01 October 2009

It's my turn to write some letters.

Dear Men in My Office,

Let's consider changing our diets, shall we? Your shit smells like death. Here are some interesting facts about poop. Let's ponder them together while eating more fruits and vegetables, hmmm?

I'd like to be able to breathe while sitting at my desk,


Dear Car,

I'm about sick of you. Please behave or I'll be forced to sell you for parts. Not that your parts are worth anything. Also, if you could buy yourself new tires since you just drained my bank account, that would be wonderful.

I don't like you very much,


Dear Twitter,

Please stop trying to be something you're not. Isn't it bad enough that I have to know which character from Friends all my Facebook friends would be? Do I really need to know this about my fellow Twatters? The answer is no. I just don't. Of course I also don't really need to know what they ate for dinner or that they've just picked up their dry cleaning, but that's a matter I'll take up with them.

Please remedy this quiz situation immediately,


Dear Life,

I've been handed enough lemons. I've made enough damn lemonade. In the future, please just send the lemonade. Or better yet, a milkshake. Actually, I think maybe you just sent me one. Don't worry, I appreciate it. But I'm still looking for the lemons.

Cautiously yours,


Dear Self,

Stop being so shitty about the news you got recently. A success for someone else does not mean a failure for you. Be happy for the other person. Even if it does feel like a kick in the teeth. You're working hard and you'll have your day. It will happen. See previous letter to Life, above.

That's enough missy,


Beckbee said...

yeah. i feel ya. :) climbing next Tue?

Organic Meatbag said...

Do the men in your office just freely shit at their desks? Are you hiring?

Jay Ferris said...

All this time for letter-writing and I still haven't received a response from the one I wrote to your underwear drawer?

M said...

When it rains, it pours, huh? Hang on to the milkshake :).

Maxie said...

I wish my car would buy itself tires too... i dont understand why they dont' do that. said...

haha I hear ya, especially about the car. I just know one of these days I'm actually going to get a response to my endless letters to my crap car. Its just that it will be in the form a suicide note. and that will be sad.

Ed Adams said...

I am sending you some stamps.

This way you can mail these letter.

Then I don't have to read them.

Glad I could help.

The Peach Tart said...

Good to get it out on paper. This reminds me, I have some letters to write.

Johnny Virgil said...

I read your referenced poop page. I especially liked this part: "If you want to find out if you do indeed have them, get someone to gently touch around your anal area with Scotch tape while you are sleeping."

That would have to be a really good friend.

Trooper Thorn said...

Are you a men's room attendant? If not, what sort of a company requires you to be in close proximity of the toilet?

Organic Meatbag's question is valid, especially in these tough economic times; there might be cutbacks that lead to workstation defecation.

Alice said...

maybe your car can buy MY car some tires while it's at it, too. ooh! and new brakes. and a new airbag system.

f.B said...

Good for you. It was the absolute right thing to make it clear to your car that you were gonna sell it for parts completely out of spite and not because it was actually worth anything. Keep it humble.

kelleidoscope said...

I feel ya on the life one.

Mega8815 said...

I hate my car. There's something new wrong every now and then. I hate twitter. It's useless and pointless. Men are pigs and yes they probably eat shit.

Hang in there sunSHINE. Everything happens for a reason right? (Hard to believe for me too don't worry).

Joanna said...

When life hands you lemons, you just gotta say, "Fuck the lemons," and bail.

Everyone: Shine's office, my ex-office, is the size of your kitchen.
The men in said office apparently have burned up all of their olfactory senses, because they troop past her desk to the bathroom, one by one, every morning, oblivious to the aggregate stench they leave behind. No amount of hinting nor cans of Febreze left on their desks has any effect on their morning poo behavior.

XO, J said...

that's a shitty situation...j/k bad joke - anyway - I totally feel ya! Hope things get better!

Kristin said...

Nobody should have to smell shizit from their desk. Ugh.