition,
Dear Java Chip Frappuccino Light,

How is it possible to fit your orgasmic taste into a tiny 160 calories and 3.5 grams of fat? That's like trying to fit all of my curvaceous bod into a pair of size 4 designer jeans -- something that could only happen in my wildest of dreams. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen the hot Starbucks barista whipping you up with my own eyes. The time we spent together this afternoon was better than an hour alone with my long-distance boyfriend (but don't tell him I said so).

Digging every inch of your chocolate-coffee goodness and longing for our next rendezvous,
Dear People Without A Sense of Humor,

Do yourself a favor and don't read my blog. Also, consider pursuing a career with minimal interpersonal interaction because no one likes you.

Dear Steph,

Her name is Stacy, not Sarah. You just wrote a scathing epistolary tirade to the Duchess of York. Now, while I loathe Fergie and her fugface just as much as the next girl, I will not stand for your bitter words directed at the Holy Grail of annoying dance music; My Humps. Just try not to dance about wildly when that song comes on! I dare you! That song is a masterpiece and you know it. Say what you want about Fuggie, but leave my humps out of it.

It WAS Awesome When She Got Torn Apart By Zombies Though,
Dear High School Friend's Girlfriend Trying to Give Me Legal Advice,

I'm sure whatever you were saying last night was very helpful and sage. Unfortunately, the assorted condiments sloppily falling off my hotdog onto my outfit/leg and my slurred speech/impaired balance/extreme enthusiasm should have tipped you off that I wasn't in a condition to effectively listen.

Appreciate It Anyway,

Dear Metro Crush,

I see you every morning waiting for the Orange line, and I know you've noticed me too. We like to ride in the same car and exchange shy, but interested, glances. You are so adorable, like a clean-cut Billy Joe Armstrong. I thought things were going really well until one morning you reached into your bag and pulled out…a bible. A bible! WTF? And you brought it the next day too. I can't fantasize about hot metro sex when you are over there with your nose stuck in the Book of Mark. Sorry Billie Joe, you are clearly not the undercover rock sex god I'd imagined.

Still checking you out though…

Thanks so much!


Dear Sarah Ferguson, known to her fans as "Fergie",

I really despise you. I found you tolerable when you were with the Black Eyed Peas making thoughtless but totally fun dance music. I may have thought you were a little funny looking, with your weirdly haggard face but totally hot body, but I never really gave you much thought.

Then came My Humps. Possibly the worst song I have ever heard played on mainstream radio. Not only is your voice atrocious, but the lyrics to this "song" are without a doubt the stupidest thing I've ever heard. "My lovely lady lumps?" really? You make breasts sound like some kind of tumor. It's gross. You make all female kind look bad.

For some unfathomable reason, people seem to like you. Maybe they are masochists, maybe they are even more tone deaf then myself, maybe they are just stupid, I don't know what it is, but for the past year I have been constantly assaulted with singles from your solo album. They are obnoxious, grating gibberish. I feel stupider every time I hear them. Yet they are on ALL THE TIME. And they worm into my brain, so that I find myself humming "g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s" under my breath at work and am filled with horrible self-loathing.

Fergie, I am begging you, for the sake of all mankind, please cease and desist making music immediately. Your voice is painful to hear and your crimes against the English language are absolutely unforgivable. Honestly, with your horsey face and your strained voice, I'm unsure why you are on my radio at all. Your only redeeming quality is that you were once torn apart by flesh eating zombies in the movie Grindhouse.

That was awesome.

Thanks so much!


Dear David Beckham,

Sometimes, when I'm having a bad day, I think about you rubbing your tattoos all over my body. Or slathering your speedo in peanutbutter and licking it.

Love Always,
Dear Generic Brand of Birth Control

You fucked me up! So what if i am not getting laid what if I wanted to save myself another embarrassing encounter with the gyno and save $10 a month by not refilling my prescription? But did you have to put my cycle in hibernation? If there was a chance of me being prego I would be worried but whenever I think about how late I am, I am just reminded of how long its been since I got some...thanks.

Pissy And Unable To Blame It On Hormones
Dear Back,

You make me feel decrepit at the ripe age of 23. Years of being tossed through the air, lifting girls above my head, and catching the weight of a human body has taken a toll on you. Thank God I retired my pom poms when I did. Having an excuse for people to stare at me in a short skirt was not worth the fact that I will have a cane and a hump by the time I'm 35. And probably a few hernias for good measure. This is not good.

In Need OF Some Advil And A Man With Strong But Gentle Hands,
Dear Today,

I plan to spend you productively. We'll see how that pans out. HA!

Dear Newspaper Reporter,

Sorry, but like 95% of the stuff I told you about myself in that interview isn't true. Please don't take it personally, I do this with all reporters.

I Need A New Hobby,
Dear Life,

All things considered, you rock.

Keep up the good work,
Dear Alcoholic Neighbor,

While babysitting your 3 year old today, i found some of what she said while playing barbies to be quite disturbing. I am fairly certain it is not normal for a child of that age to play out a scene in which "mommy barbie" is going to the "beer store" every 5 minutes, ultimately resulting in "mommy barbie" taking her clothes off and falling down. You may want to consider censoring some of your actions while your child is present.

And another thing...when you came home today at 1 in the afternoon, you offered me a beer. Again, not quite so normal.

Wondering how your child is still alive,
Dear Cracked Out Looking James Brown Wannabe With Gold Fronts At The Bar,

Thanks for getting me hammered drunk on your tab. my name is not actually tallullah, i just told you that because i found it hilarious. no, i don't want to get to know you, yes, i really do have a phone, but there's no way in hell you're getting my number.

Get Off Me,
Dear Chain Letters,

I'm convinced that people who send you are morons. The thing is, since I was 13 years old, I've deleted every chain letter I've received and BY THE GRACE Of GOD, the love of my life has never disappeared into thin air, or been diagnosed with a rare fatal disease the next day.

You Are About As Effective As The Rhythm Method,
Dear Sara Lee,

There was no need to provide everyone at the game 3 free loaves of bread. I don't need all this. Please take this stuff down the street and feed the people who really need it because I am way too drunk to remember how to make a sandwich.

Thank youuuuuu.
Dear Pre-Menstrual Bloat,

You tricksy biotch. Thanks for scaring the shit out of me all week as I thought I had gained four pounds despite eating a low-calorie diet, running three miles regularly, and lifting weights. You are a crafty one, hitting me where it hurts. It was even funnier when you didn't let me take a shit all week, either, despite furious dosages of Fibercon. If you pull this stunt again I am going to get myself some Seasonale, so tread lightly.

Happy to have my bangin' bod back,

PS - Thanks for not giving me any zits, though.
Dear Ex-boyfriend,

Though we originally broke up because you were being a shady shitbag, I now have a whole new reason to be pissed. It has recently come to my attention that the bitch you were being shady with is FAT. And not in a cute chubby, or excusably plump sort of way. Like in a "can't say no to donuts after an ice-cream cake and hot fudge sundae binge," sort of way. It would be MORE excusable if you were flirting with the likes of an Alessandra Ambrosio look-a-like or even a young Elle McPherson (or old, whateve, she still rocks it). That wouldn't hurt my pride, because let's be honest, I would do them if I had a chance. But alas, no.

I find myself wondering, what was the attraction? Was it her big Lane Bryant panties that conveniently doubled as a party tent? Or was it the cream cheese frosting that so effortlessly sat on her chin? Did you find that if you were lucky a large piece of roast beef would be stuck in her teeth and sometimes she would share with you? Or could it be that she's one of those brave *oblivious* people who believes that because they make it in her size, she was meant to wear it (Sidenote to slut: Honey, that's what Dress Barn DOES. And they're lying to you. You do look like a sausage.)

I find myself perplexed by this situation all the while having a strange desire to eat lettuce and do push-ups.

Go back to your fat chick, I'm busy fucking your friends,

Dear Plethora Of People With Blogs Much Wittier And Intellectual Than Mine,

I like to pretend you do not exist.

Dear Desperate Landlords:

When I advertised on Craigslist that I am interested in a 2br near the metro in Washington, DC, I mean that I am interested in a 2BR NEAR A METRO IN WASHINGTON DC! That is not code for me wanting to live anywhere BUT DC and AS FAR AWAY FROM A METRO AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE!

Please stop sending me emails trying to pawn off your dank Maryland or super inconvenient NVA properties on my roommate and I! I don't care how modern your kitchen is or how spacious the bedrooms are if we are going to need to commute more than desired (read post below about annoying tourists on morning commute)! Opening your photo attachments will not lead me to reevaluating my desired live style or change my cemented stereotypes against MD.

Fuck Off,
Dear Tourists Hindering My Morning Commute,

WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT! GOD DAMMIT! Are you absolutely oblivious to the throngs of cranky businesspeople shuffling past you on the escalator as you stand cluelessly with your bright orange fanny packs? We have devised and intricate system that places us at our desks at exactly 9:00am, and if we have to run over your fat asses so that our boss won't yell at us, don't think we won't hesitate to push you and your three whiny rugrats out of the way.

Starbucks-less Thanks to You, and VERY Cranky,
Dear Life,

Today on my morning walk to the metro, I saw two separate old men shuffling to the front curb in their silly pj sets and goofy slippers/boat shoes to get the morning paper. They were old and wrinkly, and I was jealous of them. Working sucks. Can you just fast forward to the retirement part?

Much appreciated,
Dear Jessica Cutler,

Pardon me for saying this, but you have the most perfect vagina I have ever seen. My gay boyfriend agrees. Frankly, you make me feel inadequate. My no-no place is not nearly as aesthically appealing. I'm really insecure now.

Chalk it up to being bored and perusing google images.


P.S. I swear I'm not a total lez.
Dear Smoked Gouda That I'm Eating While I Drink This Valpolicella While "Working",

You're pretty boss, yourself. If I was a ladycheese and you was a mancheese I would so want to do you. Instead, though, keep on having a party in Claire's mouth, mmmm, yeah!

Love forever (and apparently a little sex-starved?),
Dear Valpolicella That I Drink When I'm Working at Home (i.e., now),


Warmest, tenderest, red-faced regards,
Dear Tira,

Why are you the best dog in the whole wide world?! Because of you, I barely like any other dog. I am so in love with you. Thank goodness you're mine. You are perfect because you are extremely good-looking, highly intelligent, and make out with me at the appropriate times. Somehow you have no desire to hump, bark, or smell/lick other dog's holes/excrement. Miraculously, you don't even smell like a dog, but more like a dream. It's beyond me why you're 4 and your breath is still a garden of roses. You are like the Jesus of dogs.

Lick me,

Dear Beyonce,

You make millions of dollars. Your boyfriend is one of the biggest entrepreneurs the rap world has ever seen. You lie about your age. And your signature pose consists of you showing off your armpits.

I don't feel bad laughing at your latest misfortune on youtube.

I Guess You're Still Bootylicious Though,
Dear Michael Vick,

My dog told me to tell you she effing hates you.

Dear OK! Magazine,

Sack up and print the pictures that everyone wants to see. Who cares if they may cause Brit to hate your publication or result in her losing custody of her children to KFed? They will get leaked sooner or later regardless. Just do it.

Dear Michael Vick,

You disgust me and should be shot.

Dear "Dear Life Blog",
Why do you not update every time I hit the refresh button, providing me with hours of entertainment and serve as a useful tool for procrastination?
Please Don't Make Me Get A Life,
Dear Life,

FYI if you don't get yourself together today, you just might be homeless. Besides the fact that you only have 5 days to find a roommate, a place to live, movers, a job and several hundred dollars are MIA... you just may end up vomiting and then chocking on your own puke. Good work, you really did well with yourself. You asshole.

Get it together, You loser,
Dear Nausea,

Fuck you.

I'm a little disappointed you decided to infect yourself in my body on an evening a lot of my favorite things were going down. Thanks to you, I am not getting laid tonight, sticking anything up my nose or ending the evening with an entirely new outlook on life... how even MORE fabulous I am than the day before.

Life, you're a bitch sometimes,
Dear Roommates,

Stop leaving me home alone to go out of town every weekend. There's only so much intellectual stimulation my big black dildo(favorite coffee table decoration) can provide.

Dear Hollywood's "It Girls",

Who am I supposed to idolize when all of your lives are violently spiraling out of control?! GAH, LOHAN! You JUST got out of rehab the other day and already you've been arrested for another DUI charge and cocaine possession. I blame my recent arrest on the confused message you send to young women like myself. BRITNEY, crikey, your erratic behavior is scaring everyone. Not to mention, it should be illegal for you to wear anything that shows your bare ass until you lose some of that lingering baby weight. Cellulite is not for pop princesses. PARIS, duh. There is nothing to say about you. NICOLE, you're knocked up. And probably going to jail. That orange jumpsuit is gonna look fierce on the baby bump of your illegitimate child. You bitches need to sack up. Your disappointing behavior is ruining my life.

God Heal Them,

P.S. If you all end up in the slammer and leave me with only paparazzi shots of Dakota Fanning and other lame-oid D-listers I'm moving to the Himalayas to do some serious soul searching.
Dear Slightly Balding 40-Something Coworker,

You are too short for my tastes and your hair is kinda thinning. However, you are arrogant, cocky, and -let's be real- rich. All of the above really turn me on. When you walked out of the office the other night in your all-spandex biking home outfit, I almost creamed my pants. If you were married then I'd REALLY want to bone you.

Yes I WAS Checking Out Your Hot Ass,
Dear Much Too Expensive Retail Purchase Of The Day,

I heart you major. You make me look skinny and my tots look bangalicious. Ugh, why I do feel so guilty every time I look down at that bag on the floor?! Probably because there are starving children all over the globe who don't give a shit what my bod looks like in my 567th little black dress.

Damn Conscience,
Dear Mom,

I live 20 minutes away from you. You don't HAVE to send me bi-monthly Hallmark cards in the mail underlining your favorite parts and telling me how much God loves me.

You Could Just Call Me, Goof,
Dear Massage Therapist,

Not positive, but from a professional standpoint, I don't think you were supposed to blatantly ogle my breasts when I flipped over beneath your sheet. Actually I'm pretty sure your job was to keep me covered, not expose me.

Whatever, Keep Touching Me,

P.S. If you were gonna do that shit, you coulda at least sprung for a happy ending....I kid. I kid.
Dear Life,

Why do you have to fuck with us so much all the time? You make us suffer forever looking for someone to love, then you finally let us have a little happiness for a while and let us believe that everything will be OK, only to snatch it all away again. Seriously, what is wrong with you? Why can't I just freaking be in love and not have my relationship dangling on the edge of a cliff for no real reason, or even any reason that makes any sense? Ugh, you really disgust me right now.

I Don't Want To Be Alone,
Dear Co-worker,

Is it vital for you to always place your hand on my shoulders/arm/anywhere skin is exposed, every time we have a conversation, and to keep your hand there from the beginning to the end of our convo? I did enjoy the moment in which you went off for 20 min about how much potential I have, but do you need to stare at me whenever we are within eyesight? Did you not get the clue that I do not want to talk to you after repeatedly refusing to go out to lunch with you because I would rather sit at my desk, or how I always answer the phone when you seem like you might want to chat because you make me cringe?

You sketch me out.

PS I saw you checking out my ass while I passed you on the stairs have a daughter and are married... and no I don't have daddy issues I want you to help me resolve.
Dear 'Blohan',

Get your life together. Nevertheless, I enjoy you giving me something to read every day while bored at work. I hope an orange jumpsuit wont clash too bad with your hair/complexion. I know I couldn't pull it off.

Dear New Crush (part 2),

I know I intimidate you, but I need you to be a little more forceful. Stop being shy, bend me over, and pull my hair...hard. I promise I'll like it.

Dear Chris Brown,
You are incredibly sexual and it makes me feel slightly dirty even saying that considering you are a mere 18 years old and there is a 5 year age difference between us. Yet, your soulful voice and insanely hot dance moves fool girls like myself into thinking that you are very mature (in more ways than one). I love drooling over your perfect pectorals and picturing the BBC while you serenade me with the likes of "Run It." And no, my man ain't on the floor...
Thinking about your pop & lock,
PS: I am now forever afraid to use the word "however." I don't think I can live without it in my vocab. Someone needs to inform me of the correct usage immediately. Thanks.
Dear Sex,

Why do I suck at you so bad lately? I know it can't be a coincidence and the last three guys I've slept with were the ones who sucked. They weren't ugly... and I was even drunk. This cannot be happening. Having a baby ruined everything!! How do single moms with no sex drive get married in this town?

Roofie Me So I Can Stop Fucking Up My Reputation,
Dear Asparagus,

Why do you make my pee smell? That's just weird.

Dear People,

It has been called to my attention that I've been using the word "however" improperly. The fact that someone else noticed this and judged me for it makes me want to run into moving traffic. How am I supposed to portray myself as elite/perfect if I make a mistake in this life?

Stop paying attention to my grammatical errors and concentrate on how astoundingly witty I am!

If anyone has anything else to say about my spelling, word usage, or heinous run-on sentence structure, you can just go ahead and get off me. Writing was never a strength for me. Good thing I'm gorgeous.


P.S. OMG, I just reread my post to roommate seeker and realized I used the wrong spelling for "their". I'm selling myself into to slavery (and giving the profits to everyone who can properly form sentences).
Dear Last Night's Date,

Sorry for the following things:

Bringing my raging alcoholic friend with me to the charity event you invited me to, who then went on to offend everyone in the room by calling your female coworkers "dykes."

Making you pay for the blow.

Lezing out with my friend in front of you.

Spending half an hour in the ladies room doing drugs.

Making you buy me and my friend dinner even though we couldn't eat any of it.

Call me?
Dear Dorkus In The "Cock And Balls" Shirt Sitting Next To Me In The Computer Lab,

Please put your shoes back on. Your feet are sicking me out. I don't even care if you see this. Maybe it will prompt you to put those dirty sausage toes back in some footwear.

Dear Ted "like the bear" -as you said-

Yes, a 15 year age difference is a big deal, especially if you are not in fact a sexy congressman or businessman that could afford to win my affection. In fact, you are a 36 yr old man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, hanging out at a bar that targets mid-late 20 yr the bar is in the yuppy part of town..the girls there have expectations. Better luck at some dive bar in Maryland. Additionally, no you may not have some of our nachos..but feel free to buy me as many drinks as you want.

Sitting by yourself at a table bobbing your head to the music as you stare at my friend and I only ADDS to your patheticness.


PS- was the bill a little heavy? The waitress thought you were a weirdo and gave us the topshelf liquor for all the drinks you bought us
Dear Demon Possessed Water Heater,

Thank you for waiting until I was home to begin protruding smoke seconds before you burst into flames. How convenient that the clock struck midnight, making it my birthday, when you leaked out a nauseating sent of burnt metal and plastic. Granted the Nashville Fire Department did wish me merry birthday wishes as they put out the raging flames in a timely manner. Also, the Fire Marshal was kind enough to come knocking on my door at 8 am, but next year lets keep the flames on the cake that I didn't get to have this year, instead of in my closet.

Wish I Had Marshmallows,
Dear Errn,

The last several men I've dated have done grandiose things with their lives including volunteering in nursing homes, working with kids with disabilities, spending their summers as mentors to young boys, and modestly receiving countless awards of achievement and humility. Turns out 'nice guys' still have no problem dropkicking you in the teeth. After your dog/best friend dies. And probably on Valentine's Day.

BIGGEST LESSON LEARNED: Just because someone's good on paper, doesn't mean they have a kind heart. Without that, they're no better than Ted Bundy.

Don't Put Anyone Else Above You,
Dear Really Nice Guy with Really Nice Shoulders,

Okay, so I'm aware that we could potentially have something more than these random make out sessions. And I am aware that I am playing hard to get. But the truth is, I'm a little bit intimidated by your eight houses, 12 credit cards that your parents pay for, your college degree and your dedication to your baseball team and your perfect family. I've never been "involved" with a nice guy before and while it sounds appealing, I'm afraid of screwing this one up. I come from a broken home, I'm a high school/college drop out and I even have a lot of baggage... so to love me will be difficult. I'm not sure if I am good enough for you.

Although I do want you,
Dear Disgruntled Employee,

I am sorry that the few brief make-out sessions that we had while I was utterly intoxicated make you feel that you have the right to come to work and act little a moody bitch every day (though these situations occurred six months ago) whenever I check out the mailman or talk about the hot piece of ass I tried to snatch up last night. I am sorry that you cannot seem to control your emotions, but let's face it...that's really your problem, not mine...isn't it? So let's stop kidding ourselves about a non-existent moment and move on to other the hot mailman, or the hot piece of ass I was trying to snatch last night. Furthermore, your questionable sexual preference is starting to make me uncomfortable. Don't turn my alcoholism into a foray for experimentations into whether you are really a raging homo or not (and if you are- that's great...let's go shopping for shoes and hair care products!).

Kisses! (just kidding),
Dear Interlibrary Loan,

Thank you for finding the research I desired from the depths of the Earth. Unfortunately, I can't read these articles because I can't speak, nor read, German OR Polish/Latvian/Swahelee/Whatever the fuck this language is.

Thanks for nothing,

P.S. Next time don't go to the trouble of translating the title/abstract in English. That's just an unnecessary if I'm gonna need the fuggin Rosetta Stone to figure out the meaning of a single word within 18 sheets of unrecognizable letters and symbols.
Dear Aids,

I thoroughly enjoyed our time together on Thursday. Driving down W. End in your hott ass rental PT Granny Cruiser is major. Then, sitting around watching BET and talking to each other on the phone while sitting next to each other (a must-do again). I was completely satisfied with tapping into what runs through your fascinating head on a daily basis in an oral manner. Dear Life is even better when you say it out loud. It takes it beyond the "meditations that would otherwise go unheard".

You made my horrific mood change due to psycho lesbo bosses, with your incurable laughing disease,
Dear Friend,

It was fabulous to talk to you today. I'm sorry to hear that you will be having surgery this week because you too are having vag issues. Apparently you have an ovarian cyst. That really blows. What blows the worst is that I just personally researched your condition further via the Internet. What I found was shocking. Turns out there may be teeth, hair, and bones in that little effer. Truth be told, I have no idea what's going on with downtown, but if I had an object removed from my baby-maker containing teeth and/or hair, I would probably choke on my own vomit and die. Or just kill myself.

I Still Love You, And The Mutant Inside Your Fallopian Tubes,
Dear Readers,

My friend, Christopher, is way more into my blog than I am. He decided to put analytics on it. Apparently, I have people from 14 countries reading my shit. That's hot. Who knew people in Malaysia wanted to know about the latest bump that showed up on my vagina? I can't help it that I'm so fucking popular.

Dear DearLife readers,

Who knew that I could vent to people in Pretoria, South Africa and Kuala Lumpur on this thing-- and that was just yesterday! Just like Alcoholics Anonymous-- keep coming back!

Dear Nashville gay bars,

There are only four of you worth going to. This is pathetic. I come from a city of clouds and fog and rotting wood salty and drifting in the wind where there are hundreds of options for twirlers and trannies alike. Why is it that whenever I go to you I run into at least five people I have no interest
in seeing. God, it's almost more fun to be straight in this town. I can't even get any play when I'm wasted and effusive! Africa stole my game! Maybe it's for the best that I stop going to these memory holes.

Dear Sketchtastic Octegenarian Realtor,

In the future please refrain from making comments about the fact that you can see up my skirt when I walk up the stairs ahead of you. I slept 3 hrs last night, still reek of tequila and cigarettes, and I threw this dress on in the dark while trying not to vom and make it out the door for our 9am appointment. So yes, I failed to notice the fact that it's mildly see-through and manages to show you both part of my bra AND my underwear. This does not give you a free pass to check out my ass and then make disapproving comments. So what if i'm kind of a slut?

Thanking God I Wore Panties Out Last Night,
Dear Senior Citizens That I Pressured Into Making Out In The Middle Of A Bar,

That was hot.

Loves It,
Dear Pedophiles On Dateline NBC's 'To Catch A Predator',

Beside the fact that you all have erotic fantasies about prepubescent children, another commonality I have recognized among you bastards is that, of course, you are all wearing mandals. Maybe strappy footwear makes you think you are more appealing to a tween mind?

You Are Heinous,
Dear Selfish Immature Asshole,

You have freakishly long nipples, you are NOT a very good kisser, you black out and sleep with people that are not me, and your eyebrows are kind of weird. Why would I ever go behind my best friend's back to hook up with you? Please stop texting me frowny faces/drunk dialing me every weekend. If you are going to choose to go back to her then leave me out of it.


P.S. You are kind of an idiot.
Dear Mr. P. Niss (cont.),

We have further reviewed our response with counsel and human resources, and we have determined there are additional outstanding issues.

Apparently your loyalties are questionable.

It has come to light you are moonlighting with Mr. Palmer on a regular basis.

Lastly your replacement, Mr. Dill Doe, while a bit less enthusiastic, is still adequately filling your job.

With all this in mind, perhaps if you can commit to this workplace we would entertain a full-time relationship. Please advise us of your interest in this.

V. Gina
Dear Taco Bell On The Way Home From The Bar,

In theory, you were a good idea. At 3:38 am when I woke up with extreme nausea and vomited you up (partially through my nose) in the same chunky, thick consistency as gaucamole, I begged to differ.

Dear Rain,

Do you think it's appropriate to rain 5 inches in about four hours, when you know damn well I am travelling north on what would be a six hour journey? Thanks to your inconsiderate self, the journey ended up being ELEVEN hours. I hope the sun comes out and dries you up once and for all.

Praying For A Drought
Dear Claire,

I agree profusely. Clearly, we are both examples of fantastic human beings and should immediately proceed in striking up this soon-to-be bangin friendship, so that together we can make the world a better place (of spelling) for all.

Filled With Feelings Of New Enlightenment,
Dear New Crush,

I'm really excited about you because I haven't been super attracted to someone in quite some time. Tonight when we were dancing my heart got that pitter-patter which I'd long forgotten about. I am starting to get worried though, already recognizing that I'm falling into old patterns. A.) You are a cocky bastard like every other guy I allow myself to have feelings for and B.) AGAIN, I'm breaking the golden rule, "don't shit where you eat" because you go to my school and hang around the same crowd. This is potential for disaster and I'm mad at myself for being in this conondrum once again. However, you're having a party tomorrow and all of this won't stop me from hooking up with you.

Dear Baby Crocodile Who Was Brought Into A Preschool Class And Groped By 30+ Small Children With Snot Pouring Out Of Their Baby Noses,

As if living a life in captivity and having a rubberband constantly around your snout wasn't enough! I'm so sorry for you. You poor, poor animal.

You Shoulda Karate-Kicked That Tot Who Wouldn't Stop Yanking Your Tail,
Dear 5 y.o. With A Grill,

Why am I not surprised to find out you're the one your teachers think has aggression issues?

Don't Bust A Cap In My Ass On The Playground For Saying That,
(this came from an e-mail, but I thought it was very 'Dear Life' appropriate)

To Whomever It May Concern:

I, the Penis, hereby request a raise in salary for the following reasons:
I do physical labor.
I work at great depths.
I plunge headfirst into everything I do.
I do not get weekends or public holidays off.
I work in a damp environment.
I work in a dark workplace that has poor ventilation.
I work in high temperatures.
My work exposes me to contagious diseases.

P. Niss

The Response:

Dear P. Niss,

After assessing your request, and considering the arguments you have raised, the administration rejects your request for the following reasons:
You do not work 8 hours straight.
You fall asleep after brief work periods.
You do not always follow the orders of the management team.
You do not stay in your designated area and are often seen visiting other locations.
You do not take initiative - you need to be pressured and stimulated in order to start working.
You leave the workplace rather messy at the end of your shift.
You don't always observe necessary safety regulations, such as wearing the correct protective clothing.
You will retire well before you are 65.
You are unable to work double shifts.
You sometimes leave your designated work area before you have completed assigned task.
And if that were not all, you have been seen constantly entering and exiting the workplace carrying two suspicious-looking bags.

V. Gina
Dear J,

You did NOT refuse to have sex with me because it wouldn't be "fair" to your girlfriend, did you? I hope I made that up because I was too drunk to function. I think we passed the point of being fair to her when we started making out on my couch. Or, back when we made out at my work. Ok, so maybe you did refuse me, but you also called me this morning to tell me you hoped we would talk before I leave for the beach on Saturday. You "like talking to me"? I like not being turned down for sex. That's never happened to me. If i didn't need your partner to be my lawyer for my DUI, I would probably never speak to you again.

Make up your mind, Douchebag.

You Aren't A Very Good Kisser,

P.S. You let me *drive* in the state I was in? After we discussed how to proceed with my DUI? What kind of lawyer are you?
Dear Major Bitch At Losers and Your Cocky Ass Bartender Boyfriend,

Don't you have anything better to do than make people's lives miserable? I apologize for commenting on your hair. I didn't realize that was rude. My bad.

You Can Eff Off Now, and No I Won't Be Doing You Or Anyone You Know's Hair, Bitches,
Dear God,

Thanks for punishing my egocentrism by making me wake up with a horrendous stye over my eye. The eyelid is puffed over and I look like a cyclops. A not-cute cyclops. Sweet.

Dear Run-on Sentences,

You are the death of me and my credibility as a decent writer.

Shamed By You,
Dear Craigslist,

Missed Connections, Casual Encounters, and the general Personals- you provide numerous sketchy avenues for lonely city singles to hook up. However, I would like to say thank you for your lesser known and slightly more legitimate outlet for meeting hot, young, professional Charlotteans- the real estate section. In my search for a townhome/condo, I have now toured the properties 3 very attractive, very available young male real estate moguels. It doesn't hurt that I get off on the fact that they are showing me what could potentially be my new bedroom I daydream about whether or not they will cut my rent in return for assorted sexual favors.

Once I secure a new home, I will undoubtedly continue to peruse the rentals section and set up appointments with the proprieters of various listings in hopes that I will keep meeting amazing men through this untapped resource.

Be my landlord,
Dear everyone,

Why do you get mad at us for being so narcissistic? We're not hurting anyone and we look good. What's the problem?

Over it,
A & C
Dear selfabsorption,

Why do I look so good in the mirror. I could stare at me for hours.

C AKA Narcissus
Dear Life,

Why are you so much easier when you are noticeably more attractive than 99.9% of humanity?

Love, Chris & Adrienne

P.S. The only pitfall is getting pulled over because you're so hot and arrested because the cops are so desperate to get us in handcuffs in the back seat.
Dear Cigarettes (Part 2),

I am almost over you and I can't help but be reminded of my ex boyfriend from a few years ago. I tried breaking up with him once, but after only a couple of weeks I gave in and took him back even though I knew he was bad for me. However, soon after we finally broke up for good, I realized that, although he was sometimes fun to be around, he was also a lazy fat ass who, much like you, smelled bad, made me spend a lot of money on him, and never did anything nice for me. So… I'm glad you're gone.

Good riddance,
Dear Old Foreign Bitch Standing Next To Me In The Deli Line,

Nice life causing a huge riot and insisting upon speaking to a manager because your lb of turkey was literally 20 cents more than advertised. I know I was setting an even bitchier example for you by offering you a dollar to walk away and leave the sweet lady behind the counter alone. I don't care though, that shit was worth it. You blow. Do everyone in Kroger a favor and find people to complain to who don't have to spend their days behind a counter cutting up slabs of carcas for you while wearing a hairnet and dealing with sluts like yourself.

Get Real, Bitch,

Dear Rental Car,

Please help me be conscious of the fact that you are not my Sport Utility Vehicle and I need to slow down instead of speed up over speed bumps. You are very low to the ground and my absentmindedness may result in your downfall. You are a machine used for transportation, not a weapon of destruction. I'll try to remember that because I was too frugal to purchase insurance.

Dear Dirty Text Messager,

Please give it up. And NO, I don't want to see your cock.

Actually I do.

However, I don't feel like letting you embarass yourself more than you already have.

Dear Life,

I know this is wrong, but I'm slightly upset with the fact that everyone is becoming obsessed with my favorite fembot now because she has tv show. I am feeling very childish and not wanting to share her with anyone else. She was my obsession/girlcrush first, dammit. Stop loving her as much as I do. I want to be her harder.

So There,

P.S. Oh, and 'major' has been an integral part of my vocab since 'zetus lapetus' days.
Dear VB (Victoria Beckham),

I know I just wrote to you a few days ago about how fabulous you are and how I have a giant girl crush on you. I have to write again to tell you that I grossly underestimated how much I want to BE YOU. Last night I watched you on TV as you became chummy with Perez Hilton (after he called you an alien), imitated a blow up doll, played baseball in 4 in. heels, made fun of yourself for the fact that you never so much as crack a smile when out in public, and became mortified when you got photographed in flat shoes. The critics may hate you, but it's only because they are jealous and will never know what it is like to be even 1/2 as amazing as you are. I can't wait to incorporate your vocab into my everyday lingo. Words like "knickers" and "tart" and MAJOR. Now if I could only afford your giant designer sunglasses, oversized handbags, and skin tight couture... and bang your husband. And I must agree, it is quite exhausting being this fabulous.

Girl crush doesn't even begin to describe it,
Dear Life,

Claire + Totty = 4ever

Dear Totty,

I'm really glad that we could work through this. I think we could become really good friends. I mean, we already have so much in common: a) concocting witty & acerbic letters for Dear Life; b) we are both girls; c) I'm sure there's more, but we haven't reached that stage in our relationship yet. YET.

Suffused with feelings of goodwill and love for all mankind,
Dear John Rob,

I don't do text message relationships.

Dear Post-workout Reward Cig,

I love you.

Bad Girl Who Can't Quit Being A Bad Girl
Dear Nicole Richie,

Why did you have to walk among the same street I walk among every fucking Saturday night the one night I decided to get hammered drunk in D.C?

I could have hooked you up,
Dear M,

Signs that your bf may be a psycho stalker and you need to get rid.

.... 87.) You find yourself hiding behind bushes for over 10 minutes in the middle of the day so he will stop driving by trying to lure you into his car like a deranged dog catcher.

Girl, He Crazy,
Dear Spell Patrol Claire,

I am sincerely apologetic for my misspelling of "non-existent" and will besure to perform a spell check from now on.

As Sarcastic As This Message May Seem, I Am Deadly Serious,

P.S. I am going on holiday in about 3 minutes and should not be doing this.
Dear Harry Potter,

Why, every summer when I sit down at the cinema and see you soar across the screen on your magic broom, do I feel an uncontrollable desire to kick my legs out of my fetid, movie-theatre seat?

Thinking About Having My Own Wand And Being a Muggle No More Makes Me Giddy Like A Schoolgirl,
Dear G,

I just went to your aforementioned website.



that's fucking sick. That makes me never ever ever want to see semen again. If my body ever gets to that point where I have crepe paper with a viscous layer of yellow fat under it as a stomach and nipples the size of dinnerplates, I will promptly move to Africa, baste myself in Heinz 57, and hope a wild animal eats me quickly.


Browsing you has left me with an intense mix of emotions. The logical side of my brain tells me to run, screaming, saving myself from extreme physical morphing by refusing to ever become impregnated. On the other hand, the woman side of my brain wants to bawl looking at these photos of precious babies and what women go through to bring life into this world, and leaves me thinking that it will be a great day when I join the ranks of all of these brave mothers. One thing, however, is for sure. You will become a valuable tool for me to use later in life. If I should ever marry and decide to have babies, I will force my husband to peruse you for hours looking at picture on top of picture of stretch marks, pooched bellies and sagging breasts until he is fully aware of what he is in for. As he is viewing these photos, I will make him swear to love me and continue to have sex with me after my stomach is stretch-marked, my boobs hang to my waist, and our offspring is crying in the next room. I realize that this is jumping the gun as I am currently single with absolutely no men in a 100 mile radius that even come close to qualifying as father material. But, it's still nice to know that I have you in my back pocket.

Considering adoption,
Dear Victoria Beckham,

I want to personally welcome you to the United States of America. I can't get enough of you. You and your husband are a portrait of sexual perfection and I would love to be a fly on the wall in your bedroom. You come off as a cold, well-dressed, unapproachable robot but I feel like this is all part of your appeal and I am intrigued. I don't know if it's your impeccable style or your cutting-edge hair, but you almost turn me on more than your chiseled, ball kicking husband. (I said almost; let's still be real here). I sometimes forget that you were once a Spice Girl, and I'm sorry for even mentioning that now as I feel that it seriously diminishes your perfection. I'm looking forward to daily gossip reports of your goings-on in L.A. and I will undoubtedly be coveting your life from all the way over here on the east coast.

You are the epitome of a girl crush,
Dear Claire,

I believe she is going by "Totty" now.


P.S. Tots, I totally meant to edit that for you. And I think you should form an anti-tween coalition. I would def join it. Those little Limited Too wearing sluts.
Dear Jodie,

Don't get me wrong, I'm totally with you, but you misspelled "non-existent".

Dear Guy Who I Am About To Cheat On My Boyfriend With:

I know I was the one who called you and all, and you are actually outside my house waiting for me... but... uh, how do i say this? I changed my mind!! Oopsie!

There Is No One Home,
Dear Ex-boyfriend

Thank you for buying me boobs in an effort to win me back. The next time you act like a shitbag, I'm going to use them to seduce your hot friend[s] into fucking me.

This Purchase Could Really Bite You In The Ass,
Hey New Boss,

I like you. I might have even had some weird hormonal issues that made me want you to rip my clothes off. For two days running. But, please, don't you go returning the favor. Seriously, it was just hormonal. I like you, but I like my brand new, extra cool job even more. We cool? Friends?

S. A.
Dear Dad,

Please stop sending me e-mails about news stories of teenagers being killed in fiery crashes due to text-messaging. I know I'm your baby and you worry constantly about my safety, but seriously, hearing about kids being catapulted out of SUVs really puts a damper on my weekend.


P.S. I find your message ironic considering you have no idea that I was arrested last night.
Dear Hot Cop,

Ok, so maybe you had enough reasonable suspicion to arrest me for driving under the influence when I asked you how you performed sobriety tests on blind people. It didn't cross my mind that blind people don't drive cars. Just because I'm a dumbass doesn't mean I can't handle a motor vehicle.

Are You Single?

P.S. Next time you're putting your hands on me don't forget the cavity search.
Dear Perez,

Note to self: Don't accept an invitation to appear on 'The View' when you've nicknamed Elisabeth Hasselbeck as 'Elisabitch' on your blog and defaced her pictures. You are exactly right, she is a bitch. So WHY would you go on her show when you know full well all she will do is confront you and make the audience (and me sitting on my couch 1,000 miles away from the production studio) feel insanely uncomfortable?

Your Public Conflicts Put Me At Ill Ease,
Dear Perez,

Learn to spell.

Dear Boring Tweens Who Write Boring Blogs/Journals About Their Boring
Non-existant Problems Which Mainly Involve Hopeless Crushes On Boys,

No one wants to know. Please write a blog which is more like Dear Life. Or at least include some sex.

Bored Of Finding Out That Your Crush Actually Looked At You Today,
Dear Law Enforcement Officer,

Thanks for pulling me over for *allegedly* speeding at 3a.m.. It was a fun experience taking the field sobriety test FIVE times and then failing. It was WAY MORE fun when you put handcuffs on me and made me sit in the back of a squad car for 30 minutes as I tried not to cry. You, sir, were rather attractive and I enjoyed talking to you minus the fact that my life was flashing before my eyes. All I could think about was how much my parents would most likely cut my feet, hands, and ears off and throw them at me for this offense and how I would never be able to work in a profession with children ever again. Under other circumstances I probably would have liked you telling me to spread my legs while you cuffed me, however, this was not enjoyable. So what that I can't follow your fucking pen with my eyes?! I have a bad attention span. It's also really hard to walk a straight line in bangin stilettos. I showed you who was boss when I blew into your effing breathalizer. I had to hold myself back from doing a victory lap when I schooled your ass.

Don't Ever Scare The Shit Out Of Me Like That Again,

P.S. Thank God for my empty bank account which prohibited me from buying more beverages this evening.
Dear My Boyfriend's New Dog,

You are so precious and I want to squeeze you all the time. For a second he was going to be a heartless bastard and leave you for dead on the streets. I knew he would eventually cave. Now he is in love with you and I grit my teeth in excitement everytime you wag your cute fucking tail. You are so adorable when you put your little puppy paws on his knee and do everything possible to get your tiny body touching as much of him as you can. It's cute as shit. If he were a straight man, I would do the same thing. Don't ever grow up because I like the puppy twinkle in your eyes. Also, I can't afford a dog of my own and visiting you fulfills a maternal need for me without ever having to clean up your shit.

Squeezing Your Puppy Teets,
Dear John the Military Man (Part 2),

You really need to stop taking pictures of yourself and sending them to me via text message. You have abs. Cool. This isn't myspace and I don't like trading pics so we can touch ourselves with a visual aid. It's not hot. Also, if you're doing this to get me to send you pics of me, that won't be happening. When I sent you a picture of my boobies on Thursday it was because I was drunk and I thought it would be funny to mess with you. I have to say, if you keep this up, I may just full out ask you to send me a picture of your schlong to see if you actually will. Undoubtedly, you will and then I will take it upon myself to show everyone I know and giggle about it multiple times a day.

That Was The 7th Pic This Week, I Would Think You Would Have Gotten The Hint When I Failed To Respond Ever,

P.S. Jesus, you just texted me again as I was writing this.

P.P.S. I guess my fake O was impressive, but let it go.
Dear House of Pain,

Thank you for writing the classic ditty "Jump Around" so that I could rap the shit out of it to my small group of adoring friends last night. It was truly my moment to shine. My friends, however, don't think that much of you, but maybe that's because the karaoke programming device labeled only in Korean played the song two more times in rapid succession. Oops.

At Least I Was Shithot (All Three Times),
Dear Alcohol,

I know that this is said a lot to you, and I don't mean to add to the pile of complaints, but I regret to inform you that you have fucked up again.
Normally, you are good to me. You come out with me to socialize, and help me to ease out the sinful secrets and confessions of those around me - and for that, I thank you. But, Alcohol, why have you foresaken me? Why did you make it seem to me like a good idea to kiss my good (and straight) friend, J? Because of the tongue-fest I recently shared with her, talking to her is now awkward and painful. We've been friends for a long time, Alcohol, I did not think that I qualified for one of the drunken-lesbian-kiss experiences. I thought we were WAY past this.

You Have Shamed Me, And Made Things Difficult,

P.S. To the man in the bar last night that insisted on calling me "Totty", my name is JODIE. And no, you may not put that there.
Dear Dime Piece Guy In My Yoga Class Today,

Um hi. Can I touch you? Can I touch you all over?

Thank you, sir, for giving me something godlike to stare at for the entirity of our 90 minute class. I don't know who you are or where you've come from but I'm drawn to you to the point where if I get drunk enough tonight, I may write you a 'missed connection' on craigslist. Looks like you've given me a permanent class time to attend. Thanks, I was having trouble deciding. I don't know your name, but I have a major crush on you. Thank heavens above we both believe in doing our class in a 100 degree room, because you made the experience of eyefucking you all the better when you started dripping sweat out of every pore. Listen, you're really good at yoga and I could really use a tutor. Maybe we could meet somewhere and you could help me practices my positions. Somewhere like my bed.

Help Me Work On My Flexibility, I'll Help You Work On Your Stamina,
Dear Brazillian Boy With Amazon Mom,

I'm sorry my 18 month old son attacked you like a lion would a gazelle because you were wearing blue and green Mickey Mouse crocs. He must have mistaken them for his and you see, in our family we value good shoes like you value soccer and clay beads. I like to think I've taught him well!

Proud Mother of a Potential Gay Son,
Dear MySpace,

Please stop leading me to a near aneurysm by freezing while I am trying to stalk my latest male obsession effectively using a private sneaky account I created precisely for this purpose.

I already want to kill myself because of the pathetic Internet stalker I have become. No need to make it worse.

I Hate Tom,
Dear Daniel Radcliffe,

All I have to say is thank God for the internet. I always wanted to know what Harry Potter's real magic wand looked like.

I Like Your Ween,
Dear Life,

It's not that I have a hatred towards men, I just have an incapacity for bullshit.

Dear Men Who Argue With The Women In Their Lives Even When It Is Clear To Everyone They Are Wrong,

Why is that you find it necessary to argue with a woman and try to make her feel less intellectual than you merely to feel better about yourself?! What gets me is that you stupid bastards always win. Here's why: because women are nicer than you. It's not that you have ever successfully convinced us we are wrong, we just politely decline to argue with you any further, making you *think* you have won. If you were having the same discussion with another man, you would probably say 'yeah dude, you're right' and laugh it off like the dumbass that you are. Instead, since you feel that women are the inferior sex (which is clearly true), though you (plain as day) are in the wrong, you are still right because you have a penis. Imbeciles.

Get over yourself. Women are very smart. Smarter than you. It's not our fault that we feel feelings like the human brain was designed to and you don't.

Dear Psycho Boyfriends Who Tell Their Girlfriends To Lose 10 Pounds,

Thanks a lot, asshole.

Starving (Literally) For A Normal Dude,
Dear Lesbians Hooking Up In The Bathroom,

Because of you, my bladder probably suffered long-term consequences from having to wait so long while you canoodled in a disgusting stall.

Thanks A Lot,
Dear Guy In The White Pick-up Who Refused To Let Me Or The Person In Front Of Me Over When There Was An Unexpected Obstruction In Our Lane,

I'm so glad that about a half mile down our journey you pulled up in the lane next to me. When you turned to check me out, I took it upon myself to roll down my window and call you an asshole to your face. I, then, did the badass move of cranking up my volume before you could respond. Normally I get attacks of a guilty conscience easily, but I didn't even feel bad this time because all I did was state the facts.

Let People Over Next Time, You Are Not That Important,
Dear Mom and Dad,

I think you made a bad decision never allowing me to get tested for A.D.D.. You know it's a problem when people across settings comment on your inability to focus on one thing for more than 3 minutes before getting a blank look in your eyes.

Wait...What Was I Saying?
Dear sphincter,

Why do you insist on pressuring me so in the club with the busiest bathroom? I mean true, it may just be a fart, but after a couple bumps there is now a fine line (no pun intended) between just a little gas and the nasty. What do you expect me to do? Im having way to much fun to go home and take care of business and who the hell poo's in a bar? God, I guess I have to... thanx a lot anus!

Truly yours with the ongoing battle "Blow vs. Sphincter",
Dear My Over 35 y.o. Neighbor Who Can't Control Her Alcohol Consumption And Acts Like Trailer Trash After Several Drinks,

You really annoy me and you need to get yourself together. I mean, it's a sad day when you're at a party with people like 15 years younger than you and you're twice as drunk as they are.

Not As Drunk As You,
Dear Bus Driver At DisneyWorld,

Thank you for plowing my mom with a greyhound bus on my 13th birthday right in front of my face. I will forever have psychological issues, including many I'm sure I'm not even aware of because of your carelessness. Thanks for shattering my vision of 'the happiest place on Earth' and making me more cynical of a bitch. You're lucky she walked away with stitches and a hefty lawsuit.

You Explain Why I have Nightmares About Mickey Raping Me,
Dear Failed Lovelife,

What gives?! I don't know what to attribute you to. God? The fact that I'm unnaturally picky? My abrasive personality? This blog?

Regardless, I'm tired of making out with sub-par dudes. Shape up. I need some decent ass from someone who doesn't actually bore me. Thanks.

Dear Source for Crappy Newsletter Story,
Thanks for putting your bestselling books and your mentions on famous blogs and in the NY times on your web bio making me feel totally inadequate and paralyzed when I’m about to phone you for an interview about a week later than I said I would, forcing me to read dearlifeblog for 30 minutes until it’s way too late in the day to call.
Now do I tender a second oh-so-casual email asking if you’re still around, or call tomorrow and apologize for doing so a bit late, or just call tomorrow acting all perky like it’s not a bit late at all?
REALLY earning my $1 a word,
Dear Late Night Snack,

You're an awful thing. Not only did you enlarge the donut around me, but you forced me to have a dream where I had to bargain my large watch to the owner of Layl'a. I dont even know what for.
You've proven to me that my life is on the verge of pathetic since I have dreams about the bar I regularly attend.

Sleeply Unsound,
Dear Friend With Benefits,

This arrangement is supposed to be mutually beneficial but it seems like its too much trouble for you to even paw at me. Also, if you think texting me to see if I want to have sex is hot, think again! I might be a slut, but that doesn't mean I don't need a little flirting or something. Anyway, this sex sucks but I am too nice to tell you so please just stop texting me.

Dear Maternal Instincts,

You are starting to scare me. I am drawn to babies and small children more than ever. You conflict very much with my lack of interest in marriage anytime soon, furthermore, my inability to even maintain a healthy relationship for more than a week. For the time being, I've been fairly successful in muting you. However, I would appreciate it if you would kindly stop for the next 10 years or so.

Dear New Vagisil Screening Kit for Vaginal Infections,

Thank you for allowing me to find out if the itchy, burning sensation I have is just a yeast infection or possibly something more. With my questionable activities while blacked out drunk, I find this at home test to be a lifesaver, as I no longer have to make an emergency appointment with my vagina doctor every time I'm feeling a little discomfort. My vag thanks you.

Itching to test you out,
Dear Boyfriend Who Doesn't Annoy/Smother Me And Owns A Cute Puppy,

Where are you?

Dear Guys In My Yoga Class Who Are More Flexible Than I Am,

You can stop showing off now. I get the point.

I'll Warrior Pose All Over Your Face,
Dear Females (and Males who should feel so inclined),

It's the middle of the summer and I cannot hold this in any longer. When it comes to the choices you make about the nail polish you slather onto your toenails, I must tell you that you only have limited options. None of these options include any shade of yellow, obscenely giant glitter flakes, or anything so metallic that it is blinding when it collides with the sun. Also, unless you work with only small children and never have any adult contact, harsh neon hues are unacceptable.

For the record you may chose from the following: shades of red, clear, au natural (as long as your feet are pretty), or a spectrum of pink lacquer. Notice the period at the end of that sentence. Making smart polish decisions is essential if you wish to have others take you seriously.

Once winter hits and your toes are hibernating, by all means paint away with whatever color you desire. Just please keep your yellow, brown, metallic blue, green, or neon digits so that I can't see them.

You'll thank me for this later,
Dear iphone (part 2),

Your touch screen is the perfect surface off of which to snort lines. (So I've heard.) Just please don't somehow self-activate and call my mom.

Dear Russian Hooker,

You give the best dating advice.

Dear Mom,

For about an hour we had a good time today. For a fleeting moment I thought I would escape your wrath for one day, however, I was wrong. I'm glad after deciding to leave your house because I couldn't handle you anymore, you repeatedly called me until I answered to give me a chance to apologize to you and threaten estrangement if I refused. Way to show me who's boss by writing a lovely email about how you are calling a "mandatory family meeting" on wednesday night in which you will "command respect". I also like how you threw in that a class conflict was the only grounds for excusable absence. Let me tell you something, you can shove your meeting up your ass. I have important things to do like pay my bills, get drunk, watch the Simple Life, and live my adult life. I don't have time for you to ground me while I'm in graduate school. I'm not going to deal with your drama. Cut the shit, Mom.

Dear Hot Yoga,

You are my new obsession. You allow me to do extremely difficult and unnatural positions while sweating off the weight of a small child. I'm addicted already.

Dear Kim,

Everyone has that one friend who you can always count on to be belligerently drunk to the point where you think they might throw a dog out a window if enough alcohol was consumed. You are that friend to me. Last night, you lived up to my expextations for you. While I sipped my 2 drinks of the evening, you proceeded to get hammered to the point of wrestle-mania belligerence. Over the course of 2 hours, you managed to engage in several activities which would have resulted in our removal from the bar. On the way out, you decided it would be best if you kicked the walls as many times as you could before reaching the door. While outside the elevator, you spilled your drink on the carpet for fun. When we got downstairs you threw your cup full of ice at a wall. While outside, you took the foldable sign for the lounge and wore it. We barely escaped the bouncers wrath. When we got home, you refused to give me a blanket to sleep on your couch until I escorted you down to the dumpster where you stole a mini christmas tree with lights from your apartment complex and put it on the hood of my car. You also did all of this things while exclaiming jibber jabber profanities such as "BITCH OF A GUN!" and "JESUS, MOTHER OF MARINATE!" You are possibly the most insane person I have ever met and I love every second of it.

Keep Trucking Bitch,
Dear Drunken Balwin-esque Type,

I believe you are the most forward person that I have ever met. Within the first few sentences of our conversation you said to me (with a complete straight face), "I'm an attorney. I have tons of money. I own a house down the block and I think you and I could have amazing sex". I politely declined. Who says that shit? And worse, who says it with unabashed confidence? I didn't know whether to have some sort of admiration for your candor or be disgusted.

Thanks For The Drink,

P.S. You are middle-aged, which to some is appealing because it suggests that you are financially secure with some supplemental wealth to go around. To me, it just means you have a wrinkly dong.