Thursday, November 12, 2009
Dear Ruby Tuesday's,
You and my Grandmother have the same taste.
Dear 13yr Old Me,
Joshua Jackson never asks you out. However, there's a bum that will repeatedly hit on you and although he's covered in urine, the attention will make you feel better about hitting rock bottom. Bonus: He calls himself Gracey, which sounds an awful lot like Pacey... dReaM CoMe trUe!
Dear 90s Support Group,
It's been, one week since you talked with me. I've been listening to tunes from my fave decade on loop in my car. I'm sorry but I cannot stop. That decade was beast! Maybe its cause, daddy never paid attention, and I was something that mommy didn't wear? Or maybe this is just the crossroads, crossroads, crossroads. I know one thing, this ain't no funky reggae party... I gotta find a reason things went wrong, why my money's all gone. I feel like a sinner and a saint... Isn't it ironic?
You taught me how to smoke cigarettes and weed. Now if only you taught how to smoke chemistry books. I'd know a whole lot more about 5th and 6th period.
Dear Eleanor Roosevelt,
Oh dear! I can't believe your plan to take away sidewalks was a bad idea. Who would have guessed, that making paths and tunnels through the woods wouldn't keep children safe? Who would've guessed that adolescents (notorious for there maturity) would figure out that these paths and tunnels would serve as perfect places to do drugs and light things on fire without those pesky cops getting in the way? Who would've thought that these paths and tunnels would excite youngsters with lost boy thoughts of escape routes and portals to all places around town. Who would've guessed that your good intentions, to keep children away from traffic, would have been used for ill practice? Me, I would've guessed. "New Deal" -perfect name for a place where drugs are dealt even in the public library.
Thanks for sex. Thanks for Lactaid pills. Thanks for Eddie Murphy. Thanks for the movie "Mac and Me." Thanks for the back back set in station wagons. Thanks for HBO. Thanks for the relief that comes with finally getting to pee after holding it for a really long time.
The only thing I ever "grew in to" are your emotional problems. I can't cope with the fact that Vic's hand-me-down Bartman Tee STILL DOESN'T FIT. It still looks like a fucking night gown.
I had a really painful gas bubble leaving this dude's apt this morning. Because SOMEBODY, decided it would be funny to invent gas. And SOMEBODY, thought it would be a real laugh if I had to fart all night, but forced myself to hold it in... because SOMEBODY invented sex, and I really wanted to have it. Not cool big guy, not cool.
You created all Hispanic girls in your image. We all have long brown hair... and mustaches.
You still get up every morning, and get ready for work. It isn't until you get to the car that you realize you've been retired for over 20 years. I hope when I'm old and senile, my mind chooses more interesting places to wonder. I hope I wake up, and get ready for the Anti-Flag concert, and it isn't until I'm crowd surfing that I realize I haven't taken Anti-Flag seriously for over however many years I've been alive.
What's the difference between talking to you about money, and a Sledgehammer to the head? There is no difference. I know there's no reasoning with a sledgehammer either.
Stop asking me if I read "The Road." Or I'm going to turn around and ask you if you have read it, and you'll have to admit you haven't read it either. I am the kind of person who will read it out of spite and then quiz you. And I'm telling you now, if you think I'll take "I don't remember a lot of the book" as an answer, you're wrong.
Dear Background Artists,
You have mastered the art. The art of eating Cheetos, talking about "Smoke Pay, " and sitting. Kudos.
There is no such thing as after after care. That guy couldn't just leave me our front of the rec. center.
No more forwarded messages about inspirational feats, pictures of "wild" accidents, or jokes about deodorant.
Dear Bank Of America,
You have make me fake cry more than AT&T. The most I've ever paid for an acting classes.
The only thing that doesn't change is the crying and the booger picking. No more snacks, no more accepted outbursts, no more whining, no more bathroom buddies. Unless you get yourself into a long term relationship.
Dear Charlie Brown,
You're in a child-run town where kids don't take showers, lemonade stands and doctor stands line the streets, animals talk, grown-ups have gag-balls in their mouths. Forget Sesame Street, how do I get to where you are?
Dear 13yr Old Me,
I'm pretty sure your AOL IM name "SekCchk18" is the reason for all your misfortune.
I was convinced every vacation looked like the one you showed in your commercials. Imagine my surprise when I got to the Poconos and no one was diving into a pool shaped like a dolphin. Imagine my surprise when my friends unpacked gloves and hats and skis, while I hung up a Tankini.
You're all married, or pregnant, or both. Yet I was never asked to be in any of your weddings, or to be godmother to any of your babies. This just means you know me, and respect me enough not to ask, right? Or does it mean, that you know I'll be the drunk toast of the evening, and I'll probably teach your kid how to steal things for me? They have small hands and maximum cuteness! Either way, thank you and congratulations on all of that shit.
PS- I am the only one who watches videos of your baby on Facebook. But do not make me be friends with them because I don't want to introduce them to rejection. Look, I have a strict "must-know-in-person-first policy."