devilgrrl | Entries tagged with letter

Dear Cat:

Our Christmas tree has now been in the house for ten days. For the first several days, we left it up, unadorned, for the simple fact that Steven and I assumed you would be all up in its shit as you are with, well, everything.

But no. You were terrified of the scary green thing. You hissed, you clung to me, you avoided the living room like the plague. We were surprised by this, albeit pleasantly. Of course, we have no breakable ornaments, just in case.

But now that you have discovered that the giant green monster will not shoot lazars at you nor does it like to nom tender little kittens, you're interested in it. I would like to propose the following rules:

1. Do not chew the wires. There is no such thing as The Electric Cat Slide and if anyone is telling you otherwise, they're a damn liar,

2. Do not lick the ornaments. Yes, they are from IKEA and IKEA has many delicious things, but these are not some of them. The only thing they might contain is lead and, despite its symbol being Pb, it is not peanut butter nor good for you. We prefer both our gas and our cats unleaded here.

3. Stop drinking the tree's water. It is not Gourmet Water Bowl: Limited Holiday Edition. This also does not mean that you are allowed to drink from the toilet bowl, either.

4. Wrapping paper is not a cat toy. I know it's crinkly and delicious and you like to hoard it, but a) you're not a dragon and b) those presents under the tree are NOT FOR YOU. Santa is watching you, Cat, and will not bring you excellent noms if you eat what few presents I've bothered to wrap.

5. The tree is no longer living. It is unnecessary for you to chirp at it, stalk it from under the couch, or attempt to pounce on it. Tree > You.

6. Stop chewing the branches. I am tired of chasing you off. They're not good for you nor will they make excellent barfs later. Stepping in cat barf in the middle of the night is not a sign of esteem and affection.

We will all have an enjoyable season should you follow these rules. If not, there's always the Spray Bottle of Attitude Readjustment.

Current Mood: sick
Current Location: downstairs
Current Music: Steven - Alice Cooper

Dear Asshole Drivers:

I wasn't a teenager that long ago. I know how exciting getting your license is. You can cruise around with your friends, you don't need a ride to the mall, hell, you can make out in the privacy of your own car. How exciting.

I also understand that it's very exciting being Away! At college! No more Mum or Dad telling you when to come home, to do your homework, to not drink so much that your stomach need to be pumped out... You're free!

So, really, it's very tempting to drive like complete douches while on your want back to your own little dorm and really, I know I'm a miserable adult who's just going tell you what to do and leave you alone, but listen...

Cars? Still huge and deadly. I can live with tailgating while you guys bounce in your car like epileptic chihuahuas (psst, people can see you and no matter how cool the song is, you look stupid). Yes, you need a car length to stop and no, the speed limit isn't the same as how fast the drums are in your song. It's 20mpg. 2-0. No, I am not going to speed up; I like my clean driving record.

But what really pissed me off was you trying to pass me on the left WHILE I WAS TURNING LEFT WITH MY BLINKER ON. I'm sorry it's a one way and there are cars parked on the other side so you couldn't get to your wretched little dorm party even faster. And no, it wasn't worth laughing when your car missed my (turning) car by mere inches. Let me clue you, those words I was saying? They weren't "Cheerio, chaps, mighty good show!"

Nor was it cute when you decided to wait, like I was going to drive up after you and I don't even know what... Maybe slam into your car? Start a fist fight? I save those for bars (which I am old enough to get into, thanks.) Congratulate you on your especially stupid driving?

Oh, and the people staring and gaping? A word to the wise, chickadees, we call those witnesses in the real world. If you'd hit me, they would have all told the nice police (those guys who break up your parties) that you were driving to endanger. That means you get a ticket, your insurance goes up, and I get a cash payout because you frakked up my car. Also: your parents will probably be pissed, since they'll end up paying for it.

And you wonder why people complain about teen drivers. Here's hoping you don't kill someone, cuntbags.

Current Mood: pissed off
Current Location: RIC: The Cafe

Dear Cat:

I realize I have moved into your house, but as I have both opposable thumbs and the ability to pay the bills, we are going to have to learn to share our space. This will involve several rules.

First, we are not nocturnal. The hallway does not magically turn into Kitty Int'l Raceway between 23'00 and 3'00. Breakfast is not served when racing concludes. Ideally, it needs to wait until the sun rises. Also, you are a cat; this means you eat your food and I will eat mine. Yoghurt does not, generally, contain dangerous additives and I don't need you checking it for quality. Same applies to things I am drinking. My coffee milk? Probably safe for human consumption.

Second, stop acting like I am electrocuting you whenever I touch you before returning and sucking up to me to rub your belly. It is also not necessary to act like I am going to eat your soul or grind you into sausage because I happen to be on the same floor as you.

Half eaten grapes do not become toys nor do they belong in your litter box. Either finish it or let me throw it away.

I am toilet trained. There's no need for you to spread little all over the floor "just in case".

The internet is not for you. My mouse is not edible and again, since you lack thumbs, you are not capable of typing. My friends don't care what you have to say. Hiding your head behind the screen does NOT make you invisible. Stop acting shocked when I bodily remove you from my computer. You're not fooling me.

But most importantly, Cat, stop nomming on my toes when I am sitting on the couch. They are not delicious and I don't like it. Licking my ankles is not okay either. You are not entitled to be offended when I move or you get kicked because you bit down and I didn't know you were there. Living with you is like living with a slightly dim, furry zombie.

Current Mood: nommed
Current Location: downstairs
Current Music: Ripley's Believe It or Not

Dear My Knee:

It is damn near 60* outside, it is sunny, and there are lovely light breezes. Yet, here I am, sitting on my ass on the couch with the windows open. Perhaps you can explain this to me.

I have not worn heels recently, I have worn decent shoes while walking, and I am not doing leg presses or, oh, I don't know, squats or something equally bad. It is Warm! and Sunny!, so there is no chance of incoming weather. I haven't been jogging. In short, I have done nothing that could even be vaguely construed as taxing. It has been years since the surgery to fix you.

In light of this, why have you decided to be tweaky? I was sitting (at a desk, for Christ's sake) and you were randomly hurting like I'd hiked miles in stilettos. You twinged the whole drive home. You went out in the goddamn shower. Pardon my bluntness, but what the frak is this?

I am hereby putting you on notice. Straighten up and fly right. It will be beauitful this week-end and I want to be out. I want to be doing my yoga tomorrow. No more messing around, buddy. You're replaceable.

Current Mood: resting the knee
Current Location: downstairs
Current Music: On Peak Hill - Stars

Dear Winter:

Seriously, I get that it's still February and arguably, you're entitled to at least another month of blustering, but for Christ's sake, PICK A SEASON. It was 12* yesterday morning, it's going to be 50* today, we got several inches of snow overnight, now it's sleeting, and then we're going to have enough rain for flooding. This is not cool and it's not going out with a bang. It's snow or it's rain. Make up your mind.

Also: enough with the bastard-ass cold. There is no reason it needs to be any lower than 20* and the wind chill? Not okay either. I don't need to lie shivering in my bed, wondering if the window's going to be blown out by 50mph wind gusts.

Spring could come any day now and none of us would miss you. No one invited you to the party anyway.

P.S. While I'm at it, if you're going to have weather MPD, could you at least make sure to have one form enough for a delay? I'd really like to have slept for another hour or so.

Current Mood: cranky
Current Location: downstairs
Current Music: Channel 25 Weather

Dear Mice:

I understand you enjoy living in my kitchen. There are lots of delicious things to eat and I'm not a fan of kill traps, but must you have Mouse Wars so loudly that I can hear the squeaking in the living room over the noise of the telly? Not cool.

Current Mood: lazy
Current Location: iBook
Current Music: Fox 25 News

Dear Thermostat:

We really need to stop meeting like this. You run too hot and cold for me. Lately, it's cold and you know I just can't resist you when you're giving me the cold shoulder. That means there's something fundamentally wrong with our relationship. I can't keep you turned on and most days I have to jump through hoops just to get a little spark out of you. It's not fair to either of us and it's not fair that I need to wear hobo gloves in the house to keep my fingers from going icy.

We've tried everything to fix this, including breaking you down to basics and building back up from there. Maybe it's time for you to seek professional help. I can only do so much and you're not my only concern. The bathtub needs me too. You're not the only appliance in my life.

So I guess this is it. I know you've warmed up to be for the moment, but how do I know it will last? How can I trust you when you've proved time and time again that as soon as I start to depend on you, you'll go cold on me again. Please straighten your act out.

Love,
Samantha

Current Mood: cold

Oh, Internetz, you have me over a barrel, don't you... I went to make good on my termination threat today after the voodoo dance required to make you reconnect and I realized something terrible: you can be as unreliable as you want and there is really nothing I can do about it. It is a sad fact that I am hopelessly addicted to you. I crave you like crack. I need to be able to check my email and read LiveJournal because, really, what is life without LJ? You're the glorious high without the nosebleeds and open, weeping sores. I might sell my own mother for you.

What added insult to injury, though, is that you are actually the cheapest non-dial-up option in existence. Any other service, I would pay at least $10 a month more for the privilege of constantly being disconnected and taunted.

You win this round, Verizon.

Current Mood: aggravated

Dear Internetz:

Recently, it has come to my attention that you no longer feel it necessary to remain connected at all time. Frequently and for no apparent reason, you choose to disconnect and remain that way for hours. You also seem to possess an uncanny ability to simultaneously block my wireless card from being able to pick up your stealth connection as well as block me from being able to connect to any other wireless network. Sometimes, for laughs, you like to show up when I refresh connections only to refuse to connect and then disappear. Haha, Internetz, very funny.

I would like to remind you that you are DSL. That stands for Direct Service Line, not Does Suck Lemons. Direct Service Line implies that you will be available anytime, all the time. That means if I want to read The Globe online at 10am or surf porn at 3am, you should be available. Internetz, it is not all about you. It is all about me because I pay the bill.

I understand this may not specifically be your fault. Verizon seems have an issue and perhaps your misunderstanding comes from them. I understand it's both a nature and a nuture thing; like company, like ISP. Still, it doesn't excuse your lack of recent connectivity or your rejection of my perfectly fine wireless router. I'm sorry it's not a Linksys. After the fourth one blew up, we decided to move onto a different brand. It's like when you finally stop buying hamsters and just get a cat.

So here's the long and the short of it. I expect to receive full time internet. If not, you can consider yourself terminated.

Current Mood: tired

Dear Tattoos:

I'm clever. See that title? It's a good pun.

Back to the matter at hand. Why the christ are you still itchy? You've been there for a good two months and you were barely itched when you were healing. Why have you decided now, at 20 past 3 in the morning, to start itching and driving me insane. There is no way you're still healing. You're barely even lumped up any more!

I'm sorry the weather's changing and I'm sure you're dry, but I have no lotion available right now. If you have to itch, can't you do it some other time, conceivably when I might not be considering sleeping.

Oh, and now you've gotten the rest of my skin to join in. Thanks.

Love,
Itchy

Current Mood: blah

Dear Samantha:

One of these days, kindly stop fucking off, cruising All Mighty LiveJournal, baking cookies, generally wasting time, etc etc etc, and start working on wedding thing. The wedding, contrary to popular belief, is not getting further away. It is, in fact, getting dangerously close. While a nice paperweight, the stacks of invitations really need addressing, the non-existent response cards need to be printed, and, at some point, Haille's kissing ball and Gramma's bouquet should be finished.

Also: a Magic Eight ball and the guest list are not helpful to Dawn in planning a shower. Must rethink that plan. Faking one's death to collect an insurance policy is not an acceptable way of paying for things. Consequently, neither is killing Steven for his insurance policy. Think of all the cleaning and cooking you'd have to do with him dead!

Remember, thinking about stuff for the wedding is not the same as doing it.

Love,
Samantha

Dear Insomnia,

I don't really need to do this every single night. 5am is not a time I like to see. You didn't even bother giving it a rest while we were in Vermont. I mean, really, how is it possible for me not to be tired? I haven't gotten any sleep in two weeks. I should be able to sleep, instead of being wide awake.

Seriously, you can die now. Kthnxbye.

Current Mood: stressed

Dear Life Giving Interwebz -

Whhhhy must you refuse to stay connected? Would it be possible for you to actually connect to my preferred (read: the one I pay for) connection instead of literally every other connection in a 3 mile radius? And while I'm at it, please stop making my computer lag. I know I'm not doing anything productive, but dammit, LJ is important! I desperately need to know what everyone else did today and this is my last day of uninterrupted reading.

In return for your co-operation, I shall delay doing anything useful, such as picking out clothes for work tomorrow.

Thanks.

Dear blue jays:

First order of business, you are neither seagulls nor woodpeckers. Stop holding seeds with your feet and cracking them on my railing. I can hear you through the closed door. Must you be so loud?

Secondly, and this ties in with being loud, please stop attemping loud sex on my porch. It's annoying to me and it's not doing much for her, either, considering your subsequent rejection. Seriously, try another tactic.

~The not impressed home owner

Dear ElJay -

I've waited all day to read my friends' list. Why are you not loading half of the entries? I desperately need to see pictures of

spookygirl's baby and post comments. Do you just feel like selectively discriminating against certain users or what?

I should write an entry later. I should update because stuff's been happening, but I'm not motivated in the morning and I'm either visiting my mom or tired at night. Maybe this week-end.

I got the new camera. It apparently came with rechargable batteries and a charger. I still wish I knew where my car kit for the MP3 player was.

Current Mood: tired

Dear Knee:

I hate you. Do you think you could please stop hurting? It's been over a year since we had surgery (which I'd like to remind you was not my first choice). There is no reason for you to still be aching like it's only been three months. Second, while I appreciate having a built in weather forecaster, it is not necessary for you to let me know every time it's going to be even the slightest bit damp. Hurricanes and major blizzards would be more than enough. Third, walking is a perfectly legitimate action. I am not out kicking puppies with you. I need to walk in order to perambulate. Sitting in a wheelchair would just make us fat and put even more strain on you. Walking also helps us lose weight; that benefits you. Why do you mock me?

If you will consider scaling back your rigorous aching schedule, I will buy you the Icy Hot patches you so dearly love.

Sincerely,
Samantha

Current Location: couch

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30
31

Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?

You should hear the way my brain works sometimes.

Xcelent Barfs

Frakking Teenagers

:(

Ugh

Dammit

WTF!

Ugh

Ugh

Bah

Letter of Mark(s)

Wedding

Stupid 5am

Damn you, interwebz

Stupid birds

Boo

Bah

Profile

May 2009

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags