Every once in a while my brain gets clogged up with some snarky bitchy wacky brilliant observations about my world and I feel compelled to share them. Call it therapy.
Dear Hair on My Head: I give up. The humidity is 99% and y'all are going to twist yourselves into some crazy shapes, so much so that I look like a troll doll with a bad perm. Have fun. I don't care any more.
Dear Price-Pfister: I called you weeks ago about my drippy faucet and you promised to send another one, free of charge. Where is it? Are you too busy trying to tell people not to pronounce the "p" in "pfister"?!?
Dear folks who make pants with elastic waistbands: all of us over age 50 thank you. Seriously. THANK YOU. [if I had lived in the time when women had to wear corsets I would've lost my mind, or just stayed home most of the time..]
Dear computer: why is it that when I am in a Word document I have to make the font size 16 in order to read properly, then if I cut and paste that into an email it looks comically/insanely HUGE? I am nearsighted and I like to type without my glasses on. Stop messing with me. Make the paper bigger or something.
Dear people who send out spam labeled SENIOR DATING (which I accidentally opened): why is the only photo in that email of a girl about 20 years old?! Where are the attractive seniors? Or are you aiming for high school seniors?! ACK.
Dear HGTV: I have figured out why you attract so many viewers. It's really simple. Most of the people on your shows have messy, disorganized homes. We look at those homes and feel better about OUR messy, disorganized homes. Then you bring in magical designer people [Property Brothers, Love It Or List It, etc.] who transform those dirty, messy, "dated" homes into castles. I used to fantasize about guys. Now I fantasize about living in a designer home -- except my ideal home has a lot of carpet and a Dyson vacuum cleaner..
Dear Mother Nature: I know my front lawn is pathetic. Ever since the water people dug up half of it to fix a broken water main there are a million rocks out there. I don't have the money to sue the SOBs or to buy expensive sod. BUT... now we've had so much rain it looks like a mushroom farm out there. Couldn't you at least send some trolls or fairies or something to live among the mushrooms and entertain me and Lola?!
Another Dear Mother Nature: why did you kill all my tomato plants but leave the eggplant plant?! I'm allergic to eggplant. Months ago, I sent my son to buy a cucumber plant and he came back with an eggplant plant. It thrives, as if to mock me.
Dear Words With Friends: MOOCHY should totally be a word. It's true of so many people. Work on fixing that please.
Dear Lola: I love you very much, but you snore like a dying freight train plagued by intermittent explosions from both ends. If I wanted to listen to that all night I would've gotten married. If you will sleep in the family room every night, there's a Milkbone in it for you. [Shut up. I know Lola reads my blog]
Dear people who made the film Florence Foster Jenkins: you are very cruel. You put High Grant [still eye candy!] in a film with Meryl Streep - which SHOULD be a divine match - and THEN you have Meryl sing off-key -- very very off-key - to the point it's quite painful to hear. (I studied voice for 5 years and sang professionally when I was young, so it's particularly painful to me.) Were you smoking crack when you came up with this?!? I will not be seeing this film in the theater. However, I might watch it at home on DVD because here at home I can operate the MUTE button very skillfully...
Facebook deserves its' own set of mini-rants. I will confess I do spend probably way too much time on there when I am not working...
Dear folks who post untrue and inflammatory memes on Facebook: quit it or I will take you out of my newsfeed.
Dear God/Universe/Buddha/whoever: everyone is posting their cute photos of their kids going back to school. Thanks. I feel very OLD.
Dear heavenly father or whoever: thank you so much for the photo of an old classmate of mine who, despite the advanced age of 54, looks incredibly attractive. It gives me hope that if I ever win the lottery I can find a husband my own age who is still a hottie. They are out there!
