This letter is to you, Douche Canoe. (See what I did there? God it hurts to be this awesome.)
*Fair warning to my regular readers. This is not polite or nice. It reeks of desperation, pain and general malice. And I'm going to thoroughly enjoy eviscerating the asshat who's made me feel this way. I cannot accurately portray how angry I am.
Today I receive a message from a certain someone in England about how he's 'unexpectedly' met someone and they've really hit it off. But that I'm still more than welcome to come and enjoy my vacation as we otherwise would have, but just in a 'friend' capacity. You know, the one I'm going to see on Tuesday. This Tuesday. 3 days from now.
First of all I have friends here in my own country. In my own state, my own town and even my own fucking swank apartment. Why the Fuck am I flying 3000 miles across an ocean to go the zoo with a 'friend,' when I can look out my motherfucking 10th-story window and see the birds? Oh that's right. I'm not. I was going to England because I actually had developed feelings for someone, someone whom I thought was looking forward to fostering those feelings and developing them further. My friends, the ones who live here, are way fucking awesomer than you'd ever be especially after you've successfully proven you're a douche-canoe who cannot wait two weeks to get his cock wet. Nevermind the fact that you asked me to come! Oh and I asked you on TWO DIFFERENT OCCASIONS BEFORE I BOUGHT THE TICKET TO FLY THE FUCK OVER THERE, BOY ARE MY ARMS TIRED, if you still wanted me to come? WHERE WAS AGATHA THEN? Where was the bitch THEN?
You, who then developed feelings for some gap-toothed English cunt (I apologize to my British readers. I don't honestly feel this way about all of you. Just this one.) and if she isn't English then she's probably in the airforce and guess who's in for a giant surprise there? Girls in the airforce like pussy. Everyone know airforce girls are les-bi-ans. Not that there is anything wrong with that but you're in for a rude awakening. Good luck with thaaaaat.
Secondly, I'm not fucking stupid. You know this. Your bitch can realize it too when she's reading the message with which I responded to you. I know your game. I knew when you met the bitch. I've known. I could probably even pin-point the day. Ask my friends, you know, the ones that live here and are actual friends. I knew.
What really is going on here is that you're fucking afraid. You're afraid I'll get over there and you'll realize how fucking awesome I am and how much you really like me and then I'll leave, whomp whomp, and you won't have any regular pussy and you'll miss me. So you're willing to throw the baby out with the bathwater, which by the way is fucking A-O-K with me because it saves me the trouble of sabotaging our relationship. Thanks for that. It can get really taxing sabotaging and such. You're willing to abandon me in lieu of regular mediocre pussy. Good on you. Enjoy that.
Mostly why did you waste my fucking time and money? Do you know that Sex-on-Skates paraded over here a while back and told me that he was MAD AT HIS GIRLFRIEND and I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT because I was trying to be respectful. I didn't want to send you a message that said 'Hey, I've decided to fall in love with my super-attractive, more emotionally and physicially available neighbor. Deuces.' No, I'm not a douche canoe. I'm a nice person.
Just in case you can't follow the logic:
You = douche canoe.
Me = Not so much.
The fucked up part about all of this is that I was really excited. I really liked you. I really wanted to make something with you work and I was looking forward to trying that. Me, Captain Cynical, finally opened up and was vulnerable and you squashed me like a water-bug. Thanks for shitting on my heart. You're a fucking rock-star. I'm so grateful you're on an entirely different continent because right now it's doing me a lot of good to know we're not breathing the same air. That and there are at least 30 people who read my blog and will know what kind of pond scum you have for a heart. They may not know your name and they not know where you are in England but they your ugly, pitiful soul and I sincerely hope they forward this to 30 of their friends who then do the same. So that the exponential growth of people that know your true douche-canoe nature keeps you up at night.
Grassroot campaigns baby. They work.
Enjoy your week off. I hear chicks like the zoo.
The most sincere I've ever been in my life,
Anna Gray
Showing posts with label Open Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Open Letters. Show all posts
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Welcome Monday
I understand that you must come every week, that it's just a part of life. Even if I protest, even if I whine and moan and groan, Monday, you still come.
It's not that I have to go work, although I will say Monday's are much easier sitting on a beach, it's that you're Monday.
Saying the word strikes fear into the hearts of small children everywhere, knowing they'll have to go back to school in the morning. It strikes fear into the hearts of more than one grown up I know for the same reasons usually. Unless you're of the those freaks who actually enjoys going to work then there is no hope for you at all. None.
But must you come with a busload of screaming children?
Have you no mercy?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
You want me to do what exactly?
The other day my trainer (I know, I know.) wanted/expected me to climb the rock wall in our gym for exercise. I protested and he wanted to know why.
Nevermind the fact that I have T-rex arms, you know the whole 'teeny arms that cannot support body weight' argument, but have you seen a rock climbing harness? They're hideous.
He of course wanted to know why. So for the first time in our relationship as trainer and trainee I was painfully honest.
I told him that I was not climbing the rock wall because I was not putting on that god awful rock climbing harness. "I've seen people in these things and if you think I'm going to put my ass in that contraption and scutter up a wall for God and all of his creatures to see, you're crazy." I have a nice ass. I know this because I notice people noticing it in an admirable fashion not in a 'oh my God, that's a big ass' fashion. You can tell the difference because the former is has a subtle affirmative head nod and the latter carries an expression of widened eyes and a slightly agape mouth. But I've seen fat people at our gym in the rock climbing harness and it's less than flattering. (I tried really hard to find a picture of a fat person in a rock climbing harness and the google has failed me yet again.) This is why there are people out there that free climb. They've realized how hideous their nether parts look in a rock climbing harness and they've made the proper fashion choice and left the fucking harness at home.
He was less than pleased but I didn't climb the damn wall.
Nevermind the fact that I have T-rex arms, you know the whole 'teeny arms that cannot support body weight' argument, but have you seen a rock climbing harness? They're hideous.
 | ||
| Look at her ass? It's like right there. |
He of course wanted to know why. So for the first time in our relationship as trainer and trainee I was painfully honest.
I told him that I was not climbing the rock wall because I was not putting on that god awful rock climbing harness. "I've seen people in these things and if you think I'm going to put my ass in that contraption and scutter up a wall for God and all of his creatures to see, you're crazy." I have a nice ass. I know this because I notice people noticing it in an admirable fashion not in a 'oh my God, that's a big ass' fashion. You can tell the difference because the former is has a subtle affirmative head nod and the latter carries an expression of widened eyes and a slightly agape mouth. But I've seen fat people at our gym in the rock climbing harness and it's less than flattering. (I tried really hard to find a picture of a fat person in a rock climbing harness and the google has failed me yet again.) This is why there are people out there that free climb. They've realized how hideous their nether parts look in a rock climbing harness and they've made the proper fashion choice and left the fucking harness at home.
He was less than pleased but I didn't climb the damn wall.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
An Open Letter to the Monkeys in the Parking Operations Jungle/Office
Attention Monkeys,
Yoo hoo! Over here. Lookie, it's a banana. Do you want the banana? Look, here. Here!
Damnit! You people really are monkeys. Quit picking your god-blessed nose!
Listen I got an email from the matriarch of your living group (I'm not sure what a group of monkeys are called. Geese congegrate in gaggles and Rhinos hang in out crashes but Monkeys?) saying that my last bus pass purchase was not debited from my pay check last month. For some reason,
Could you put down the toy car? Please? I'm talking here.
She seems to think that it should be compounded with this month's purchase and debited twice from this month's check. I'm not sure why the burden of your office to not do a satisfactory job lies on my head.
Do not climb on my head. Do not do it! Don't do it! NO!
As I was saying, I came over and filled out my paperwork correctly and accurately. I think that when I signed the form authorizing the payroll debit that it was assumed that the debit would be in a timely manner, and now that timely manner has passed. So, I do not feel as it is my responsibility to pay the past due debit. Yes, I do have my receipt and it indicates a pass for the month of September and that the debit will come out of the September pay check, which it did not. Need I remind you?
Did you just hurl poop at me? Bitch! (Why am I arguing with a monkey?)
Just try and listen. Look, over here. Back over here. Yes that's a happy monkey. No, not that happy. Quit spanking Bob.
You know what? Nevermind. I'm leaving. Do what you want. You're going to anyway. That's why they established a gang of monkeys in the Parking Operations office. So that no one has any recourse in the pursuit of their complaints.
Do me a favor will you? Do you think you could talk to the warthogs over in library sciences about my fines?
Sincerely,
Anna, The Small & Docile Reptile Hunter, Gray
Yoo hoo! Over here. Lookie, it's a banana. Do you want the banana? Look, here. Here!
Damnit! You people really are monkeys. Quit picking your god-blessed nose!
Listen I got an email from the matriarch of your living group (I'm not sure what a group of monkeys are called. Geese congegrate in gaggles and Rhinos hang in out crashes but Monkeys?) saying that my last bus pass purchase was not debited from my pay check last month. For some reason,
Could you put down the toy car? Please? I'm talking here.
She seems to think that it should be compounded with this month's purchase and debited twice from this month's check. I'm not sure why the burden of your office to not do a satisfactory job lies on my head.
Do not climb on my head. Do not do it! Don't do it! NO!
As I was saying, I came over and filled out my paperwork correctly and accurately. I think that when I signed the form authorizing the payroll debit that it was assumed that the debit would be in a timely manner, and now that timely manner has passed. So, I do not feel as it is my responsibility to pay the past due debit. Yes, I do have my receipt and it indicates a pass for the month of September and that the debit will come out of the September pay check, which it did not. Need I remind you?
Did you just hurl poop at me? Bitch! (Why am I arguing with a monkey?)
Just try and listen. Look, over here. Back over here. Yes that's a happy monkey. No, not that happy. Quit spanking Bob.
You know what? Nevermind. I'm leaving. Do what you want. You're going to anyway. That's why they established a gang of monkeys in the Parking Operations office. So that no one has any recourse in the pursuit of their complaints.
Do me a favor will you? Do you think you could talk to the warthogs over in library sciences about my fines?
Sincerely,
Anna, The Small & Docile Reptile Hunter, Gray
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
And then I looked at the girl next to me and said "People do this for fun?!"
Apparently one of the things that I wasn't aware of, was that I, Anna Gray, am a glutton for punishment. For some reason I thought it would be beneficial to me to go to 'Power Yoga' on Monday night.
Let me start off by saying that I'm not big on all the hippy mushiness of yoga and breathing and blah blah blah. But I heard my spin instructor talking about what a good class it is and since I'm trying to look like her I figured, What the hey? It can't be too bad right? I mean I did do ballet for 13 years and I'm one of the more flexible people I know.
I was wrong. Yoga is evil. It is Wednesday and my hamstrings still scream at me when I even think about using the stairs or proceed up a gentle slope or graduated incline. Granted I went to spin class before yoga but I figure at this point my legs are used to spinning for 50 minutes. That's no biggie, but this yoga class. Yeouza.
Anyways this was the narrative of yoga class:
At some point she came by to hold me up. I believe this was during the exercise where we grabbed our big toe on the opposite foot behind our back with the first two fingers of whatever hand wasn't on the floor. I'm not sure if you've ever tried this but I was not aware that it was humanly possible to fall over 14 times in less than 60 seconds and it's called something asinine and self-reassuring like: relaxing swan. I figured that at some point my body would yield and I could do this. Nooooooooo. Not at all. In fact the only thing that my body was doing was having a dialogue with me I cannot publish here because it is simply too vulgar and profane.
I felt muscles burn like they had never burned before, and I did 13 years of ballet mind you. I wanted to be a ballerina. Professional ballerina. Granted that all went way when I hit puberty and it was apparent that I was never again going to be able to pirouette without tipping over, but still the point is that I put myself through some grueling shit. And none of it compares to the flim-flam of yoga and the anthropomorphic animal poses that really should be called 'Go ahead and cry now because you'll need to save your energy to get out of the ridiculous pose you get yourself into later.' Things that accurately portray whats going on like:
Let me start off by saying that I'm not big on all the hippy mushiness of yoga and breathing and blah blah blah. But I heard my spin instructor talking about what a good class it is and since I'm trying to look like her I figured, What the hey? It can't be too bad right? I mean I did do ballet for 13 years and I'm one of the more flexible people I know.
I was wrong. Yoga is evil. It is Wednesday and my hamstrings still scream at me when I even think about using the stairs or proceed up a gentle slope or graduated incline. Granted I went to spin class before yoga but I figure at this point my legs are used to spinning for 50 minutes. That's no biggie, but this yoga class. Yeouza.
Anyways this was the narrative of yoga class:
Breathe, hold, exhale,
fold,
standing dog,
lower,
exhale (Somehow I missed inhaling. I don't know.), hold,
whisper down,
low dog,
hold, breathe,
warrior king,
exhale, hold, breathe,
retching rabbit,
hold, exhale, breathe,
skipping shrimp,
hold, exhale, breathe,
'This is a tough one!'
Pimply Penguins Punching Pineapples,
hold,
'For my arm balancers, here we go'
(There are yahoos out there that can balance their whole body weight on 2 fingers of their left hand and the thumb of their right. For serious?)
hold, hold, hold, Exhale,
whisper down,
low dog,
fold,
come up,
standing dog,
. . . . . .
and on and on in a similar fashion in rapid succession for an HOUR.
At some point she came by to hold me up. I believe this was during the exercise where we grabbed our big toe on the opposite foot behind our back with the first two fingers of whatever hand wasn't on the floor. I'm not sure if you've ever tried this but I was not aware that it was humanly possible to fall over 14 times in less than 60 seconds and it's called something asinine and self-reassuring like: relaxing swan. I figured that at some point my body would yield and I could do this. Nooooooooo. Not at all. In fact the only thing that my body was doing was having a dialogue with me I cannot publish here because it is simply too vulgar and profane.
I felt muscles burn like they had never burned before, and I did 13 years of ballet mind you. I wanted to be a ballerina. Professional ballerina. Granted that all went way when I hit puberty and it was apparent that I was never again going to be able to pirouette without tipping over, but still the point is that I put myself through some grueling shit. And none of it compares to the flim-flam of yoga and the anthropomorphic animal poses that really should be called 'Go ahead and cry now because you'll need to save your energy to get out of the ridiculous pose you get yourself into later.' Things that accurately portray whats going on like:
Sweat-drenched Pretzel
Sobbing Adult
Just Go Ahead and Remove Your Leg From Your Hip Socket
Repeat above exercise with your arms
Dead Warrior
and
Paralyzed Person
It was halfway through the class when we were standing on one arm and one leg with the others flying in the breeze somewhere that I looked over at my spin instructor and asked two questions:
'People do this for fun?'
and
'Make sure they take me to Forsyth. Will you?'
Friday, July 9, 2010
My latest gripe.
Because you know I've always got one, I am going to tell you about my latest gripe. I'll give you some time to get comfortable and mutter under your breath some snide remark about how I've always got some crisis going on. Go ahead. I'll wait.
Ahem.
I have been to spin class for 4 consecutive days this week. 4 days. That means I've riden close to 60 miles this week. Yesterday I made a puddle of sweat around the bike. For serious. It was kind of gross. (If I ever do snap and actually kill someone and after I've fled the country, because it's stupid to hang around after you've killed someone, they'll totally be able to get my DNA off that bike. Blegh.) Today I weighed myself and I HAVE GAINED SIX TENTHS OF A POUND. What the HELL IS THAT ABOUT?
And I swear the next person that looks at me and says "Muscle weighs more than fat," well, we're going to test that theory. I'm going to punch you in the face and then we can see how much muscle I've gained.
Obviously my body is stupid. Not only do I have an itching/sweating disease, an extra sex chromosome that we suspect may be a Y (which would explain my comittment issues and my ability to make people feel cheap and tawdry) and a worm in my head, MY METABOLISM HAS QUIT! I'm constantly hungry and granted I haven't been eating super great but I am sorry. You cannot exercise on 3 brussels sprouts that have thought about butter without actually coming into contact with it and an apple sauce cup. I've tried. I almost died.
Apparently I'm not working hard enough. I'm not exactly sure how, but maybe I need to run 43,000 miles after 45 minutes of spin to lose a few pounds. Or I could just quit eating.
Maybe I'll develop a drug habit.
I hear crackheads are pretty skinny. And I wouldn't mind losing my teeth as long as I could get fake ones. They make some really good replicas and they don't get cavities. Which will be beneficial once I have my crack habit good and running because crackheads also eat a lot of candy. Not that I like a lot of candy but I'm sure that will change once I'm jonesing for some crack, I'm sure that I'll take any candy that I come across. Or I could be like that girl in that Cheech & Chong movie and snort Ajax off the counter. Although that doesn't seem healthy?
Listen to me, I'm praising the weight-loss value of Crack and criticizing someone for snorting Ajax off of a counter. I should chastize myself.
But Hey, I'm not that crazy.
Ahem.
I have been to spin class for 4 consecutive days this week. 4 days. That means I've riden close to 60 miles this week. Yesterday I made a puddle of sweat around the bike. For serious. It was kind of gross. (If I ever do snap and actually kill someone and after I've fled the country, because it's stupid to hang around after you've killed someone, they'll totally be able to get my DNA off that bike. Blegh.) Today I weighed myself and I HAVE GAINED SIX TENTHS OF A POUND. What the HELL IS THAT ABOUT?
And I swear the next person that looks at me and says "Muscle weighs more than fat," well, we're going to test that theory. I'm going to punch you in the face and then we can see how much muscle I've gained.
Obviously my body is stupid. Not only do I have an itching/sweating disease, an extra sex chromosome that we suspect may be a Y (which would explain my comittment issues and my ability to make people feel cheap and tawdry) and a worm in my head, MY METABOLISM HAS QUIT! I'm constantly hungry and granted I haven't been eating super great but I am sorry. You cannot exercise on 3 brussels sprouts that have thought about butter without actually coming into contact with it and an apple sauce cup. I've tried. I almost died.
Apparently I'm not working hard enough. I'm not exactly sure how, but maybe I need to run 43,000 miles after 45 minutes of spin to lose a few pounds. Or I could just quit eating.
Maybe I'll develop a drug habit.
I hear crackheads are pretty skinny. And I wouldn't mind losing my teeth as long as I could get fake ones. They make some really good replicas and they don't get cavities. Which will be beneficial once I have my crack habit good and running because crackheads also eat a lot of candy. Not that I like a lot of candy but I'm sure that will change once I'm jonesing for some crack, I'm sure that I'll take any candy that I come across. Or I could be like that girl in that Cheech & Chong movie and snort Ajax off the counter. Although that doesn't seem healthy?
Listen to me, I'm praising the weight-loss value of Crack and criticizing someone for snorting Ajax off of a counter. I should chastize myself.
But Hey, I'm not that crazy.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
An open letter to those who have external loci of control
Ahem. Because I'm not one to criticize without examining myself first, I'll admit I have character flaws. But at least I am self aware.
I know I'm lazy. I'm all about getting the maximum effect out of the least effort. In fact, sometimes it is amazing how lazy I am. In the mornings sometimes, when I wake up I consider actually peeing the bed because I don't want to get out of the bed to go pee. I've even researched getting a catheter for that very reason, (Well, okay that is creepy, and all I really did was ask a friend of mine in med school at Carolina if a doctor would put one in for that. He said no. So I'm still getting up to pee.) The point being is that I'm self aware. I realize that I obviously am a lazy bia.
It would be one thing if you were a religious fanatic. They at least believe the good things and bad things are out of their hands and are being divied amongst the believers as trials by fire or joyous rewards. But you, dear ones, you believe that only the good things are under your control. Whilst all the bad things are everyone else's fault.
I am not responsible for the way you respond to a situation. Only you can direct your actions and feelings. Yes, I could probably be a little less sarcastic but cut me some fucking slack here. I'm not doing this for my health. I don't sit around and fret and take the time to formulate these suggestions because I'm bored. Maybe it actually does mean that I'm concerned and I care? Let's focus on that.
I still support my earlier supposition that your life would be much better ran, if I was doing the running. (Before you point out the lack of activity in my love life let me remind you of this: I'm totally doing that on purpose. Duh.) But if you are going to run your own life then buck up and be responsible for your own self. If you get pissed off and flustered because you cannot handle what I'm saying then there are several things you can do: you can hang up, you can shut up or you can react the way you did. But do not then blame me because you can't get anything done in that state of mind.
Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is extremely difficult to control your reactions sometimes. Someone shoots your cheetah, you're liable to be pissed and shoot them back. But that doesn't make them responsible for being shot. You still shot them. You may be vindicated and/or correct in your response but still. You understand what I'm shooting for, (just to overuse a metaphor here) correct?
And as for you,
One of the hallmarks of being an adult is recognizing the consequences of your actions or inaction, as the case may be. Yes, sometimes bad shit does happen to people, randomly. But the majority of the time you bring it on yourself. You're twice my age and still have not grasped this idea. Thus I was running your life, when I was 10. I'm not even sure how to criticize you because doing that makes me a litte ashamed since I've essentially raised you. But I've made the same mistakes your own mother made. You still don't understand that you create your own circumstances; you've always been bailed out thus eliminating the connection between action and consequence. Hence you've developed an external locus of control. And somehow I'm not only the cause of the latest catastrophic storm in your life but also responsible for fixing it. But heaven forbid something go right, because that is never my doing. No. God blessed you.
Don't misunderstand. I'm positive that God does indeed bless you, but can I get a little credit when credit is due? It's obvious God loves you because you are the luckiest SOB on the planet, so He must have a purpose for you. I sometimes wonder if it's to aggravate the shit out of me though. Or maybe to teach me patience? (That has been my goal for the year. I keep praying for patience. I have none)
I'm glad we had this talk. Please do work on connecting your actions to your consequences. I'm not getting any younger and this isn't getting any easier.
Sincerely,
Your Daughter, Anna Gray
I know I'm lazy. I'm all about getting the maximum effect out of the least effort. In fact, sometimes it is amazing how lazy I am. In the mornings sometimes, when I wake up I consider actually peeing the bed because I don't want to get out of the bed to go pee. I've even researched getting a catheter for that very reason, (Well, okay that is creepy, and all I really did was ask a friend of mine in med school at Carolina if a doctor would put one in for that. He said no. So I'm still getting up to pee.) The point being is that I'm self aware. I realize that I obviously am a lazy bia.
It would be one thing if you were a religious fanatic. They at least believe the good things and bad things are out of their hands and are being divied amongst the believers as trials by fire or joyous rewards. But you, dear ones, you believe that only the good things are under your control. Whilst all the bad things are everyone else's fault.
I am not responsible for the way you respond to a situation. Only you can direct your actions and feelings. Yes, I could probably be a little less sarcastic but cut me some fucking slack here. I'm not doing this for my health. I don't sit around and fret and take the time to formulate these suggestions because I'm bored. Maybe it actually does mean that I'm concerned and I care? Let's focus on that.
I still support my earlier supposition that your life would be much better ran, if I was doing the running. (Before you point out the lack of activity in my love life let me remind you of this: I'm totally doing that on purpose. Duh.) But if you are going to run your own life then buck up and be responsible for your own self. If you get pissed off and flustered because you cannot handle what I'm saying then there are several things you can do: you can hang up, you can shut up or you can react the way you did. But do not then blame me because you can't get anything done in that state of mind.
Don't get me wrong, I understand that it is extremely difficult to control your reactions sometimes. Someone shoots your cheetah, you're liable to be pissed and shoot them back. But that doesn't make them responsible for being shot. You still shot them. You may be vindicated and/or correct in your response but still. You understand what I'm shooting for, (just to overuse a metaphor here) correct?
And as for you,
One of the hallmarks of being an adult is recognizing the consequences of your actions or inaction, as the case may be. Yes, sometimes bad shit does happen to people, randomly. But the majority of the time you bring it on yourself. You're twice my age and still have not grasped this idea. Thus I was running your life, when I was 10. I'm not even sure how to criticize you because doing that makes me a litte ashamed since I've essentially raised you. But I've made the same mistakes your own mother made. You still don't understand that you create your own circumstances; you've always been bailed out thus eliminating the connection between action and consequence. Hence you've developed an external locus of control. And somehow I'm not only the cause of the latest catastrophic storm in your life but also responsible for fixing it. But heaven forbid something go right, because that is never my doing. No. God blessed you.
Don't misunderstand. I'm positive that God does indeed bless you, but can I get a little credit when credit is due? It's obvious God loves you because you are the luckiest SOB on the planet, so He must have a purpose for you. I sometimes wonder if it's to aggravate the shit out of me though. Or maybe to teach me patience? (That has been my goal for the year. I keep praying for patience. I have none)
I'm glad we had this talk. Please do work on connecting your actions to your consequences. I'm not getting any younger and this isn't getting any easier.
Sincerely,
Your Daughter, Anna Gray
Monday, May 24, 2010
An open letter to the staff at Anthropologie:
Ahem. I had occasion to visit your fine establishment this weekend and I have several items of interest that I would like to point out.
1. I not so secretly covet the octopus plates. But I've heard that your plates chip. Could you please make this not occur? (I should mention here that while I do not have an occasion for which I could register for these plates, Christmas will be here before you know it. And I would like them.)
2. You may want to consider making the closet in which you've stuffed the sale section a smidge bigger. I kind of got a little claustrophobic. And then I found my skirt. Happiness ensued.
3. Sometimes when there are multiple people in the same place some of them may share names. While I do appreciate the aspect of wandering around the store without the armload of items I've picked out, I do not appreciate having to beat some woman's ass in front of her child. It was not my fault that we shared the same name. It was also not my fault that I made it to the dressing room labeled: Anna 4 (which happened to magically be the number of things I was going to try on! Oh my!) first.
I am not a sales representative in your fine store and therefore are not contractually bound to be nice; I also understand that being nice is a condition of your employment. I should also hope that having a backbone is a requirement as well. Obviously it is not.
For future reference, women in their mid-forties who are dressing like they're 20 are not terribly sane people. They're a little, how do say...Bat-Shit Crazy. They often can be identified by their bad fake tans, over-use of gold accessories, and those god awful jelly shoes that have somehow made a comeback. Remember, constant vigilance is key.
I may be small but I do pack a mean punch and I do apologize for making the 10 year old cry. And for splattering the blood of a 42 year old on your mirror and several of your personnel. Who might I add may have avoided the blood splatter if they weren't running in the same direction as the crazy lady.
4. Does the "Never come here again" edict apply to your website as well?
Please do take these things into consideration as I think they may be extremely helpful in establishing a lucrative future for your fine store.
Thank you & Sincerely,
Anna Gray
1. I not so secretly covet the octopus plates. But I've heard that your plates chip. Could you please make this not occur? (I should mention here that while I do not have an occasion for which I could register for these plates, Christmas will be here before you know it. And I would like them.)
2. You may want to consider making the closet in which you've stuffed the sale section a smidge bigger. I kind of got a little claustrophobic. And then I found my skirt. Happiness ensued.
3. Sometimes when there are multiple people in the same place some of them may share names. While I do appreciate the aspect of wandering around the store without the armload of items I've picked out, I do not appreciate having to beat some woman's ass in front of her child. It was not my fault that we shared the same name. It was also not my fault that I made it to the dressing room labeled: Anna 4 (which happened to magically be the number of things I was going to try on! Oh my!) first.
I am not a sales representative in your fine store and therefore are not contractually bound to be nice; I also understand that being nice is a condition of your employment. I should also hope that having a backbone is a requirement as well. Obviously it is not.
For future reference, women in their mid-forties who are dressing like they're 20 are not terribly sane people. They're a little, how do say...Bat-Shit Crazy. They often can be identified by their bad fake tans, over-use of gold accessories, and those god awful jelly shoes that have somehow made a comeback. Remember, constant vigilance is key.
I may be small but I do pack a mean punch and I do apologize for making the 10 year old cry. And for splattering the blood of a 42 year old on your mirror and several of your personnel. Who might I add may have avoided the blood splatter if they weren't running in the same direction as the crazy lady.
4. Does the "Never come here again" edict apply to your website as well?
Please do take these things into consideration as I think they may be extremely helpful in establishing a lucrative future for your fine store.
Thank you & Sincerely,
Anna Gray
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
An open letter to the annoying girl in my spin class. Again.
Hello there. Again.
I realize that this time I goofed up. I spoke to you first. But that was to tell you to not ride the bike that was out of order, since you clearly cannot read. It was not an invitation for you to sit next to me, thus putting all four of the people in the class in a row. Thank God I have enough good sense to sit on the end. Speaking of good sense,
I do admire the change in your attire and that your hair is looking much better these days, but you're still a chatty Kathy and that just has to stop. I cannot talk and spin. Mostly because as stated before I am working HARD.
Stop trying to be cute. She clearly said "Abs" because when the instructor refers to our "Ass" she calls it "Glutes." If I didn't know any better I would think you were hitting on me. But you're clearly hetero because you've got progeny.
And must you continue to mention your children? Are you trying to give my uterus a complex? Seriously? I DO NOT CARE THAT YOU HAVE CHILDREN.
NO NO NO! I do not care! Just shut up and go away! YOU SMELL FUNNY ANYWAYS! ALTHOUGH THAT'S PROBABLY THE SCENT OF YOUR UTERUS BEING USED! SINCE YOU CLEARLY HAVE CHILDREN! AND I OBVIOUSLY DO NOT! YOU'VE PROBABLY GOT ANOTHER CHILD GROWING IN THAT WOMB-O-PLENTY. IF YOU WERE A CHICKEN YOU WOULD BE ONE OF THOSE CHICKENS THAT LAYS DOUBLE EGGS BECAUSE YOU'RE SUPER FERTILE OR SOMETHING. QUIT TALKING TO ME! I CANNOT TALK and SPIN at the same time!
REMEMBER THE STROKE! Oh look! I'M HAVING ANOTHER ONE.
EGHGHHHH HUUUNNNNH EEEWWWWWUUUUUU
Translation: I hate you. I hate you for reminding me that my love life is non-functional and for reminding me that I am no closer to having children than the last time you were here. I hate you for being here. I hate you for being ugly and having a horrible fashion sense. Couldn't you just go away and pick a different class? Why didn't you come to the earlier class? Why do you continue to talk to me when I clearly do not talk back to you?
WWWHHHHHHIIIIUUUUNNNNNHHHHHH
Translation: Oh god.
NNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIII GGGGGGNNNNNN
Translation: Maury Povich called. He thinks he's found your third child's baby daddy. He's narrowed the search down to the last 14 people you've slept with. His production crew never could find that circus carney with the three teeth and vestigial leg. No offense to circus carneys.
No, there's no need to call the ambulance. I'm okay. Really. Although, if you aren't going to use that workout towel can I use it to wipe the blood out of my ears?
Sincerely,
Anna
I realize that this time I goofed up. I spoke to you first. But that was to tell you to not ride the bike that was out of order, since you clearly cannot read. It was not an invitation for you to sit next to me, thus putting all four of the people in the class in a row. Thank God I have enough good sense to sit on the end. Speaking of good sense,
I do admire the change in your attire and that your hair is looking much better these days, but you're still a chatty Kathy and that just has to stop. I cannot talk and spin. Mostly because as stated before I am working HARD.
Stop trying to be cute. She clearly said "Abs" because when the instructor refers to our "Ass" she calls it "Glutes." If I didn't know any better I would think you were hitting on me. But you're clearly hetero because you've got progeny.
And must you continue to mention your children? Are you trying to give my uterus a complex? Seriously? I DO NOT CARE THAT YOU HAVE CHILDREN.
NO NO NO! I do not care! Just shut up and go away! YOU SMELL FUNNY ANYWAYS! ALTHOUGH THAT'S PROBABLY THE SCENT OF YOUR UTERUS BEING USED! SINCE YOU CLEARLY HAVE CHILDREN! AND I OBVIOUSLY DO NOT! YOU'VE PROBABLY GOT ANOTHER CHILD GROWING IN THAT WOMB-O-PLENTY. IF YOU WERE A CHICKEN YOU WOULD BE ONE OF THOSE CHICKENS THAT LAYS DOUBLE EGGS BECAUSE YOU'RE SUPER FERTILE OR SOMETHING. QUIT TALKING TO ME! I CANNOT TALK and SPIN at the same time!
REMEMBER THE STROKE! Oh look! I'M HAVING ANOTHER ONE.
EGHGHHHH HUUUNNNNH EEEWWWWWUUUUUU
Translation: I hate you. I hate you for reminding me that my love life is non-functional and for reminding me that I am no closer to having children than the last time you were here. I hate you for being here. I hate you for being ugly and having a horrible fashion sense. Couldn't you just go away and pick a different class? Why didn't you come to the earlier class? Why do you continue to talk to me when I clearly do not talk back to you?
WWWHHHHHHIIIIUUUUNNNNNHHHHHH
Translation: Oh god.
NNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIII GGGGGGNNNNNN
Translation: Maury Povich called. He thinks he's found your third child's baby daddy. He's narrowed the search down to the last 14 people you've slept with. His production crew never could find that circus carney with the three teeth and vestigial leg. No offense to circus carneys.
No, there's no need to call the ambulance. I'm okay. Really. Although, if you aren't going to use that workout towel can I use it to wipe the blood out of my ears?
Sincerely,
Anna
Saturday, April 24, 2010
An open letter.
I hope this finds you doing well. I hope this finds you alive. We aren't friends on the facebook anymore so I have no real estimation of your station in life now. Honestly I don't really care too much past wishing you well, you know, that you're alive and stuff.
I'm not thinking of you as often anymore. There are days that go by that I don't even think of you. Sometimes when I hear the Peppers on the radio I don't even think of you, not at first anyway. It's strange. I spent so much energy on you at one point in my life it's difficult filling your void. In that respect I miss you, but that's pretty much it.
I went in Hollister the other day and I think I know what it feels like to have a wipe-out or whatever your surfer lingo called it. I was okay at first, I didn't even doubt my ability to navigate the tricky waves; I wasn't paying attention and wandered into the rip tide. And then you came rushing back all at once and I was dragged under and pulled along and all I could do was panic and ride the undertow and tumble head over feet head over feet head over feet
cartwheeling along the bottom watching the repetition of light dark light dark light dark and feeling the sand grinding into my skin and tasting the grit and the salt and the sting in my eyes
And then I hit the sand and found myself breathing in air, gulping it in really. Not drowning. I did an emotional inventory and found that I was not lacking. Gulping the air. I survived. Not lacking, but whole. You may still have the ability to drag me across the reef every now and then but you no longer hold your tidal sway over me. I have revoked that from you, as it was a gift I gave you that you spurned and did not solicit. I apologize for that.
I no longer swim in your sea. You won't notice that I've left. Or maybe you will. But you're too proud. You won't turn around and watch me leave. You'll just go on as you always have. Maybe you'll whisper a good-bye to me on the horizon one day.
Yours will be waiting for you there.
Good luck.
I'm not thinking of you as often anymore. There are days that go by that I don't even think of you. Sometimes when I hear the Peppers on the radio I don't even think of you, not at first anyway. It's strange. I spent so much energy on you at one point in my life it's difficult filling your void. In that respect I miss you, but that's pretty much it.
I went in Hollister the other day and I think I know what it feels like to have a wipe-out or whatever your surfer lingo called it. I was okay at first, I didn't even doubt my ability to navigate the tricky waves; I wasn't paying attention and wandered into the rip tide. And then you came rushing back all at once and I was dragged under and pulled along and all I could do was panic and ride the undertow and tumble head over feet head over feet head over feet
cartwheeling along the bottom watching the repetition of light dark light dark light dark and feeling the sand grinding into my skin and tasting the grit and the salt and the sting in my eyes
And then I hit the sand and found myself breathing in air, gulping it in really. Not drowning. I did an emotional inventory and found that I was not lacking. Gulping the air. I survived. Not lacking, but whole. You may still have the ability to drag me across the reef every now and then but you no longer hold your tidal sway over me. I have revoked that from you, as it was a gift I gave you that you spurned and did not solicit. I apologize for that.
I no longer swim in your sea. You won't notice that I've left. Or maybe you will. But you're too proud. You won't turn around and watch me leave. You'll just go on as you always have. Maybe you'll whisper a good-bye to me on the horizon one day.
Yours will be waiting for you there.
Good luck.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
An open letter to the annoying girl in my spin class:
Ahem.
I understand that you are new to the concept of spin class. Mostly because you showed up late, which is extremely tacky.
But here are a few things to remember:
1. Be Prompt! You cannot show up 20 minutes into class and then whine when I tell you that you still have at least another 20 minutes 5 minutes later when you ask me how much is left.
2. There are plenty of open bikes in the room. People in spin class do not sit next to each unless they: A) Know one another. or B) The room is full. Just because I look friendly does not mean you need to sit beside me. It's a lot like if we were men (which we aren't. Well I'm not. I'm assuming you aren't either because you have breasts and really ratty stringy long hair that suggests you are a woman but seriously...What self-respecting woman would let her hair look like that? Plus I don't like to assume things. It gets me in trouble.) and were in an empty bathroom and you came in and had to use the direct urinal beside mine, even though the rest of them are empty. It's creepy and weird. We space ourselves out for a reason. It gets incredibly hot. 5 people in an enclosed room riding a bike for 45 minutes generates lots of heat. Not to mention that when you sit beside me it cuts off my airflow from the fan. GO AWAY.
3. If you are able to hold a conversation you are clearly not working hard enough. You've already asked me how often I come and you now know that I come to spin class at least 4 days a week, most weeks 5 days. You know that I am clearly serious and committed to a fitness goal. This should clue you into the fact that I am working hard and cannot talk. This could also be recognized by my pained expression and inability to complete sentences. Just because you are lazy and unmotivated does not indicate that I am as well. (Whether or not I am lazy is not the subject of discussion at this moment in time.) And no I do not want to tell you which specific spin class sessions I come to because I'm afraid you'll start coming to ones I come to. And yes, I do know this is hard because we've already established that I am working hard because I'm breathing hard and sweating like a pig or a whore in church which I doubt you've ever seen the inside of because really? Who wears that to the gym? The gym is considered public! Dressing like that is probably how you got those two children that you take to kid care. This is probably the most work you've done since you obtained the gametes that were the progenitors of those children. And No! I'm not jealous that you have children and are probably pushing 20. I'M FINE WITH THE PROGRESS OF MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK! I'M NOT BITTER AT ALL...I DO THIS FOR FUN! IT'S NOT BECAUSE I'M INCAPABLE OF HAVING A FULFILLING RELATIONSHIP AND MOST DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I HAVE A POOR SELF IMAGE AT TIMES AND ATTRIBUTE MY LACK OF CHILDREN AND SPOUSE TO IT! IT'S BECAUSE THIS IS FUN!
THIS IS FUN! FUN I TELL YOU! FUN FUN FUN! I'M HAVING FUN! CAN'T YOU TELL! I ALWAYS HAVE A STROKE WHEN I'M HAVING FUN! DON'T YOU?
Are you going to use that workout towel? Can I wipe away the tears of my lonely and misfortunate life with it? Or at the very least can I use it to wipe the sweat that I produced from actually working hard? A concept which to you seems to be foreign.
Now that you have been well-versed please do remember not to talk to me in the future, in spin class or otherwise.
Yours truly,
Anna
I understand that you are new to the concept of spin class. Mostly because you showed up late, which is extremely tacky.
But here are a few things to remember:
1. Be Prompt! You cannot show up 20 minutes into class and then whine when I tell you that you still have at least another 20 minutes 5 minutes later when you ask me how much is left.
2. There are plenty of open bikes in the room. People in spin class do not sit next to each unless they: A) Know one another. or B) The room is full. Just because I look friendly does not mean you need to sit beside me. It's a lot like if we were men (which we aren't. Well I'm not. I'm assuming you aren't either because you have breasts and really ratty stringy long hair that suggests you are a woman but seriously...What self-respecting woman would let her hair look like that? Plus I don't like to assume things. It gets me in trouble.) and were in an empty bathroom and you came in and had to use the direct urinal beside mine, even though the rest of them are empty. It's creepy and weird. We space ourselves out for a reason. It gets incredibly hot. 5 people in an enclosed room riding a bike for 45 minutes generates lots of heat. Not to mention that when you sit beside me it cuts off my airflow from the fan. GO AWAY.
3. If you are able to hold a conversation you are clearly not working hard enough. You've already asked me how often I come and you now know that I come to spin class at least 4 days a week, most weeks 5 days. You know that I am clearly serious and committed to a fitness goal. This should clue you into the fact that I am working hard and cannot talk. This could also be recognized by my pained expression and inability to complete sentences. Just because you are lazy and unmotivated does not indicate that I am as well. (Whether or not I am lazy is not the subject of discussion at this moment in time.) And no I do not want to tell you which specific spin class sessions I come to because I'm afraid you'll start coming to ones I come to. And yes, I do know this is hard because we've already established that I am working hard because I'm breathing hard and sweating like a pig or a whore in church which I doubt you've ever seen the inside of because really? Who wears that to the gym? The gym is considered public! Dressing like that is probably how you got those two children that you take to kid care. This is probably the most work you've done since you obtained the gametes that were the progenitors of those children. And No! I'm not jealous that you have children and are probably pushing 20. I'M FINE WITH THE PROGRESS OF MY BIOLOGICAL CLOCK! I'M NOT BITTER AT ALL...I DO THIS FOR FUN! IT'S NOT BECAUSE I'M INCAPABLE OF HAVING A FULFILLING RELATIONSHIP AND MOST DEFINITELY NOT BECAUSE I HAVE A POOR SELF IMAGE AT TIMES AND ATTRIBUTE MY LACK OF CHILDREN AND SPOUSE TO IT! IT'S BECAUSE THIS IS FUN!
THIS IS FUN! FUN I TELL YOU! FUN FUN FUN! I'M HAVING FUN! CAN'T YOU TELL! I ALWAYS HAVE A STROKE WHEN I'M HAVING FUN! DON'T YOU?
Are you going to use that workout towel? Can I wipe away the tears of my lonely and misfortunate life with it? Or at the very least can I use it to wipe the sweat that I produced from actually working hard? A concept which to you seems to be foreign.
Now that you have been well-versed please do remember not to talk to me in the future, in spin class or otherwise.
Yours truly,
Anna
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