|Dear Everyone/Everything that is pissing me off today,||Mar 13, ’07 11:09 PM
for Mel ‘s friends and Mel ‘s family
Dear Construction Men Next Door,
Stop looking at me. I mean it. I do not want to make small talk at 8am when I am in my pjs and just back from dropping the children off at school, I want the couch, some cocoa pebbles and whatever reality show I drv’r last night. I do not want to know your name is Stan/Mike/Chuck and you will be here building a house next to mine for a long time, I realize you will be here for a long time evidenced by your two hour lunches and quitting time of 3pm. (Really? 3pm? All tuckered out already?) I do not appreciate your cat-calls and comments on my hair/outfit/shoes/eyes, I realize cavemen think these comments will make me feel young/sexy/desired, but really all they make me feel is…… ick. There is not enough rainwater scented bodywash in the world to wash that ick off.
Over and out,
Dear Fish in my Fishpond,
I am not launching an air attack on you when you see my face over your pond. I am not sizing you up for dinner. I am merely admiring your beauty or trying to feed you some Goddamn fish food. Please try not to fling yourselves against the walls of fish pond in effort to escape me. Just like the small fish-tank at the pet store that I granted you freedom from, this pond has no escape hatch. I realize that since this pond is so BIG and so BEAUTIFUL you may be confusing it with the ocean, but nope. Really it is only 10x 12 with walls on every. freakin’. side.
Hugs and kisses,
Dear Head Cold and Sore Throat visiting my family,
Do you really think it is fair to be visiting us again so soon? Wasn’t it just two weeks ago you were here? At least some colds have the decency to only affect one person at a time, BUT NO! Not you! You have to go and be an over-achiever and make Cody, Carsten and I sick all at one time. And isn’t it enough to give us sinus headaches, coughs, and a sore throat that is swollen shut save for the tooth-pick size tunnel to allow a teaspoon of fluid per swallow? WTF is with the crazy dreams? I can handle MY crazy dreams, (forced into slave labor in Africa with my husband as my boss, who not only makes me haul heavy loads on my back while walking on gravel in bare feet but then fires me and leaves me in a foreign country without a way to get home) but now, you have to give Cody dreams of being imprisoned for weeks in his karate studio? Really? Is that necessary?
I hope you die.
Dear Wash Basket,
You need help. I KNOW what you are doing. You might think sitting quietly there in the corner that you are able to hide what is going on. But I know. Do you hear me? I KNOW.
Your problem is so out of control that you can’t help yourself anymore. There is NO WAY we are wearing this. many. clothes. so don’t even go there with me. The only reasonable conclusion is that you are so out of control that you are not even using protection. I KNOW this because I have eyes. I can see all of your little spawns that are spilling out of your wicker arms and all over my floor.
You have had eleventy-seven children this week alone and I am powerless to help you. I can only fit so many of them into the washer at one time. So. Knock it off. Get yourself into a twelve step program. If you can help yourself I can foresee the day that we will welcome you back into the fold. (Get it? Laundry? Into the fold? Like folded laundry? ha!)
Squeezes and smooches,