Dear Shameless,

Show some mercy please, you're killing me here.

Your Liver
Dear "Fred Elizabeth Taylor" the Cat

Okay maybe your name isn't Fred Elizabeth Taylor but the moment you came into my life it was about 4 am, I was wasted off my ass (obvi), sitting outside with my roommmate discussing the questionableness of the random med student that I brought home from the bars. So you brought this name on yourself.

I don't know where you got your manners but the first day we met you decided to run at full speed into my apartment and felt no shame to investigate every nook and cranny. I have to admit, initially it was pretty amusing, especially after I wasted an entire can of tuna on you... But today, dear cat, was the 4th time you came over uninvited. I almost died this morning when I felt a furry creature rubbing up against my leg before I had my coffee. Subsequently, you seem to be making yourself more and more at home, today you stuck your butt in my face, sat in front of the TV and felt up my roommate.

I have no idea where you came from, who you belong to or what you get into when you go missing in my apartment for moments at a time.

If my room spells like cat pee I might kill you.
Dear My Dog,

Thanks for completely loving me even though I'm an asshole. That precious puppy face gets me everytime. Your loyalty, friendliness, and enthusiasm just make my world brighter. God, I've missed you. You making moving home almost okay.

Dear Coworker #1,

Are boys really allowed to cockblock? Because I swear cockblocking is an activity restricted to the lone fat, fug girl friend, and you TOTALLY cockblocked me last night. When I asked you for your super attractive roommate's phone number (the one from last weekend) when you decided to blow off me and my girl because you were "tired" (pussy), you should have had the common decency to give it to me instead of telling me to "get it from him, that's pretty fucked up". 1. No, it isn't but 2. you made me really happy by getting jealous like that... how cute.

And you know what's even better? I facebooked him my number after you acted like a 6 year-old and he called me and left me a cute voicemail while you were sleeping off your jealous rage.

Go chase someone else's vag,
Dear Gorilla Glue,

I submit that you be renamed Chuck Norris Glue. You are just that good. Any clear substance that can glue my fingers together with such speed deserved more than a generic hairy beast on the label. How bout a beast we all recognize. If Chuck were on the front of the tube, I would have known to be more vigilant about not making a mess.

Down to four digits,
Dear Alcohol,

Yeah yeah yeah. You had your big hurrah last night, but I've been really thinking about this a lot lately...I need to grow up and I need to stop drinking you in vast quantities. Here are some reasons why you're bad. Last night you made me:

- Grope someone's grandma's ass
- Purposely throw in the words "fuck" and "fucking" as much as I possibly could within 5 feet of tweens in dresses from the Limited Too
- Lovingly beckon my mom with "come here bitch, get in for a hug"
- Accuse everyone of being in love with me
- Grab the mother of the bride's boob
- Get on the dancefloor, try to do the black girl chicken dance, make everyone watch as i "flapped my wings" and "got my eagle on", and then danced like a wild woman with the step-father of the bride while spilling my beer haphazardly all over the floor
- Scream "MAKE OUT!!!" as the bride and groom are cutting the cake
- Have a drunken argument with the bride's 12 year old half-sister about who is better, Vanessa Hudgens or Ashley Tisdale, then cut if off by saying, "I'm too bombed to talk about this right now. Here, hold my beer for a second"
- Be really mean to some guy in a plaid shirt for the sole reason that he was beating me at beer pong and i'm a sore loser
- Light a cigarette backwards and realize like 2 minutes later why something didn't seem right

Yes, all of these things are inappropriate. If you could stop ruining my life, that would be nice. Also, if you could stop making me the most CONCEITED person that ever lived when I have like a sip of you that would be lovely. My friends are getting really tired of me telling them how attractive they think I am.

I'm done with you for awhile. All you bring is trouble and unjustified narcissism.

Not Love,

P.S. Thanks for breaking my phone. Bitch. do you have to rub it in my face by doing your special text ring and then me having to live with the fact that i can't read them?
Dear Phil, lead vocals for Olympia,

Thanks for inviting my friends and I to your house party in that f-ing mansion. Although we spent half the night cracking up about how this was as sketchy and redonk as various random high school parties from back in the day we had a great time (the free beer and liquor hit the spot). Your DJing skills were pretty good, especially since you played everything I wanted to hear in an attempt to woo me. Just one question....have you EVER succesfully used the following pick-up line:

Phil: This can't be the last time I see you.
Me: Umm..ok.
Phil: Are you on myspace?
Phil: Facebook?
Me: yyeeeaaaahhh
Phil: Alright I'll find you.

You started off great but towards the end....a bit stalkerish. I know we are this new generation from cyberspace but how about asking a girl out on a date I person. Who knows if you will ever actually see me again and I am not the type of person to respond positively to "pokes".

NOT accepting your friend request,

PS I know the only reason we were even invited to your party was due to our ability to "booty dance to even your type of music"...but in reality with enough booze I can booty dance to pretty much anything.
Dear Sketchiest Bouncer Ever (Complete with Rat Tail, Spikes, and Gold
Shiny Cowboy Hat With A Mini-Skull Dangling from the Brim),

First you kick me out of your club for being too drunk at 9:30pm, force water down my throat, sit me on the curb and almost call the cops on me. THEN you let me back in and offer to buy me a shot when I thank you for not getting me arrested? Something is wrong with this picture. Are you seriously that pathetic that you are willing to buy me more alcohol knowing I'm already too drunk to function, just so that I MIGHT sleep with you? Well, my Life Rule No. 2 clearly states, "Never turn down free liquor." So Bouncer Dude, I accept your challenge. I will get as drunk as possible off your free drinks and STILL MANAGE TO REFUSE YOUR ADVANCES.

Me: 1
Bouncer: 0 (and also down 40 bucks)

Game, Set, and Match,
Dear Rando Not-Cute Blonde Girl Dancing POORLY To Her Ipod Alone at 3am on the Metro And Obviously Wanting Other People To Watch Her,

No. Just....just no.

Ugh. no.
Dear Kiel,

A few issues that should be brought to your attention:

1) Completely unprovoked biting of people you barely know is generally not considered socially acceptable -- just a hint. Especially when you bite multiple times and hard enough to leave a mark. Save that shit for the bedroom, OK?

2) Acting like a total jerk as a means of flirting hasn't really worked since what, like, third grade? You need to brush up on your moves. A well-timed compliment and/or actual conversation with a girl can work wonders.

3) Who spells "Kyle" K-I-E-L anyway? I mean, really.

Three Strikes - You're Out,

Dear Heidi,

I used to really like you...then you got saline injected into your chest, started dating a gerbil with a bad attitude, became bff with Joe Francis (ew, i just shuddered thinking of him), and frequently tipped off the paparazzi with your whereabouts in desperate attempts for fame. I miss the good old days when you used to say "Ooooh snap!" and wave your little wrist around. Also, your ex-bf, Jordan, was so much cuter and better. Remember when he bought you that puppy?! That was hella cute. Where did that little bugger go, anyway?

I want the old heidi back. That flat chested little biotch we all knew and loved. where did she go? man, i don't know, but i think she took all of your body fat with her.

You Did Something Shady,
Dear R,

You haven't been had- by me at least. Good luck with the flummox, I hear it's nasty but it'll pass.

Dan formerly of DC
Dear 50 something Receptionist At The Doctor's Office,

While I appreciated you asking me what I did in school and then telling me repeatedly you were proud of me (???), it was slightly awkward when you kept bringing up that "the world needed more people like me". Actually it doesn't. I know that superficially it looks like what I do is more noble than making appointments behind a desk all day long, but that doesn't mean I'm not a 23 year old selfish bastard who is completely immature, irresponsible, and inappropriate. You know what else is inappropriate? When a 50 year old keeps saying 'cool beans'. Note that. Yes, your pleasant demeanor was preferable, but don't expect me to be Susie Sunshine when you have just informed me that I need to make an appointment to get this bump on my vagina surgically removed WHILE awake, naked, and fully conscious of the sights and sounds accompanying incisions being made on my beloved woman parts. Just mark me on the calendar and stop talking.

And you telling me I'm pretty doesn't make anything better.

Dear Life,

As if today wasn't hard enough, I started my period at the gym and rushed home only to find that I accidently bought scented tampons instead of the regular ones. How are scented tampons even still on the market? No girl I know purposely buys a product that leaves her vag smelling like an arts & crafts store.

Hoping CVS Accepts Returns on Tampons,
Dear Libido,

This is getting a little sad and ridiculous now. It was perfectly understandable that you would take a hiatus after the emotional wreckage that we went through in the last 2 months, but... well, its time for you to return. Yes, yes, I understand how hard it was going through the breakup, how sad we felt and hopeless that we'd never be in love again, I was there remember? But.. well, we've gotta move on, don't we? Please, just consider returning from wherever the hell you went. I used to think about sex all day long and get horny when I looked at hot men, but now I'm like a walking zombie. When I try to think about sex now, I just feel empty and cold inside. I have to FORCE myself to masturbate. This isn't right. I'm far too young to be giving up already. Please, for the love of all that is hot and sexy in this world, come back so I can be a normal, twenty something woman and bang hot men while I am still hot enough to get them.

Yearning for your return,
Dear Grown Naked Man,

Never in my life have I had such a hard time keeping a straight face. But you just don't expect to walk into the student (emphasis added for a reason) locker room to find a dude in his mid-30s wearing nothing but flip flops and a smile shaving at the communal sinks like he's in the privacy of his own home. My apologies for the reflexive double-take that had my eyes fixated on your boysenberries. Did it occur to you that the towel so nonchalantly draped over your shoulder also serves as a deflective shield against awkward moments like ours?

But I do appreciate the glimpse into my not-too-distant future. I can't wait to have balls that look like a billy goat's chin and hang so low people confuse them with my kneecaps.

Still waiting for my balls to drop,

P.S. You might want to consider taking that razor a little further south. Completely un-manscaped crotches are about as in vogue as Crystal Pepsi.
Dear Overweight Girls Wearing Leggings on Campus,

Does this mean I can walk around in my padded bike pants and actually be considered fashionable? I think they sort of make me look like I have a load in the back of my pants, but I guess it would look about the same, all things considered...

Just wondering,

P.S. Anyone know how to put cleats on ballet flats?
Dear Apple,

I'm sure pissing off your customer base will increase profit. It sure worked well for the music industry.

Dear Random Hiccup (singular) At Least Five Times A Day,

Do you always have to be so audible? Also, do you always have to happen during class? My friends keep asking me what your deal is. I don't know what to tell them. If you could not draw attention to me so much that would be cool because people saying "Bless you" is really getting old. It's a completely inappropriate response for a hiccup and it just makes me question their understanding of social etiquette.

Dear Air Force Guys Eating at Chipotle on E. Charleston in Mountain View about 12:30 Today,

My coworker and I were the girls waving and honking at you as we drove by. I couldn't convince her to turn back around so I could give you my number, but the sentiment was there. I hope we did our duty and boosted your morale, there.

I'll be staking out Chipotle from now on in the hopes of seeing you again,
Dear Dan in DC,

Why do I feel like I'm being had, and you're really David in DC, my ex? And you're leaving for NC because they wouldn't send you to Japan right away?

Dear "Red" Ad Campaign, as in the One Where All the Celebs are in Gap Tees Reading (for instance) DESI(RED):

Uhhh...why do you have to make the items in question more expensive than the shirt next to it that reads, "Gap" or some other inane, paying-you-to-do-your-advertising-for-free shit?!?! Clearly, it's uber-altruistic to increase the price of an already OVERPRICED t-shirt in the name of giving in order to NOT affect your multi-gazillion dollar bottom line.

I'm so over over-consumerism/-capitalism,
Dear Super Duper Vitamin C Zinc Energy Wellness Juice Concoction,

I just chugged you and now I feel slightly ill from all the vitamins. I think maybe my stomach is confused, as it is accustomed to toxins in the form of alcohol / drugs, and not actual nutrients. But here's the thing -- you are supposed to make me BETTER, not mildly to moderately nauseous. How can I continue to go out five nights in a row and imbibe the aforementioned toxins if I am sniveling/puking in bed with my teddy bear?! Sack up, Magical Drink of Health. Just because I sit around all day not doing my job doesn't mean you can do the same. I paid good money for you, damnit, and I want to go out dancing!

Practicing My Twirls,
Dear Antonio the Supersexy UPS Delivery Man (Soon to be DC Police),

I can't believe I just gave you my number! You are so sweet! I appreciate that you stop by to chat even though I am no longer on your route, and I think it's really cute that you so obviously have a crush on me. However, I do feel I must warn you -- I'm batshit crazy, and super socially awkward. I probably won't pick up when you call, and I DEFINITELY won't initiate any phone calls. I'm not saying it's the end of the line for us, just that you should be prepared. You seem like you have a lot going for you, but it turns out I only go for guys who are emotionally stunted and/or generally incompetent. Maybe if you were a UPS Man with NO hopes or dreams, I'd feel more in my element.

Plus, I'm TERRIFIED of your BBC. Seriously, that shit's gotta hurt.

Dear DC,

It's not you, it's me. Okay, it's you. You don't put out. My old bitch NC called and wants to make me happy. I'm fickle. You're a prude.

Call me,

It's been a long time since the split. I still love you ... I still yearn to hold you in my arms and feel your heart beating next to mine. Happy Birthday.

Dear Women at Dowd YMCA,

I get that we are all working with the same shit here. I got what you got. I get it. However, I find it off putting how many of you unabashedly walk around the women's health center in the nude. I quick jaunt from the shower, sure. Need to change into a baithing suit? Allowable. I am not unreasonable and have not been thought of as modest since I was 5. On the other hand, the steam shower, sauna, and hot tub are public places not to be used in your birthday suit. Put on a swimsuit or get out. I'm uncomfortable.


PS: To the giant Eskimo woman- what do you do at the Y anyway? I don't think exercise is in your vocab. All I wanted to do after my swim today was dip in the hot tub for .5. As I rounded the corner and witnessed your rotund floating breasts among the bubbles, accompanied with your "O" face, I turned beet red and immediately started walking in the other direction. Your behavior is not normal and completely shocking to me. Why is everyone else walking past you as if this is socially acceptable?

PPS: I think I almost walked in on a middle aged African American woman masturbating in the sauna yesterday. I hope it's cleaned daily.

PPPS: Does anyone think this shit is normal?!? Every other women in my gym seems not to notice! HELLO THERE IS A GIANT ESKIMO WOMAN WITH NO CLOTHES ON STANDING BESIDE YOU!

PPPPS: I live in a nice, yuppie area of town filled with young, hot people and my gym is crawling with them. Where is it that all of these strange naked ladies come from??
Dear Girl who sat near me while I was eating lunch,

Wow, are you sure it's a good career move to be smoking a joint, on the roof of your office building during lunch? This is DC after all, not San Francisco. Sure, I was the only person up there, but the smell was pretty strong, and you never know who might wander by.

Then again, if my job were actually my career, I might have to get stoned at lunch too.

Not judging!
Dear socially retarded roommate,

I know you’re not used to having to share a dorm room with another person. But since I’m new and you’re broke we both got stuck together. Here is a list of helpful hints that perhaps you can abide by to keep our room happy.

1) Stop trying to “save” me. I get it. You like to go to church. Whatever. I like to sleep in on Sundays. So leave it the eff alone.

2) Red wine is not served chilled. I’m a California bred wino, so don’t try to tell me about wine. And considering you don’t drink at all, what authority do you have exactly?

3) Any etiquette guide will tell you that you tip a pizza delivery person. What kind of person doesn’t know to tip someone who brings food to your house????

a. So don’t ask me to order with you any more. I’m not tryna have my food spat in.

4) Next time you decide to rearrange the room, it would be polite if we discussed it first. You know? Like roommates are supposed to?

a. Walking in and thinking I was in the wrong room is not a good feeling after a long day of classes and interning. K thanks.

b. Also, moving your bed to be in front of the windows is nice and all, until you leave the blinds open and I’m trying to nap on my side when you’re in class.

5) I don’t care about your BIO major answers to my dumb questions. My BFF is going to be a doctor too and she doesn’t explain every detail about why things happen. Just let me be. I don’t explain government to you and there is obvi a reason why I’m not a BIO major.

6) Stop talking to me all the time when I am clearly reading and/or watching TV and it’s not a commercial. I don’t know who you think you are, but we’re not friends like that. Please get a clue ASAP.

7) Clearly you’re savage.

a. Pillow shams are decorative. You’re not actually supposed to sleep on it.

b. Duvet covers are different than comforters.

c. Stop telling me to make my bed because my cute striped sheets are “too loud”. Your ugly comforter makes me want to cry but I’m not complaining.

d. Don’t threaten to make my bed for me. That’s just weird.

Hopefully we can work it out,
Got this in an e-mail. Thought it was pretty good.

Dear Dr. R L White, Head of the Atlanta Chapter of the NAACP,

My name is Mike. I am 27, and I am neither a member of your organization nor a resident of Atlanta. Normally I wouldn't bother you, but then I came across this article, and it compelled me to write.

Since I am white, I am going to tread carefully, so as not to offend your gentle sensibilities. But, Dr. White, you are a dumb fuck.

Speaking for white people everywhere, let me fill you in on something. This case was not a race issue. It was about killing dogs. And if there is one thing people don't stand for, regardless of race, it's killing dogs. You compared it to deer hunting. Again, Dr. White, you are a dumb fuck. When was the last time a deer greeted you at the door when you got home from work? Or curled up next to you and gently nuzzled in to take a nap? Dogs are pets, you moron. They aren't meant to be killed for sport. The failure to make this distinction only makes you look stupider.

Sorry, I lost my temper there.

Here's the thing, Dr. White. The reason people were outraged by this was because he killed dogs. If Ben Roethlisberger or Brett Favre had done it, the reaction would have been the same, I guarantee you. The difference is, had Ben Roethlisberger or Brett Favre done this, you wouldn't see white supporters rallying behind them, proclaiming he was innocent in the face of mountains of damning evidence, supporting him regardless of the outcome. Let me let you in on a secret about white people; when one of our own makes us look bad, we condemn him and disown them. I suggest you adopt a similar policy. If your group's mission is truly to advance "colored" people (your word, not mine) you'd disassociate from the idiots in your race. It can't go wrong, trust me.

Anyway, Dr. White, I don't want this to come off as racist, because it isn't. Michael Vick is a despicable person who happens to be black. The sooner you realize that, the less of a dumb fuck you'll look like.

Dear A,

Thank you for referring me to Overheard in NY. Although I slightly blame you for me cracking up in my 20 person legal research and writing class while discussing district court jurisdiction...a nonfunny subject. But it did stop me from gouging my eyes out with my pen.

I owe you one,
Dear Summer:

I get that you were what...6 seconds ago?...but I need you to HURRY HURRY HURRY b/c Innocent, Dreamy Summer Intern is coming back.

Can't wait for your sun-kissed good looks,

PS Oh, yeah, could you let my boyfriend know he is officially on a timer? Cool, thanks.
Dear Overheard In New York,

Thanks for making me laugh my face off this morning. It was worth the sore stomach and being late to work.

Dear Last Night's Dream,

Can I please have a turquoise bunny in real life?

That Would Be Basically Awesome,
Dear Uncontrollable Shyness,

We are 23 which is something I guess we need to keep reminding ourselves. This is not that time you were 5 and the snowflake in the church play and suddenly crying because your mom forced you on stage. NOR is this the 8th grade when you lied and said your parents wouldn't let you go on the big field trip just so your boyfriend wouldn't try to hold your hand. You're a big girl now and normal social functioning is expected even when you get embarassed. It's NOT socially acceptable to run off Napoleon Dynamite style in any given situation no matter how bad your urge is to flee.

Stop catching me so offguard. You are painfully bad and so extremely contradictory to my personality that you make me look like a bipolar weirdo.

Dear Self,

I am so, SO proud of you for Saturday night, which is a refreshing thing to be able to say. In just one night, you:
-abstained from getting shitfaced until AFTER you could fend off Coworker #2's drunken pleas for sex
-told that boy OFF and did not kiss him even one time, shielding your face and yelling when necessary.
-kept your cool and didn't tell your bff how slutty you thought she was being by hooking up with Coworker #1. (Which would have been totally hypocritical anyways, and we both like it so much better when you guys are on good terms.)
-managed to drink an entire can of something called a Steely(?) without vomiting, although I'm pretty sure you yelled "I THINK SOMEONE JUST PISSED IN MY MOOOOOOOUTHHHH"
-made an effort to hook up with an attractive male with whom you do NOT work
-which, of course, succeeded because you looked sexy as hell
-and resulted in the best night in a loooooong time.. yeesh.

And when he asked you in the morning if you liked him, you told the truth and said yes, even though all the groundrules of one-night-stands told you not to, which I am still 90% sure was a good answer.

Congratulations! You've come a long way from the puking, disgruntled little skank you were a few weekends ago.

My Little Girl Is Growing Up,
Dear bar guy,

Did you seriously just use a line from “The Pick-Up Artist?” Because I promise I watch more VH1 than you.

Better luck next time,
Dear Broken Heart,

Please heal yourself. You shouldn't even be hurting us because you shouldn't have fallen for a completely unavailable guy to begin with. I mean, you can't lose something you never had, right? But a week and a half ago you showed up when we finally found the cojones to break up with the b/f for treating us like we didn't exist, and now you're back in triplicate, like forms to the IRS and just as painful, because you were forced to realize that Work Crush, aka Work Hookup, aka The Ideal, Unfortunately Attached, Man, wasn't gonna choose you. Seriously, sack up and move on, because you were a fool to ever think anything could happen. So what if his values and yours are the same? So what if you look cute together? So what if you have more fun with him than any guy you've ever dated? He wasn't dating you, he was using you. Your expense at my gain, but now we're both in the pits, and I can't get better if you don't.

I'll meet you at 7 over lots of beer,
Crushed Ego
Dear Girl Sitting Across From Me in Bio Lab,

While I really respect the fact that you're attending lab even though you're obviously not feeling well, I do wish you'd taken the day off. Nothing personal, but you're sitting all of 2 feet away from me and it sounds like you may have TB. Please get yourself to a doctor pronto, and also stop coughing on me. I have 3 exams this week.

Get Well Soon,
Dear Satan:

How does one go about looking like Jessica Biel without exercise or dietary change? Would you please contact me and give me the 411 b/c I'm pretty sure I'm willing to look like that w/out any hard work on my part whatsoever.

K thanks bye,

PS LOVED you in The Southpark Movie.

PPS Don't even bother if any part of your answer/offer includes this:

PPPS Please also throw in info on how to make the word "this" be a hyperlink b/c it's so way better and what I just found on google explaining it was too confusing.
Dear me,

There is a thin line between player and slut and you are walking on it. But is that a bad thing?

Watch your step,
Dear Motivation,

Where the hell have you gone? I'm working on a deadline here and your disappearance combined with my writer's block does not make for an easy afternoon. I think I left you in college. Damn it.

Dear Life,

Thanks for sending me Antonio the supersexy UPS delivery man (soon to be DC Police). Just when I was losing all faith in you, wallowing in self-pity and Excel spreadsheets, soul-shriveled from listening to muzak on hold at the Treasury Dept. all morning, Antonio walks in with his sexy half smile and ridiculously smooth chocolatey voice, not to deliver anything, but just to chat for 10 min about my weekend. Just thinking about this 6'4" black man's BBC put an enormous smile on my face that I can't seem to get rid of.

(Insert Obligatory Package In My Slot Joke Here),
Dear General Anomie,

Where on earth did you come from? Everything has been going along just find, this weekend was terrifically debaucherous and fun, but then you come creeping into my brain like a bad case of the flu. My usually fab life currently seems unbearable. I am distressed/ depressed/ really want to be laying in bed watching Lost right now.

And it's not just me you're picking on, everyone seems down this morning. You have descended like a black cloud over the District of Columbia.

Pleeeease get out of my life so I can resume my perfectly shallow, alcohol fueled lifestyle,


Dear Zach Braff and Shiri Appleby,

yay yay YAY! A new celebrity couple to fixate on instead of my own life!

Dear Staying Up Half the Night Drinking Wine and Thinking About Everything That Is Wrong With My Life,

Apparently, you make Monday morning suck 235329753249734 x more than usual. I really appreciate it; thanks!

Wanting to Die,
Dear OK Magazine Who Alarmed Me About An Alleged Celebrity Break-up,

This was from like, today and they look pretty not broken up to me. Thanks. Bye.

Dear Life,

I've decided you need a major make-over. Sometimes I'm so ashamed of my past behavior I could beat myself up all day long. However, that's completely futile at this point because what's done is done. Maybe we could try really hard and stop talking about making changes and do it. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I think I know a few places to start. :)

Your Friend,
Dear Exes/Boys That I've Been Involved With,

How did you fuck me up so badly? I mean jeez. I don't even know what to say. Every memory of you makes me want to bang my head against the wall in agony and shame. I just want to be normal again, damnit. Please stop invading my pre-falling asleep thoughts and get out of my head so I can go back to pretending that getting wasted and making questionable decisions every weekend is a reasonable and fulfilling way to journey through my twenties. Thanks.

Turning Off the Air Supply And Going to Bed,
Dear boy who slept over and I did not bone,

I completly forgot that hookup does not automatically equal sex..that there are "other things" that can be done. Thank you for reminding me of the fun I use to have before I lost my v-card. I forgot about the world of hooking up that never got past third base. How refreshing.

I think I like like you.

Circle yes or no if you like like me too,
Dear Self,

Positive changes are in order.

Dear Migraine/Broken Nose?/Hangover,


For Reals.

Dear Little Brother,

If you and your girlfriend could stop being freaking cute that would be awesome. All those pictures of you giving her a piggyback ride on the beach while kissing (tricky maneuver) are so incredibly heartwarming, I feel like I'm squeezing a puppy. According to facebook picture documentation, you are the seemingly perfect couple. Way to go. It must be nice to achieve successful and healthy relationships.


Please don't get married and have babies before me.

Your Big Sis,
Dear Life,

I just need to express the fact that one uses the same buttons to spell out "kids" and "lies" on a phone while text messaging. I realize that this is simply coincidence, but I can't help but equate the two in my head because of this. Some red flag goes up every time I think of "kids" now. No babies. I mean eventually ... but ... no babies.

No babies,
Dear Life,

Thanks for making me just tear off three pieces of my car and collide with a brick wall. I can't wait until tomorrow morning to realize what I've done and cry uncontrollably all the more. If you could throw me a fuckin bone here, I'd really appreciate it. I don't even know what to say anymore.

Dear Black Work Heels,

You are all falling apart at an alarming rate. I have two different pairs of you, one close-toed Brand One, and one open-toed Brand Two, both cute in different ways, both versatile enough to take me from the office to the bar. Unfortunately, the heels themselves are wearing down to the point where the nails are exposed, and your inside lining is pulling up. This is unacceptable, as you were both too expensive to justify throwing away after only one year. Sure, I have worn the open-toed pair approximately eight thousand times in the last four months, and the pavement and brutal environment of office politics take their toll. Sure, the close-toed pair isn't that comfortable and I secretly relish an opportunity to ditch you and replace you. But my bank account protests, and on principle, so do I. The modern woman needs a sturdy, sexy heel that doesn't cost the same as a car, but you have both failed.

Don't make me resort to cheap Target knock-offs that I can toss every three months, I beg you.

Dear God-forsaken Asshole Who Came Up With The UF Admissions Essay Topic:

Please take your ambiguous bullshit and go die. I maintain that it is 100% your fault that I am seriously doubting that I have a single " meaningful event, experience or accomplishment" in my entire 17 years of life.

Douche. I bet you're not married.

Something very far from love,
Dear Incessant Crying,

Apparently today wasn't your day to stop.

Going Home To Delete "Telling Nicholas" Off My DVR Just In Case,

Dear Gay Bf,

Zac and I say Happy Birthday!

Dear Person Who Vomited on the Bike Path Last Spring,

When I first came across your work back in April, I thought I couldn't be any more sicked out. However, I was wrong. It is now September, and after nearly 6 months of Colorado weather the puddle is STILL THERE.

What the hell did you eat, anyway?!

Try for the bushes next time,
Dear Friday,

We make a fab team. You are shit hot, and I'm in the best mood ever thanks to you. I just got paid (!!!) and didn't bounce ANY checks this week, I'm wearing a new pair of shoes that I bought 50% off, I got a bottle of bubbly in the fridge just begging for me to get home from work, and my outfit for tonight's party is BANGIN'. Nothing can stop us now! I can't wait to get home so I can slip off my new shoes, pop the champers and get ready to spend my entire paycheck on alcohol that will aid me in making questionable decisions in my slammin' too-short dress.

Time To Break Out The Bike Shorts,

I want to photoshop my face on these pictures so bad. Keri Russell you are so cute and I want to be maternal you soooooo much. Please God, let this be me some day.

Dear College Roommate,

You never fail me. Thanks for sending me this today. It made me laugh uncontrollably for a good five minutes in the library. I had to excuse myself because the guy sitting across from me was getting annoyed. I pretty much still think this is the most hilarious concept. I think I'm gonna buy a bottle. Spray it all over my bod. See what happens.

Dear Tearducts,

If you could get a grip on yourself that will work for me. So far this week you have let loose:

Sat: In the middle of a bar
Sun: At my parent's house/in my apartment/brunch with gay bf
Mon: Talking on the phone to G/Watching the documentary "Telling Nicholas"
Tues: rewatching parts of "Telling Nicholas"
Wed: The steps outside of work
Today: At a coffee shop

Just because everything seems to be going wrong all at once and your reproductive cycle has decided to take on the wrath of a thousand suns this month doesn't mean it's okay to appear emotionally unstable to the patrons of Starbucks.

Sack up, bitch.
Stop fucking crying. What are you? A girl?
Dear maybe getting sick,

Get the hell away from me you nasty ass bitch. I'm not sure what made you think you could waltz in here with your stuffy nose and body aches but this is NOT going to fly. I have important parties to attend and serious binge drinking to do. I do not have time to be taking care of your sick problems.

Going to drop a nuclear bomb of Vitamin C on you,
Dear Life:

While you have been generally awesome lately, a certain someone is being a real asswipe today, so I'm being bitter about all the crap you've put me thru over the years. Here are some things for which I believe I deserve an apology:

1. That time I farted in my sleep with a hot hook-up and woke BOTH of us up.
2. My dead-beat doctor dad couldn't be bothered to put his first-round kids, ie me, thru school.
3. I have massive debt from putting myself thru school.
4. I was the tallest girl in my 6th grade. Oh wait..did I say "girl?" I meant "person."
5. My beloved dog mysteriously died while I was on my "I finished the bar exam!!!!" trip.
6. When I was 5 and convinced my cousin to break into a house w/ me and when we got busted, she got to go have cookies w/ grandma while I got a beating.
7. Catholic school. Nuff said.
8. That time in high school when the German exchange student told me I looked like Tori Spelling.
9. W's second term (or...maybe the American public's stupidity should go here. I mean, really, people. WTF were you guys THINKING?!?!)
10. That time some douche didn't get my humor and thought I was mocking him and so told me I looked 45.

If it were possible, I'd totally sue you in a plaintiff-friendly forum (Hello, Cooke County, Illinois!) for one dollar in nominal damages and eleventy billion dollars in pain & suffering. We both know I'd so win. Probably JUST for #8.

Blow me,
Dear Tasteful Treasures,

I have been waiting and waiting for your arrival. Finally, today, you arrive, only leaving me disappointed because my Bull Ring is on backorder. My fuck buddy and I were so hoping to have an extremely eventful and orgasmic evening with with my new treasure. Oh well, I guess we will have to have this evening's sexual adventures the old fashion way.

Still waiting,
Dear Missy Elliott,

i was just thinking about something...all of your songs...they're about guys. You talk about your cooch not failing your man, how you love dongs of all sizes, and your distaste for one-minute men. That's cool and all, but when I think about it, I can't picture you getting freaky with a guy. All I see is you in oversized clothing, a military haircut, and your boobs taped back trying to get some girl to go home with you. how is it possible that you like boys and not girls? why don't other people notice that it's weird when you say "I don't gotta do much to make you get it up"?

So Curious,
Dear new yellow flowered office plant,

I know you are still new and vibrant and happy, but let me just apologize in advance: I'm going to kill you. Please understand, I don't want to do it, I am just completely lacking in the skills and responsibility required for keeping a plant alive.

I hope you enjoy your (brief) time here,
Dear Man Sitting in F 15,

As the first act commenced, I thought nothing of you. But as the play progressed, by the second or third scene, I realized something was terribly wrong. You were a sprawler. Just because I'm petite and don't take up that much space doesn't mean a large person is allowed to then stretch into the space I'm not occupying. This became quickly uncomfortable when I realized your thigh was touching mine, and though perhaps this is fine when two people have known each other for x-amount of time (like, say, my best friend sitting in F 11), but when I don't even remember seeing you before the play began, I consider this a social no-no. I calmly shifted in my seat, still focusing on Beethoven on stage, and no one was the wiser. But you, you wiley fox, somehow managed to do it AGAIN. After another few scenes, what do I feel pushing against my calf, but your same offensive leg! I'm not sure what kind of game of footsie you were trying to win, but I was having none of it. And come intermission, judging by the look I got (because she saw how awesome I looked in my size 9 bermudas and size large shirt that showed off my excellent boobs), neither was your girlfriend.

Just Trying to Become Cultured (Not Felt Up),
Dear OK Magazine,

You shut your mouth about Zanessa breaking up. If I find out this is true, I don't think I will ever climb out from this pit of despair I've already been wallowing in for the past week. I couldn't think of anything else that could crush me more at this point.

Dear New Townhouse,

I am completely obsessed with you; namely, your stones-throw distance from numerous amazing bars and restaurants. This will be especially ideal when A comes to visit and we need to stumble home from the nearest watering hole. Bye bye Sarah Bradley and $35 cab rides, hello blackout.


This gets pretty ironic about 50 seconds in. Especially since this was filmed awhile ago, but aired like 2 days ago.
Dear post-college life,

Things seem a bit different now. As an undergrad I went to bed around 10pm, got up early to study in the lib, never even considered drinking coffee for a pickmeup (a nice glass of OJ seemed to do the trick) and at parties I was the snob who wouldn't go near the keg but preferred top shelf liquor. But look at me now, when I am not injecting my arm with a caffeine-drip I can be found with beer bottle in hand or considering all post 11pm drinks as an adequate "nightcap." What does it mean when I seem to be going to bed kinda drunk on more days than sober? What's next, scotch and cocaine? (I kinda hope so).

Doing lines in between classes,
Dear Drunk Face I Make In Every Picture EVER,

You are not cute.

Close Your Mouth And Open Your Eyes,
Dear Food:

You tricksy, evil bee-otch, I have found a way to conquer you. You know that I love you and eat too much of you. You have been winning the DC battle and have forced me up a pants-size. Well, no longer. I have your number. I am going to eat something disgusting and moldy, which will accomplish my goal in not one, but TWO amazing ways:

1. I will get really sick and vomit for 2 days and lose 7 pounds
2. I will get really sicked out by the thought of you and therefore get over my obsession and never want you anymore except for survival

Bon appetit...bitch,
Dear Bratty Little Girl,

Ok, I'm sorry I accidentally sort of bumped into you with my bag this morning on the metro. Maybe I could've been a little more careful as I was bowling people out of the way to get the last seat. But come on. It's rush hour. It's crowded. Hearing, "Mommy! That lady hit me with her purse!" and getting evil glares from half the train is not on the top of my list of ways to start the day. Suck it up, kid. Life's tough. People hit you with bags to get the last seat. And if you wanna grow up in the city and take public transportation, that's just a lesson you're gonna have to learn sooner or later.

Cute Braids Though,
Dear Asshole Who Stole My Blackberry,

You, sir, are an uberdouche. While I was having a great time celebrating my friend's birthday, you decide to become the bane of my existence. I know that you know who’s phone it is because you checked my voicemail, not once, but TWICE. It’s all good though, because I also know that you were the same one who stole my friend's purse and camera, and decided to use the credit cards at a gas station in the ghetto. Unfortunately, even gas stations in ghetto LA have surveillance cameras these days. Suffice to say, that besides being an uberdouche you are also not very bright. Have fun in jail.

Eat a dick,
Dear Pedestrians Who Insist On Crossing the Street Against the Light…

Yeah - you know who you are… you cross against the light because you saw the special on the news about the laws regarding crosswalks… what that special failed to notify you of was that, when there's a crosswalk SIGNAL, it takes the place of an OFFICER, who is telling you to STOP and NOT CROSS - yeah jackass, I READ the damn law…. As if this weren't bad enough, THEN you decide to cross like you've got a damn load in your pants and are meandering through there hoping nothing eeks out the side of your tighty whiteys. So my hailings to you (which finger I hail with is my perogative) as I drop 400 miles off my tires stopping short for your sorry ass while you look at me in disdain thinking you own the fuc&ing street (yet I'm the guy who pays the taxes you renting SOB) and take your sweet time getting to the other side… I SHOULD HAVE HIT YOU OUT OF FRIGGIN PRINCIPLE… but I just washed my truck, and I'm too pretty for jail time. A$$HOLE!

Yours truly,
The guy swearing at you driving the bigass Ford Pickup that almost (and should have) killed you. ~J

P.S. DISCLAIMER: No, not all renters are SOB's - just this jackass. :)
Dear Guy I Dated But Did Not Date Over The Summer-

Have fun with your slutty ex-girlfriend that you chose over me. I am significantly more cooler, prettier and caring than she is. Just ask ML.

Also- you suck. A lot. I'm going to go have some fun with my D.C. boyfriend now.

Dear Asshole,

I’m sorry that your immaturity forbids you from acting even half your age, but that’s not really my problem. I’m also sorry that your life is so damn fucked up, but that’s really your fault (and also, not my problem). It would be an easy fix, but you are to determine to continuously make these poor decisions in a desperate attempt to fulfill your attention-whore ways…*cough* Britney *cough*. Regrettably, your defunct morals are the only way you do get noticed, since well, you suck at everything else.

However, my problem is the fact that all YOUR issues are STILL interfering with MY life, (even though we no longer associate). And, well, I am pretty sick of it, and you. So get over yourself. Its NOT that hard, I promise. Only took me two, maybe three minutes...okay?

Hope all is well (but not really),

p.s. You're not hot, lose the ego; the rest of us could really use the space.
Dear people riding bikes on a busy street while wearing Crocs (but no helmet),


Surely you can afford a $15 bike helmet if you're willing to drop $30 on a pair of lime green resin clogs. Is it because you think helmets look silly? If so, you may want to rethink your choice of footwear.

Or maybe I'm just witnessing natural selection in action,
Dear "dear life" blog,

thank you for giving me something amusing to read instead of paying attention in class. the bitch sessions of people I do or do not know are much more amusing than the foreign man who speaks very quietly in front of the room. unfortunately, the room is quiet enough that when i laugh, even quietly, i get a look. probably from everyone. damn.

"usually". the "s" is a Z sound. the "ll" is an L sound. not an R.

p.s. mr. "challenge the teacher every 5 minutes" ... shut the fuck up, dude. i'm reading over here.
Dear Ryan the Tech Guy,

I'm really sorry that I continue to be such an unhelpful moron towards you every time you come in to the office. I can actually be really smart and witty, but for some reason I seem to lose significant brain function every time you attempt to talk to me. I think it's because you have one of the hottest little butts I have ever seen.

Please consider wearing tighter pants, even though it may cause me to have a stroke,
Dear Fence,

JC! Get the hell out of my way. Granted, you were blatantly behind me, but common sense would tell you that if a car is backing out towards you, MOVE! Instead, you stood there like the stubborn bitch that you are and ripped off my bumper instead. However, you did not go unscathed. I'm pretty sure my Honda took out a chunk of your fug brown post, and the green paint I left behind is an obvious scar that you will keep with you until you're repainted. I hope you learned your lesson.

Hating You With Vengeance,
Dear boys,

No girl has ever been impressed by the "Did you grow up on a chicken farm?" pick up line and the humor is lost on all females older than 13. Don't look so surprised when my reaction to your failed attempt at wittiness is promptly removing myself from the position beside you at the bar. Maybe there are some 7th graders in the area looking for a class clown...

Get real,
Dear Co-Worker,

Please stop muttering, "I can't take this" under your breath every five minutes. It's kinda disconcerting. We work RIGHT next to eachother and both know that we can hear everything going on in the other person's workspace. Although, it's pretty funny that you say "Bless you" through the wall when I sneeze, then think it's okay to belch with abandon whenever the crap you want, and mutter strange things to yourself. Also, I heard that gross comment you made about what you would do to the "Victoria's Secret model" from the meeting the other day. Ugh, just stop.

I Can't Take This,

dear 'zilla,

please consider for one minute that perhaps dressing your bridal party in a gown that makes me look like a wayward member of the three musketeers is not the most flattering solution. I'm over the fact that I will never wear this $400 dress again, but skin-tight-chiffon, REALLY?? I realize that I am not the picture of physical perfection like the rest of the maids, so for the sake of your own wedding pics put me in an A-line dress and call it a day.

Not even Spanx can help me now,
Dear My Boss At The Theater-

Your usage of the word "crisis" really pisses me off. Please stop calling me at 8:00 in the morning and saying that we are in the midst of a "crisis". I'm sick of receiving the phone call and finding myself at the theater 20 minutes later, only to find that you are busy talking to someone else and not solving our "crisis".

The fact that you havent fully casted the show yet is an issue, not a crisis. A crisis is famine, disease or cat pee. Neither of which should be present in the theater.

Calm the fuck down,
To sleazy realtor in Summit County,

I know that when I was showing property you were shacking up with some random beezie, that is about 20 years younger than your wife (ie my age) someone else's home, no less. I know that you tried to play it off like she was just the house cleaner...I guess I forgot that all the Mexican people went on strike and all the cleaning help is preppy twentysomethings with no cleaning supplies. You make me sick, in that I'm afraid to head down the path of monogamy enough as it is.... but instead of taking the whole marriage thing like a champ, you've got to go fuck your wife and sons over. I'm not going to get you caught, but you certainly are.

you smile like a douchebag...go figure
Dear Ex's new fling,

You are fug & I am fab.

Consider a nose job?
Dear guy in the black jacket at Baja Burrito,

Adrienne doesn't care that you think the tea is good. You need to get better pick up lines. You do not know the caliber of chick that you are hitting on.

Dear Mr. (not) Nice Guy,

Fuck you you fucking heartless bastard. If I ever meet you in person I advise you to guard your twig and shriveled berries with your life before I kick them into the back of your throat. It is guys like you that make me wonder if man has ever evolved at all. I'm sure sitting around scratching yourself, burping, taking the occasional piss, and feeling up girls you couldn't dream of dating is quite exhausting. God, you must be some kind of a king to handle the hardships of your life. Jesus, there should be some sort of a website dedicated to warning other girls against bastards like yourself. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you're on the sex offender registry anyway. Nobody loves you, nobody ever will, and pretty soon the neighbors will be shielding their children's eyes when you drive past, picketing your existence in the world, and writing their congressmen about how a soulless pervert like you is terrorizing the innocent women and children of Nashville. Go rub one out while fantasizing about how big of a man you are. Maybe that will help you forget for 3 minutes that you are a completely worthless human being.

Dear Life,

What is going on with this guilt thing ladies? It's time to put that away and get back to the debauchery. At this rate the blog will meander down the road into a talking point memo for the republican party. You can do republicans ... please do as they need some heterosexual help! But don't go conservative on us that need a life.

Frustrated and healed.
Dear Not so New Anymore Coworker,

Everyone is sick of hearing you complain that because you are new you need so much help because you "don't know what you don't know." It's old, you've been here for 9 months, get over yourself and start doing your own job!

Hoping you get fired,
Dear Future Husband:

All of what A said, and please also let me be the love of your life.

Thanks for caring and not settling just b/c I'm hot in the sack,
Dear Being 30:

You aren't nearly as bad as people make you out to be. Apparently, my tatas are still bangin', as I found out yesterday when I got really drunk and showed them off to about 324 strangers. (Oh, and my cousin's husband.) Everyone said they were really fantastic. I mean, hey--they were all drunk, too, but it still counts. I'm not SUPER sure I like that my metabolism has come to a screeching halt, but hey--my knockers still look good, so who cares, right?

So laughing at 30-year olds who already have 3 kids and saggy old-lady boobies,
Dear Bitches At The Bank,

I hate you and your gold jewelry and panty-line showing rayon pants. Why? Because I don't know how to manage my money and projecting my anger on you is easier than facing the fact that I'm a womanchild.

Not Love,
Dear my Alma Mater,

This weekend marked the second time in the past year I've been caught hooking up with random boys at a dinner on your dime. Unfortunatly the word "discreet" does not seem to be in my vocabulary, although the words "really freaking obviously disappears during the middle of dinner to go make out by the lake" are. I fear I might be getting a reputation at the alumni house as some sort of sure thing. Than again, without the cute boys and copious amounts of free wine you provide me, this would never be possible.

You guys are better than a bar, and cheaper too,
Dear Crazy Old Man,

You had a cat in your lap and a cat ON your head as you sat in the sun enjoying your paper. You rule.

Keep on Truckin',
Dear Guys From Jersey,

I think it's great that you are really excited about your life in the Garden State. Yes, they made a movie about it. I think they've also made one or two movies about New York City. Not sure, but I could look them up.

I bet Hoboken is really rocking and totally the new Manhattan. How could it not be? All my friends from the South call and say they are going to be visiting Hoboken on their next vacation, not me in the city - so could I please come out there to join in the fun?

You seem really nice. I appreciate the attention. Although, I am a bit alarmed that you live so close to your mother. So, here's the deal. I really don't want to date you. It's not me, it's your geography.

thanks for asking,
Dear Boss,

You give new meaning to the phrase "dumber than hair".

When someone is being sarcastic - they are using irony to make a funny remark about a person or situation. They already know the contradiction that they are stating. That is why it's sarcastic. A hint that someone is using irony is when the rest of my coworkers are laughing.

So I don't need you to explain the situation to me as if I don't understand it. You are the one that doesn't understand it.

A rhetorical question is a question asked solely to produce an effect or to make an assertion and not to elicit a reply.

Your inability to comprehend this is astounding. Your inability to comprehend this even after being told that the statement was rhetorical and/or sarcastic is infuriating.

So next time, please excuse yourself from the witty office banter that everyone else understands and enjoys. Stop whining and crying about how hard your job is.. We all know how hard your job is because we all know that you have gerbils sleeping in your brain. (They can't even get on the fucking wheel!)

I know that this whole explanation is completely over your head, so I am just going to close with the following:

shut the fuck up.

can i have next friday off?
Dear Self Control,

Where the hell did you go? You were a constant participant in my life last year (admittedly causing me to be one of the most boring people on the face of the earth) but at the beginning of this year you found somewhere better to hang out and quite frankly, I'm a little offended and more than a little screwed... literally. Without your voice of reason inside the anarchy that is my brain, I've gone from slightly desperate virgin to company mistress with a side of 20-year-old music major in just under two months.

Senior year is a bad time to be deserted by one of your most loyal companions. How will I ever finish my college applications instead of getting really drunk every weekend and making bad decisions involving coworkers if you don't come back? I'm sorry I made fun of your conservative tendencies and I hope we can work out a compromise.

Kind of enjoying myself a lot, though...

You couldn't be any more perfect. Thank you for elevating my mood to blissful levels comparable to post-hookup pillow talk.

Dear my cat,

I know you are pissed at me for leaving town, but showing your dissatisfaction by puking all over my bedroom is not an acceptable outlet. Even worse, you bury your cat vomit underneath my dirty clothes, so that I stumble across it unexpectedly. With my foot. You passive aggressive bitch.

Next time use your words,

Dear Kids,

I want like 8 of you right now. And a chubby baby too.


Dear Video,

Not sure why you amuse me so much, but I really like you.

Especially The End,
Dear Future Husband,

Please be my best friend.


P.S. And think i'm pretty.
Dear life - or at least apparently mine:

Why and how can you be so cruel sometimes? Why was I tricked into marrying someone who is not only NOT my best friend, but apparently someone that I not only wouldn't have looked twice at across a crowded room, nor decidedly hung out with because she's a complete tool? Why have you made the love of my life available again and not I? Why have you made it impossible for me to become available again... All I want is her (not the wife)... I can't have her... and yet you dangle her in front of my face.

You suck.
Dear College Football Gameday,

I look forward to you all week long just to loathe you when I awake from my drunken stupor Sunday morning.

You keep scheduling noon games and that means I must start drinking, at the latest, 9AM, in order to be feeling pretty good by kick off. I then continue to pound over priced beers all through out the game, which I do not watch because the only way I can see is to shut one eye and squint really hard with the other.

After the game, I have no idea who won, it is time for drinking games on campus until I make the trek downtown to "go out for the night," as if I haven't been out all morning and afternoon. At this point there is no recollection of how I arrive downtown, or what happens after I get there.

I wake up, having no clue how I got home, praying I didn't drive, with a wicked hangover wondering what, or who I may have done.

Can't Wait to see you again next weekend!
Dear Girls In Pittsburgh-

Its 56 degrees. Put the Uggs away. You look dumb wearing giant clunky boots and babydoll tees.

When it is actually cold, you are going to hate your life.

Save them for when it is snowing-
Dear Mystery Bruise That's So Painful I Couldn't Sleep on That Side Last Night:

Wow. I like that you came w/ friends, mainly top of knee bruise and pubic bone bruise. Are you all from when I tried to pole dance at the gay bar and ended up in a gay melee? Maybe I fell when I showed all the pretty little gay boys my teeny tiny panties?

Whatev--You Hurt Me and That's Why I Like You,
Dear Job Market,

This is going way beyond playing hard to get, you're just a big ol' clit tease, aren't you. You call me for interviews, make me think I'm going to get somewhere with you, maybe a nice salary or some health insurance.. then BAM. You disappear, stop returning my phone calls, act like nothing ever happened between us. What is wrong with you that you think you can just walk all over me? I'm a person, you know... I have NEEDS. For example, I NEED to pay rent so that I'm not forced to move back in with my parents in a month. I also NEED to pay tuition so that I can continue my journey to a graduate degree. I NEED cute new clothing for the impending cooler weather. Oh yes, and I NEED to eat, but my fridge has been empty for about a month now. So... let's just cut the crap. Stop fucking around and hire me already.

Detail oriented and enthusiastic graduate student seeking employment immediately,

P.S. I also need to continue paying my therapist. Pretty please hire me?
Dear UNC Cunt Bouncer,

Thanks for snatching my I.D. and giving it to the cops. I don't know why you didn't give it back to me after I drunkenly kept inquiring "Dude are you serious? do we really have to do this?"

Yeah, you're a twat.

Don't worry, I'll get another,
Dear Best Friend aka "Stro",

Thanks for throwing up at the bar. The way you effortlessly vomited on, in, and around the booth...SIMPLY BREATHTAKING.

Your buddy,
Dear Rihanna and Shia,

Ok, break up. I don't like you together. Rihanna, you can date Yung Joc. Shia, you can date Dakota Fanning.


Dear God,

Thank you for celebrity couples.

Maybe prayers do get answered,

Dear Jashley (Ashley Tisdale + Jason Murillo),

Stop it. Seriously, stop it. You are too cute and I just love it. Please don't come out with a sextape. At least not until you are in your thirties and like Pam and Tommy.

Dear Pretty Dress That I (My Mom) Paid Too Much For That I Will Be Donning At My Friend's Rehearsal Dinner,

Best purchase ever and you're gonna look stellar with my yellow 5 inch pumps. Maybe I could wear you somewhere BEFORE the actual event and you could help me score a date so that I'm not the only one there with an empty placecard by my seat, that would be awesome.

Here's Hoping For +1 Because I Don't Want To Get Stuck At The Kid's Table Again,

P.S. Why do I feel like going to this wedding alone puts me in the same category as a dateless prom-goer? If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'm dancing with the bride's grandparents.
Hello Dear Life,

Your blog is hot. How hot ... well half the time I'm spanking my meat as I read about your lives. And each time I have an incredible mess that I have to clean up. Too bad I'm not spanking you, you naughty girls ... and boys!

Blissfully raw,
Dear People On The New Fox Reality Series "Nashville",

If you are going to shoot scenes in my hometown, at the bars I go to, and my apartment complex, at least do something entertaining. I may not have bleach blond hair and a perfect body, but I think my life is significantly more amusing. No one cares that you're trying to make it as singer-songwriters. I'm partial, but my friends could make much better television.

Work On It,

P.S. No one I know here has that thick of an accent or drives a Ford pick-up from the 60's down Belmont Blvd.
Dear Subway Boy,

I don't like you. The fact that i have not returned your calls for two weeks or that i TOLD YOU that i was going on a weekend trip with another guy is not a hint to you, scares me. But you do come off as a little dumb. And that's kind of funny. Not to mention, you are a little too feminine to be telling girls that you can't stop thinking about them.

Also- most girls don't like it when you tell them that they aren't supposed to know about about certain things (i.e.: computers). Misogyny is so totally 1952.

Please stop taking up space in my voicemail seeing that it is scarce already since i never check it, even when ML calls. Or my boss.

Your Pink Floyd Tattoo is really dumb,
Dear Single Straight Guy That I'm Moving In With,

You seem normal enough. Please don't bludgeon/try to mount me in my sleep. Thanks.

Dear Officer Stylin',

So, while in South East DC (the fringes) outside of Ugly Mugs, I was entranced by young men with rich automobiles. I'm poor. I want money. You however, were entranced because these young men with rich automobiles were not descents of Caucasia and were kinda loud. Put those two together, and you got some stolen vehicles I suppose. While you were digesting the scene, I noticed you got a little caught up, because you fell out of your cruiser. Oh, did I say cruiser? I meant segway. They don't off-road the treacherous sidewalk/planter area apparently. You darted around with your mustache glowing with excitement, but this buzzed kid saw it. Laughed silently. Listened to more Killers on his iPod (thanks student loans). Really though, who are you kidding? Since they weren't white, that means they're genetically faster than your hell on wheels. Kidding guy, respect the uniform blah blah, oh just ride a horse. Those things scare anything coming down the street.

Wondering when the gong hits and he gets yanked out of DC via debt,

"PLEASE don't read this if you are: easily offended/my boss/my parents/someone I've dated or am dating/someone stalking me for weird reasons"

Can I still stalk you for normal reasons? ie: you're hot/ nice boobs

Dear High School Sweetheart,

Here's the thing, I want you. Pretty bad too. I'm pretty sure you want me too. The drunk text message that I get every night would confirm that. It sucks that you're in Carolina, and I'm in Colorado.

Not to mention:
you want to be a teacher with a stable home, vice I want to be a Pilot on a ship somewhere

you like tall guys, and I'm shorter than you

You want to live here, and I want to live on a beach

The previous John will probably make way more money than me, and he's a Redskins fan.

How can I possibly compete? Please hurry up and fuck me over so I can move on with my twitchy existence.

Dear Friend Whose Blood I Just Found Smeared All Down My Leg,

Tonight was a rough one, huh? I think you should tell people you got in a fight with some latina bitch trying to steal your boyfriend. That's kinda truthful...except by "latina bitch" i mean the cement ground and by "trying to steal your boyfriend" I mean because you got Jimmy legs dismounting the balcony railing.

Whatever, you're prettier than like, everyone. You made that shit look hot. Next thing you know, MK Olsen is going to be photographed eating shit just because you made it look so good.

Getting You A Bandaid For Your Boo-boos,

Dear Ashley Tisdale the OTHER hot bitch of High School Musical,

Um, hi. I love you. I also want to buy your album. Did I say I love you?

This is why my friends are funnier than yours...

Dear Liz Lange,

Your maternity clothes are so adorable that I often find myself passing the racks while cradling my midsection, as if willing there to be a bump present that is in need of clothing. Those fall trenches are just to die for. Maybe I'll shove a pillow under my shirt a-la playing house with some incompetent 5 year old boy in kindergarten. Then not only will I be wearing a killer coat but people will also dote on me and tell me that I'm glowing. Although I'm pretty sure all of the positive attention would end when I start ordering multiple alcoholic beverages while posing as a woman in her third trimester. But I'd still look cuter than anyone else in the bar.

I like this one. So true. :)

Dear Text Messaging:

I love you dearly, which is why I have an unlimited amount of you. However, I do not enjoy the following things:

1. Textual Frustration, aka, when people don't text back immediately (or at all, if you are my crush)

2. Sent Items Log - there's really no need to keep a record of the ridiculous shit I send to objects of affection slash psychosis while binge-drinking. (actually, if you could have some kind of alcohol sensor to keep me from sending those at all that'd be fine, too.)

3. SMS memory full message - just have more memory already b/c I'm NOT deleting the ones from when I got arrested for not paying that cabbie his $5 fare (there are like 3 marriage proposals on there and I might need to cash those in someday)

4. Predictive Text that spells words like "Ashley" and "bitch." I mean, really. B/c Ashlex and citag ARE words?!?!? WTF is that.

Okay, that's really it. Otherwise, I'm pretty happy with you b/c you make it possible for me to never ever talk to anyone on the phone ever. And to also talk about people when they are sitting right next to me and laugh inside at how I am making fun of them and they don't even know.

Dear Hot Shot Driving Your Mid-Life Crisis Mobile,

I am concerned for your well-being. Taking a wide turn into your parking space at 2mph is very dangerous. You could have fish-tailed or, worse, completely spun out. Slow it up next time, Turbo. Now pass me your helmet and steering wheel. I'll get the pit crew checking your oil pressure.

Hoping to be hired by the next Mario Andretti,
Dear Dearly Departed Cell Phone;

Although your performance was always only mediocre at best, it is a tragedy the way you met your untimely death yesterday. While I cannot excuse my absentmindedness entirely based on stress, I will say that it is largely what caused me to leave you on the roof of my car and drive down the highway at about 70 mph. You gave it a good shot, ol’ boy, and you hung on for dear life for about a good five miles, and for that, I have to hand it to you. Although I frequently berated you, constantly called you a “piece of shit” (let’s face it – you pretty much were), you deserved more than to come face-to-face with a gas guzzling SUV in the middle of a major highway at rush hour. You were no match for that SUV anymore than you had a chance once you hit the pavement at about 60 mph or so. What possessed me to run out into that very highway and fetch the remaining pieces of your mediocrity, I’m not sure I will ever know – although I have a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the faint notion that I thought you might actually still have a chance in hell of working. Well, as it turned out, running out in the middle of the highway actually saved me a whopping $200 when it came time to replace you (with a vastly superior model, I might add), because while the rest of you was useless, that little SIM card you gave your life to protect was all that I needed to salvage everything you formerly were. So, I suppose that means I value my own life at $200 or less since running out into highway traffic wasn’t my brightest moment…especially when my sandal came off halfway across the lanes – sweet. So, I dedicate a moment of silence to you, dearly departed cell phone. Rest in pieces while I talk on my new phone that never drops a call.

Wishing you safe travels to cell phone heaven,
Penelope Ann
Dear Crush,

God, why?!?!

Of course I discreetly make an appointment at the health center to get a nether region issue checked out. I go to school with 12,000 people. A sea of anonymous persons. Who shows up right next to me in the back waiting room? You.

Oh yes, I have been intentionally avoiding you. I'm shy (go figure).

Here's where God's sick tricks come in. (It's probably punishment for this blog). So , I get called in the room we are sitting outside of chitchatting/flirting (I don't know why I avoid you in the first place because you are actually quite delightful and cute as hell). After miss doctor woman does a brief investigation, she walks outside the door to VERY AUDIBLY consult about the less than desirable condition of my groin. I can hear her through the thick closed door as if she is next to me. You were basically 3 feet away from her outside rapidly losing any slight attraction you may have ever had for me. Awesome.

This tops the last time I went to the gyno and some pregnant chick's husband walked in the wrong room and got a full 360 view of my cha-cha in the stirrups.

God Help Me,

P.S. When you crossed your legs like that, I could see right up your shorts. Totally hot.
P.P.S. I'm trying to beat you to the punch of running for cover here, which I'm surprised you haven't done all guys inevitably do.
P.P.P.S. I just checked my sent messages from last night when I was bombed and I kinda want to kill myself.
* This one's pretty good. :)

Dear SnoozBar:

I absolutely HATE you. First off, you're spelled badly, secondly you allow me to ignore my alarm for a measly 9 minutes!! Who the HELL picked out NINE minutes?!?! It's not even enough time to fall back to sleep or rub one out. And you're so damn small!! If you were a guy I swear you'd be hung like a light switch!

Let me further explain why I LOATHE you - 4am… you go off… I reach for your insignificantly small button only to knock over my daughter's glass of water and the lamp from my nightstand… which wakes up the dog who immediately needs to pee… finally find your stupid button (the snooze bar, not my wife's button) and you leave me alone for ONLY NINE MINUTES… of which the dog is nosing me, and I'm suddenly acutely aware of how stupid it was of me to pound that beer before bedtime… so I lay there, for EIGHT OF YOUR FREAKIN NINE MINUTES… trying to ignore my desire to urinate and the dog's cold wet nose until I finally drift off to sleep… AND YOU GO OFF AGAIN!!! GAAAAHHHH!!! I just want to throw you against the wall, light you on fire, and roast marshmallows on your burning carcass of a stupid machine made by Panasonic….. DIE DIE DIE!

Yours in hell,
Dear Everyone In LA Making A Left Turn On Green:

Fuck you. Seriously.

The Irate Bitch Behind You

Dear Parents of This Kid,

I hope to God he has an IEP.

Poor Johnathon,
Dear Dave Eggers,

I don't care if my celebrity crushes actually highlight my true English major-nerdiness; I want to bone you so bad. Not only are you attractive AND a talented writer (rare) you seem like an actual good person. You raised your seven year old brother and now you start charities and help child soldiers in Africa! That is hot. It makes me want to do dirty things to you.

Do something about your hair though…

Dear Jack Daniels:

Thank you thank you thank you! You come from a predominantly dry state and help me to forget about my nagging, crazy, twinkie eating, won't do the dishes even though I bought and installed a $400 dishwasher, wife. You mix well with almost anything, and honestly, after consuming enough of you, it all tastes the same anyway. You go so well with my Marlboro Menthol Lights I can barely contain myself. A smoke in one hand and a bottle of you in the other? HEAVEN!

Yours in AA

Dear Online Shopping at Work,

You are a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea. Yesterday I spent two whole hours, zombie-like, staring at rows upon rows of adorable yet completely impractical things on . I somehow came away with a romper (really? who wears those?) and like five totally stupid 'vintage' tees. Boredom and convenience are quite a tricksy pair. So what if I can spend faster than I earn? At least when I'm living in a cardboard box outside my former office building I'll have the whole day free to shop to my heart's content.

Gonna Be The Cutest Hobo EVER,

Dear my suitcase,

I have a feeling that, despite what CF told me, trying to pack you while somewhat tipsy was a very, very bad idea. I can only hope that when I open my suitcase tonight in Atlanta, some of the clothes that I randomly stuffed into you last night after the dollar beer extravaganza will be weather appropriate and/or matching.

Not sure what I'm going to do this weekend with four pairs of pajamas, a bikini and not much else…


dear t,

cool. i could use a piece.

dear a,

I have a total crush on you. Seriously.

Dear Life,

I finally break up with the douchebag boyfriend whom I love anyway, and within the hour he has new pics on Facebook of his trip to Texas with the whore from June or May or whenever it was. Aaaand they are all pics where they look like a couple. Thanks for rubbing that salt into the wound. What, the pain wasn't raw enough already? If you could please cease sucking immediately and start improving, I'd be pretty appreciative.

Thanks for nothing,
Dear Not Effing Up,

Thank you thank you thank you!!! Thank you for making me feel momentary stability. Thank you for making me feel capable with the work I do and like decent friend. I really hate self-loathing and I do it way too much, so please don't go away soon. And Responsibility, please stick around for awhile. I hate having nightmares that I'm going to get found out for being a terrible person and get fired for my job, fail out of school, and have all of my friends abandon me after deciding I suck.

Sanity Makes Me A Much Happier Person,
Dear Grilled Cheese Sandwich I Made After Ingesting a Big Gulp-Sized Vodka After a Long Day of Work:

Have. My. Baby.

Dairy Rocks,
Dear Yeast Infection Commercials:

OMG!!!!! SICK ME OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Y'all have gotten WAAAAAY to graphic! At least maxi-pad commercials have the decency to use BLUE liquid to show the effectiveness!! OMG!!!!! STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP I AM TRAUMATIZED.

I am so gonna have to block every channel b/c of you if I ever have kids:
(preface: the below mentioned fable is about a grasshopper who spends his summer merrily, while the ants store up food for winter. come winter, the grasshopper is fucked and the hard-working ants throw him a bone after scolding his carelessness)

Dear Children's Fables That Attempt to Teach Stories, specifically The Story of the Grasshopper and the Ant:

GET OFF ME!!! I GET that I have to bill as many hours in the remaining months of the year as I did the entire first 8 months of the year!!! I GET that it's football season, the weather is getting all nice and fall-like, and the holidays are approaching and I can't even take time off to go to the bathroom!!! I GET IT!!! However, you should really remember that the Ant busted his ass while the Grasshopper dicked around and got bombed all summer and then the Grasshopper totally got taken in by the Ant and was saved anyway.


Dear Kayne West,

Man, it sucks BIGTIME that you lost out on five different nominations. I can totally understand your frustration/upset/meltdown. After all, can't anyone give a black man a chance?! I feel for you. It must be SO painful to be one of America's most famous people, have come up quicker than almost any other rapper in history, have people waiting on you hand an foot and NOT get a moonman. I mean, if I were you...I wouldn't be thankful for ANYTHING if I didn't get that piece of plastic and MORE recognition for being amazing. Sometimes I don't even know how you go on living, you have it so rough.

Actually, I'm so sad for you right now, I think I'm going to take up the violin and compose you a bittersweet concerto. My heart bleeds for your vanity and multi-millions and the 13 people in your entourage that you probably force to treat you like Jesus.

Loving Your Drama,
Dear Guy At The Coffee Shop On Campus,

Listen, I KNOW what you're up to. I KNOW that you hit on every other girl that walks in there the same way you do to me. Do me a favor and STOP acting like I'm special. People talk. You may have a teensy crush on me, but I know I'm one in like infinity so it's not even that flattering anymore.

Ok, I would never date you, but I still really liked the idea of having your eyes get all buggy everytime I walked in to get an iced latte on a sweltering summer day in my short shorts. Those days have come and gone and I'm over you. I even called you out on your flirtatious manner the other day and you reassured me (in a convincing tone) that you did not do this with others....LIES!

So, thanks for the extra slices of bread, not charging me for things, and always telling me how pretty I look each day, but I'm not buying it anymore. I know I'm nothing to you...for you have hundreds of undergrads to oggle over all day long.

Um, wait a second...why is there something terribly wrong with this picture??? OH RIGHT! Because I'M the one going places in life and YOU'RE the one steaming milk.

Keep Your Complimentary Expresso Shots To Yourself,
Dear Guy Walking On Campus Twirling His Folded Up Umbrella Every Which Way Like A Baton Girl During Half-time,

Probably not the most socially acceptable thing to do while walking to class. Might as well throw on the sequined bikini if you're gonna do that.

Just a Thought,

Dear Reese Witherspoon,

Could you BE any more slammin?! Good GAAAWD! Why would Ryan have ever cheated on you? Good thing Gyllenhall gets to reap the benefits of his bad judgement.

Dear "Granola" Guy In Front Of Me In Stats Class,

I understand you are going for more of the au naturale look. The miniature bush on your chin, which all too closely resembles an unkempt and unruly vag, shows that you embrace the facial hair that God gave you; I get this. Your long, not so flowing locks, also proves that you don't like to mess with one's natural ability of growing hair; thus, you never cut it. I get it!!!! My issue stands with the damn scrunchie you insist on pulling your stringy, hairball-like strands back with!!!! Uh, those went out in like '92 at the VERY latest. Lose it!!! So, feel free to embrace all the hair you can grow, but PLEASE for the love, use a normal hair binder and not Kelly Kapowski's maroon scrunchie!

Desperately Wanting To Hold You Down and Leave You Hairless,
Dear Britney,

In Loving Memory.

(Still like the hottest performance of all time)

(I think I just got a boner and I don't even have a dong)

(Justin and Snoop Dogg's reactions are classic)

God, you were SO awesome! I have to hand it to you, you used to RULE!!!

Get better.

Dear Hot Auditor,

You are smokin' and totally just made my Monday a little less hellish. Seriously, you are wayyyy too sexy to be wearing those glasses and walking around with a calculator. In my head I'm devising an elaborate plot for a porn involving a hot young secretary in trouble with the IRS and a handsome, ruthless and passionate auditor sent to straighten her out.

Wanna Bone In The Breakroom? (Actually?),
dear Britney,

what the hell was that?

we're all still awaiting an answer,
Dear VMAs,

You're like a sad, little three-legged dog (think Homestar Runner) that for some reason, I keep rooting for. Please stop sucking.

No wonder you nixed the reruns,
Dear Nicole Schkjlh;kgjh;kb from the Pussycat Dolls,

Stop making me wish I was lez/you.

Dear Being One of the Guys,

While you are a blast, and have some very distinct advantages (rolling up to a club with an entourage of five hot boys is pretty pimp), I think you are starting to give me a complex. Why is it that literally every boy I meets skips "you're hot, lets bone" and jumps immediately to "you're awesome let's be bff." I love my boys, but it's a troubling trend and it has to stop.

Time to get sluttier,
Dear Foreign Exchange Dudes Who Work Out at the Gym,

It’s called observational learning. Look around at others to see that the shit you’re wearing is not appropriate. Neon lightning bolts have not been fashionable or sporty since the Hoff’s Knight Rider days. Ass-length skin-tight spandex undershorts are a hard look for anyone to pull off, but especially when your overshorts are twice as short. And your combination of pastel blue with lime green inseam stripes running directly to your crotch begs the question: Are you deliberately trying to draw attention to your sputnik? (Although nice package, btw. What are they putting in the water over there in the motherland?). Your outfit makes me wonder if you saw the Eric Prydz Call On Me video and failed to realize the satire. I know sarcasm can be lost in translation, but you’ve got me expecting Jane Fonda to walk around the corner any moment as your personal trainer. But at least Jane would be able to tell you that you’ve mistaken the painter scaffolding for an isolation exercise machine. Look, we won the cold war bitches! So shape up or ship out.

Your Fitness Fashion Expert,

P.S. What would steroids run me on the black market?