Dear A-hole Litterbugs on I635,

I saw what you did. Both of you.

To the first jerk in the Audi:
When I caught a glimpse of the fluttering napkins, I gave you the benefit of the doubt and wrote it off as an accident. But when the McDonald’s bag came flying toward my car, I became enraged. I mean, come on! Who throws a bag of half-eaten chicken nuggets and fries out their car window? On the highway? First of all, it's wasting food. I love food. A lot. Second of all, it's littering. I have a friend who would have surely kicked your ace. You’re lucky I only laid on my horn. If I had something (biodegradable) to throw at you, I would have.

To the second jerk in the Cavalier:
I was already pretty t-ed off at your buddy in the Audi, so when I saw you toss something papery out of your window, there was no chance in hell you were going to get off easily. That’s why I pulled up next to you, honked my horn a million times and wagged my finger like a crazy woman. Yeah, you looked confused. And scared. But I don’t care! You’re a punk kid with a trashcan complex.

To both of you:
You know, virtually every gas station and shopping center I’ve EVER seen in my ENTIRE life has had wastebaskets. And I’m pretty positive you have a few at home. Plus, plastic grocery sacks* make handy trash bags for your car. So basically, I’ve come to the conclusion that both of you are a lazy sacks of shit. I normally don’t curse in my blog, but I feel, in this case, it’s okay. You are trashy. No pun intended.

Eff off,

Me

*Honestly, you shouldn’t be using plastic grocery sacks anyway. It’s much greener to bring your own canvas bags to the grocery store instead.

Dear Blog,

You're a joke. I don't know why I waste time with you. You lack substance and relevance. Nobody reads you. Nobody cares what you say.

Your words are simple and lame. A third grader could write you.

I was reading old blogs I wrote (I'd written? Grammar Avenger? Help?) in college and they rocked. Then, it occurred to me that I might very well be washed up at age 25.

Where's the passion? Has advertising stifled my creativity or just tightened up my sentences?

I don't know... I do know that omitting curse words from my blog has made it sound silly and romantic. But then again, I am silly and romantic. Just not passionate, apparently.

Whatever, Blog. You suck. I hate you. You're worthless.

Please die,

Me

Dear Gas Pipe,

Seriously? I mean, come on. You're making the rest of us look bad.



Here you go. You can thank me later.

And for those of you who take pleasure in the stupidity of others, go here.

Peace,

Me

Dear Future Child,

I don’t know you, but I miss you. I want to wrap your golden locks into braids and ribbons or tuck it under a baseball cap. Then, I want to take you to the park. It’s a gorgeous day and you deserve to enjoy it. Plus, if you were here, I wouldn’t be at work. Hopefully. No, definitely.

If you were here, I’d push you on the swings as high as you wanted to go. We’d pretend you were an eagle flying in today’s perfect blue sky. Next, I’d spin you on the merry-go-round until you begged me slow down.

I always feel bad for the kids at the playground whose mothers won’t let them swing high and spin fast. I’m not going to be one of those moms. Don’t worry; we’ll strap you in tightly. I mean, if worse comes to worst, just remember you’re a kid. You can afford to break a bone or two. Plus, we’re insured, so it’s all good, baby.

Later, you’d stand at the top of the slide and bravely announce that you were coming down. I’d meet you at the bottom with open arms. We could play tag, hide and seek and red light/green light. Any game you wanted, love. I’d take you fishing in the nearest pond. If there weren’t any ponds, we’d explore creeks. There’s nothing like getting muddy, right?

We’d have a picnic and munch on peanut butter and honey sandwiches, Granny Smith apples and these. They're so tasty and only have 30 calories per serving. Trust me, they're money. I eat them all the time.

Anyway, kiddo, I was just thinking about you and wanted to say hi. Also, I wanted you to know how much I loved you (before I even knew you).

See you in a decade or so,

Mom

Dear Foul Mood,

You're a jerkface.

I wish you'd go away. I've been fighting with you since I woke up this morning and I've done everything in my power to dismiss you. I've worked out, prayed, ate some blueberries, listened to this song...* But it's like you are permanently glued to my soul. The fact that my cubicle smells like a burning vacuum cleaner doesn't help. And yeah, I checked — it's not me.

I hate you, Foul Mood. I hope you die soon. I want to chemically pacify you, but it's not even noon. And it's a Monday.

*Sigh*

Also, I love the term "chemically pacify." I found it in the book I'm currently reading. I couldn't wait to use it.

I do feel a bit better after writing you this note. So hopefully my day is saved!

To bluer skies,

Me

*If your job sucks and you can't access youtube, go here to listen to the song I mentioned above.

Dear Bed Bath and Beyond,

You're expensive. Seriously. Maybe I'm just cheap, but dang.

The other day, my pal and I roamed your aisles in search of sheets and omelette pans. We somehow found ourselves in a mountain of towels.

"Dude," I shouted, "this towel costs..." my right hand held up four fingers as my left hand formed a zero. I mouthed 'forty' as if it were a curse word. "...dollars!"

"Oh yeah? Well, this one is $60."

My jaw dropped to my knees."You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

What's your deal, Bed Bath and Beyond? How can you charge more than ten bucks for a towel and still flaunt a grammatically incorrect logo? I mean, where's the money going? And where's the comma?

Anyway, my pal ended up buying me one of your plush towels. I can't really tell the difference between it and my Target special. Except for the fact that yours is much thicker. And softer. And more absorbent. Oh, and it reminds me of a woven-together piece of heaven.

Also, BBAB — you make me want to get married just so I can register for everything in your overpriced store. There are other reasons I want to get married (like guilt-free sex on demand), but free stuff is the main one.

Oh — awesome idea! I could register for Christmas presents. Is that rude and inappropriate? Yes, it is. I could totally send out Christmas cards with a footnote saying, "Registered at Bed Bath and Beyond."

I am so terrible.

Thanks,

Me

Dear Driving,

Why must I be faced with your hell every day? I'm not good at you, D. In fact, I suck. You can ask any of my friends. No one wants to ride with me. Ever.

Plus, my gas-sucking car is an impossible-to-maneuver tank.
But it was free, so I shouldn't complain like a spoiled brat.

*Sigh*

You should see me try to park that mammoth ride. Remember this scene in Austin Powers? Yeah. That's me. Every day.

Look, I've weighed the pros and cons. I know with you in my life, I have the freedom and privilege to go where I want when I please. I could be in a different state by tonight — all because of you, Driving. Dude — you've totally taken me places.

But we don't get along, simple as that. Please don't say I didn't try. We've both spent the last decade trying to make this work. Make US work. But the speeding tickets, the wrecks, the flat tires... they sadly outweigh the road trips, the windows-down sing-a-longs and the drive-thru conversations. It's just over between us. I'd rather be driven, that's all.

I want to gaze out windows and jam to solid tunes while traveling, not zoom in and out of lanes at 65 miles an hour in a giant metal box on wheels, surrounded by other giant metal boxes on wheels doing the same thing.

Call me crazy, but that sounds dangerous.

Thanks,

Me

Dear Love of My Life,

Today's Dictionary.com's word of the day is sempiternal.

sempiternal \sem-pih-TUR-nuhl\, adjective:
Of never ending duration; having beginning but no end; everlasting; endless.

Today's word of the day made me think of you.

Darling, wherever/whomever you are, please know that I'll always do my part to help create a sempiternal love between us.

I'd be lying if I said we'd never fight. I can't promise that we won't occasionally hurt each other's feelings. There might even be times when we want to walk away.

But I can guarantee that as long as you are there, I will be there too.

I will always actively love you.

Only yours,

Me

Dear Shark Lovers,

It’s time for another week of teeth-gnashing, jaw-clamping, train wreck-watching fun. Yes, folks. Shark Week is back.

From July 27 - August 2, catch all the bloodthirsty action on Discovery Channel.

Their promo site is pretty awesome, even if it’s all done in Flash and ridden with advertisements. It’s super interactive and includes viral components to drive traffic. I’m pretty sure the budget for this project was nonexistent.

Kickass Feature #1
SharkRunners
Hop on your ship, find REAL sharks, study their every move and compile research to earn enough bank to improve your observation methods. Compete with other ships to see who’s the biggest, baddest sharkrunner.

Kickass Feature #2
State of the Shark
Find out which sharks swim where.

Kickass Feature #3
Video Mixer
Graphics + Transitions + Video + Sound Effects + Music = How is a noted documentary filmmaker like me supposed to find time to write copy for a corporate giant? Hmmm… Is this billable?

Kickass Feature #4
Shark Conservation Blog
Hey, man. Don’t kill a bunch of sharks, okay? Each year, more people are struck by lightning than attacked by sharks. Yeah, occasionally, these predators bite people. You’re in their world, dumbass. They’re hungry. Stuff happens. You lose.

Kickass Feature #5
Shark Yourself
Dude. I totally saved the best for last. Upload a pic (of yourself, a friend, your dog), customize it with a massive shark grill and email it to all your friends.




Happy shark watching and ocean fearing,

Me

P.S. Can't wait another day to sink your teeth into Shark Week? Don't forget about this classic.

Dear Inspiration,

Hello, old friend. Remember me? Where have you been? I’ve been sitting here trying to write for weeks, but nothing good has left my pen. See? I just used the word good. It sucks. I’m starting to doubt myself. Please come back. And bring your friends, Talent, Creativity and Humor. Grammar too, I guess.

Oh, Inspiration, your absence surprises me. I’m currently heartbroken. We all know nothing writes better than a broken heart. So, where the heck are you?

Also, I think I might be unheartbroken. Ya know — fixed. It doesn’t hurt anymore when I think about it. Okay, that’s a lie. But it’s definitely gotten easier. The pain isn’t paralyzing and the constant lump in my throat has dissolved into a tiny pebble in my shoe. That’s progress. I can’t listen to any of the CDs I’ve burned in the last year and a half, but whatev, yo.

Anyway, Inspy, I hope you’ll come home soon and make silly blogs like this one obsolete. I miss you.

Your friend always,

Me