Open Letters...

Today, I want to shake things up a bit.  And this time, I've decided to try the classic "write a letter" approach.  Well, my friends, it seems as though I have several letters to write...


To the man in the burgundy Mercedes in front of me this morning,

QUIT PUSSYFOOTING AROUND AND JUST MERGE ALREADY!  If you're going to cut me off, you need to just do it.  This bullshit floaty dance you're doing with your car where you jerk the wheel into my lane and then back into yours (even though I've clearly stopped to let you go) is just pissing me off. You have a nice-ish car.  Learn how to drive it.

While I'm thinking of it, you might want to talk to your douche bag buddy in the green CR-V.  It seems he has no concept of merging either.  Continuing to drive next to me when your lane ended 500 feet ago is a good way to make me start thinking that real life bumper cars aren't such a bad idea.  Too bad I like my car too much.  Consider yourselves lucky.


Dia.



To the warm cozy bed I had to leave far too early,

I love you more than you know.  I'll be home soon. ;-)  Be prepared to snuggle.  And to be mobbed by the animals, who seem to love you as much as I do.

Love,
Me



To the girl walking down the street in the minidress,

Um, it's 20 degrees and windy outside.  What the hell is wrong with you?  Are you that desperate for attention that you are willing to freeze to death?  You have nice legs, great, we get it.  Now go put some pants on.  I don't know if you know this, but pants can also make your legs look nice.  They're called skinny jeans.  Find some.  Besides, then your butt won't look so lumpy.  I don't like feeling like I should put more clothes on to make up for your lack thereof.  So stop it.


Dia.



To the gremlin who lives in my TV,
 

I'd really appreciate if you could stop randomly turning off the TV at the most inopportune moments.  I mean, really bro, knock that shit off.  I know you may think it's all fun and games, but you really are starting to stress me out.  I don't handle suspense well.  And thanks to you, I don't know the DNA results from the hair found on the Monsterquest expedition.  (Narrator: "The Monsterquest team has just received the DNA results from the suspected Big Foot hair it found while doing it's field search.  And the results came back..."  Beep BoopBoopBoop.  TV off.  Great.)  Listen, man, if Big Foot exists, I NEED TO KNOW! 

You're pushing me into an awkward situation my small friend. I like to like my TV.  We're cool.  It helps me relax.  But not knowing the answer to the final Jeopardy question because you think the TV needs a nap is really starting to bug me.  I don't like making threats, but you've left me no choice.  Watch it, kid, or I'll be forced to evict you. 

Really, though, we should just be friends.  It would be way cheaper. 

Love,
Me.



To my squealing shower head,

WTF.  Why do you do this to me?  You know very well that I have enough trouble getting up in the morning, so why are you trying to make the experience worse?  I know that you don't always squeal like a dying pig, so why only do it when I try to make the water hot?  Are you trying to make me miserable?  I think you are.

I hate you.  This means war.

Hatefully yours,
Me.



To the random animal that has made itself at home in my wall,

Please don't die.  If you're going to die, go do it outside.  I can handle the fact that you want to live in there, but please refrain from decomposing and stinking up my place.  It would be much appreciated. 

Also, could you save your creepy scratching sounds for a time when I'm not trying to sleep?  I think you must have peep holes, because you always manage to start rummaging in there right as I'm drifting off.  And it freaks me out.  And confuses the dog.  And makes the cat want to hunt you.  And you know she'll want you dead, which I've already asked you not to do inside.

Really, I think it's in your best interest to relocate.  But that's just me.  Suit yourself.  Just remember, no dying in the house.

Love,
Dia.



To the TV Pilates instructor,

We need to get something straight here.  "Balance and grace" are both things that I lack.  So when you tell me to move positions with balance and grace, you must realize that I will be doing a lot of shaking and falling instead. 

As long as you're cool with a sometimes student who is a little bit spastic, the we're good.


Me.

P.S. It might just be me, but Swan makes me feel like I'm humping the floor or something.  There's got to be a better way.  Also, Seal makes me feel special.  And not in a good way.



To PsychoDog,

Could you not try to eat my feet while I'm trying to follow along with the Pilates lesson?  Cause I think that might be just a little bit helpful to my cause. 

K, thanks.  We'll go for a walk later.

Wuve you,
Me.



To running,

You're pointless, and I hate you.  You make my lungs hurt when it's cold out and I spend the next three days coughing like I have the plague.  Why everyone raves about you is beyond me.

I think we have a date later today.

Love,
Me. 



To Route One,

You are the bane of my existence.  That is all.


Ugh,
Me.