It's time....

My Dearest February,
I think it's time we end this. It's not you, it's me...and a little bit you. You are a great month. You have been a stepping stone in my life from winter to spring and thus have been a pretty important space of time. But I really can't live this lie anymore, pretending everything is ok with us. It's not. You play with my emotions, you are hot and cold, you make me feel fat and pasty and I never know where I stand with you. I don't know whether or not I should wear boots or sandals. From one hour to the next I don't know if I should work out outside or go to the gym, rake leaves or shovel snow and you force me to wear bronzer. Not ever knowing what to expect from you is exhausting and I think it's time I move on (and by move on I mean get back with you in 24 hours and then break up for good in two weeks - the first one never takes). We will always have our memories...V-day (which was excellent this year), Jazz games, the Globetrotters and soup. You were always a good month for soup.

Sincerely

Your soon-to-be ex, who was never really all that committed in the first place.

Dear Progresso....

I want to thank you for apparently selling your soul to the darkness in exchange for the recipe to low-fat, low-calorie New England clam chowder. I know that was the only way you were able to create this bowl of steaming creamy goodness and for that I will be forever in your debt.

You might say I am a little bit obsessed with clam chowder. Once I got soaked to the bone in a Virginia squall in exchange for a reputable bowl. I even returned repeatedly to a restaurant that made me sick in the past because their clam chowder was amazing and I refused to believe that it could be the culprit. But even after enjoying the most glorious of chowders, I later suffer from debilitating guilt due to the loaded fat and calories. But what could I do? I had searched for YEARS for a healthy yet decadent tasting clam chowder and always came up short. Well today all that has changed, thanks to you Progresso. I'm not going to say I wasn't skeptical. I mean a chowder that is only 2-points has GOT to be watery, tasteless and probably nothing chowder-like. But within the first taste, angels were dancing on my tongue and I knew my decade-long quest was over. Sorry about your soul, but I know millions will be forever thankful.

Sincerely,

Chowder Power

It was a mistake....

Dear Long Beach Granny's Doughnut (LBGD),

Sorry if this is awkward but I just want to clear the air about our affair last week. What we had was beautiful and special. I had no idea doughnuts could be as amazing and fresh and soft and decadent as you. During my week out there with you I felt like a different girl. A girl that could eat whatever I wanted, a girl that deserves as many baked goods as I can handle, and a girl that can deal with carb/sugar comas. You made me feel alive and I will never forget those late nights and early mornings with you. But LBGD, I am not the girl you think I am. I never was. This, ummmm, thing we had.... it was a mistake and.... and... well...it's over. It has to be. You aren't good for me and I could never be good for you. If maybe someday we run into each other again, I only hope that I will be strong enough to walk away. Thank you for everything and I will never forget you.

Sincerely,

Your Former Lover

Dear Glen Beck,

You're a train wreck. Shut the hell up.
Sincerely,

The Informed Public

Why?

Dear Skinny Guy With The Inappropriately Short Shorts At The Gym Yesterday,

I am going to call you Chad. See reason here. Because Planet Fitness is a "judgment-free zone" I may get in trouble for making this assessment. But I am going to go out on a limb here and say, based on your attire, and the fact that you were wandering around aimlessly for 10 minutes before you annoyingly plopped on the treadmill right next to me, that you aren't really a gym guy. My money says you probably just started going to the gym this week, and maybe yesterday was actually your very first time. I get it. But Chad, you broke some rules. First of all, the staring. Chad. You can't wander around and stare at people as they are working out. I will even give you the benefit of the doubt here and say that you were only staring to maybe learn some things like how to lift a barbell and how to start a treadmill. Sure. But staring is staring. And gym staring is still REALLY frowned upon and you could get punched. I am guessing you probably wouldn't take a punch well. So stop. Secondly, you know how there are unwritten rules about guys in urinals? Well the same concept loosely applies on treadmills. If you have a completely open row of treadmills you don't get on the one RIGHT NEXT to someone. You at least allow one machine in between you. It's about space. And that awkward look that I gave you when you ignored the empty row and got on the one next to me? Yeah, that wasn't because I was going on an incline of six and straining. (I know you probably noticed my speed and incline when you were closely and inappropriately eying my settings after you got on.) That was because I was really bugged and appalled. And finally, Chad, the shorts. Now I don't want to judge your taste in clothes. It is the gym and you should be free to throw on whatever. But the shorts have got to go. Not only did the whites of your guy thighs singe my retinas, but I saw that you headed for the mat after your seven minutes on the treadmill. Chad, I don't know what you were doing on those mats over there but if you laid down or sat down....ummm...I guarantee some things were.....ummm exposed. Nobody wins when that happens, Chad. Nobody. A few more extra inches of fabric would definitely help you side-step traumatizing innocent people who are just wanting to get their stretch on on the mats. Thanks for your cooperation.

Sincerly

The Anti-Guy Thigh Board

S.......T.......U......P......I......D

Dear Elizabeth Hasselbeck,
I hate your stupid face. On the rare occasion that I watch The View, I only do so with the hope that one of the ladies will break one of their chairs over your head. In fact, I would most likely be willing to give a kidney just to see one of the Viewies Karate chop you in the stomach. (I would give a lung if I could do it myself). I would rather submit to a lengthy root canal procedure than hold two words conference with you. Ever. Please develop an addictive habit that spirals out of control, thus forcing you to leave the entertainment world. Or just kindly leave. Either way.

Sincerely

The Anti-Elizabeth Board


P.S. - You are stupid. And your voice makes my ears hemorrhage.

Hold the Applause

Dear People Who Clap When Planes Land,
Why.
Since June, I have been on exactly 18 different flights. And during all but three of the landings there was clapping from like four or five of you on each flight. Why? Similarly I take tepid issue with those that clap at movies, but that is at least in a setting of entertainment. I suppose people want to express their delight with the quality of the film. I still don't really get it, yet maybe I somewhat understand the concept. But clapping when the plane lands? You are expressing delight for what...ummm not dying? And if that is the case why don't you clap when you get off buses or trains or when you park your 2002 Chevy Cavalier that you no doubt drive? Ok. Maybe I am being hasty in my assumption. I tend to do that. So maybe you are clapping because the landing was a job well done. Sure. Do you clap when the waiter at TGI Fridays serves you and drops nary a french fry on your lap? NO. That's what you paid them to do. I paid that pilot $178 to get me back to Salt Lake safe and sound and execute an acceptable landing. So he did. End of story. He didn't throw in any aeronautic acrobatics, the flight attendants did not perform. I flew in a plane and didn't die. Didn't even come close to dying (had we come close maybe I would clap.) MOREOVER even if you wanted to give the pilot that extra pat on the back by whacking your carpals together, he can't hear you. However, if you wait about five minutes, you can give him a literal pat on the back when you walk by him at the front of the plane when you leave. You know what? I even bet he'd hug you.

Sincerely,

A Logical Non-Clapper