Dearly Beloved, Episode I Don't Know
08 June 2012
Yep, it's time again for another edition of letters-to-whomever; I just hope I can remember everyone I wanted to address, because I store these things in the ol' cranium until I spit them out here on this page. So, with that, let's have at it, shall we then?
Dear Next-Door Neighbor,
You know, leaf blowers have to be the stupidest invention ever, but think about it: We live in connected townhouses, and the grass that you've mowed in your postage-stamp size front yard that you're now blowing OUT of said yard? Um, guess where it's going? Right. MY driveway and yard. I don't really give a feck, because leaving grass clippings on the lawn is good for it, and it'll rain in five minutes and wash away off the driveway anyway, but still. What if we had one, too? Where do you think it would go? Shall we play dueling leaf blowers? Gah. Give it a rest. It's bad enough you share your lovely ciggy smoke with us and keep me from leaving my windows open for some fresh air.
The Chick Who Always Looks at You With One Eyebrow Raised
Dear Clueless Drivers,
For the LOVE OF GOD, it's now Hurricane Season, and the downpours have begun in Hampton Roads; turn on your damn lights!! There's nothing I love more (not) than not being able to see you until it's almost too late to keep from crashing into you, or vice versa, because you're too stupid to realize you're practically invisible in a deluge without your headlights ablaze. Turn. Them. On.
Woulda Failed You on Your Driving Test
Dear Thoughtless Drivers,
It's late Spring, which means the growing families with their multiple ducklings and goslings are all over the neighborhood, especially by the lakes. I realize they don't always get out of your way fast enough, but have a heart and don't mow them down. There's a special place in Hell for those of you who intentionally swerve your car to hit a Mallard or Canada goose who isn't moving fast enough for your tastes. And while I'm on the subject, the nabe speed limit is 25, not 50. Kids abound in these streets and sidewalks. Take it down a notch, will ya? This ain't the autobahn.
Would Rather Not Find ANY Offspring Squished in the Street, Thanks
Dear 7-11 Lady,
I realize tactfulness is not a prominent trait amongst Asians and Hispanics alike, generally speaking, but telling me "You've gotten fat! You gain a lot of weight! Look at my body, I have five children and my body never change!" is not exactly the way to win people over. And FYI, it's not fat, it's called a HERNIA. I have no control over my belly sticking out, until I get it fixed. Geez. Thanks for ruining what was otherwise a pretty swell day.
Dear Morning Radio DJ-ess,
The Dude carries the show. Have you ever listened to yourself? Every other so-called comment out of your mouth is, "Mm-hmm!" Really? Give me the job. I can think of a few more things to say than that 87 times an hour.
The Dumb One Who Listens to You Anyway
To My Bosom:
Pick a hemisphere, preferably the Northern one, please. And while we're talking, can I just say, would the two of you decide whether you're going to pop out the top of my bras or the bottom? Not knowing where you're going to show up next is disconcerting at best.
You (Don't) Lift Me Up
Dear Stupid People,
You know who you are. Oh, wait. You probably don't. I guess it really isn't your fault, then, so let me just paraphrase Shakespeare and say I'm not going to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. When you hear me going, "Yeah. Uh-huh. Mm-hmm," like a certain afore-mentioned radio DJ, that's me really thinking, "You're too much of an idiot to warrant a proper retort from me."
Rolling Eyes Heavenward
Dear New Neighbor Lady,
Yeah. You have neighbors now, and have you seen our driveway? It's a nightmare, but still, you don't own it. For Pedro's S8ake, PLEASE pull forward, or park somewhere else, anywhere but the exact point where I can neither get in nor out without ripping something off the bottom of my van. I swear, if you're parked thataways again today when I bring over another load of household wares, you're going to see me knocking on your door with a saccharine smile, asking you to Move. It. Now. And that won't be a basket of muffins I'm carrying. Just sayin'.
You are my new hero. When my iPhone went down for two days, and I was stuck borrowing Chloë's Crapberry, it was sheer misery. I hated every second of it. All of y'all out there using a Blackberry who have never had an iPhone, I pity you. I do. Do yourselves a favor and switch, because your phones suck hairy butt. And that is not fun.
An Apple A Day Keeps The BlackBerry Away
On that note, I have to do something that involves all the prunes I ate last night, ahem, so I'm going to close this edition and, uh, grab a magazine. Hee!