Love letters vs. Hate mail, part 1

Dear Friday, why don’t you come around more often? I am convinced we could have such a good time together. I love how you let me wear jeans and you deceive me into thinking the workday is short and bearable. When the sun is shining and the air is warm, your martini promises are positively intoxicating. But even when it’s gray and cold, the promise of you waiting for me at home swaddled in fleece beckons to me. Friday, we were meant to be together, yet you give yourself so sparingly, it’s maddening! I need you, Friday. Please. I’m begging you.

Dear Facebook, I want you to mind your own business. Stop suggesting friends for me and do not try to guilt me into reconnecting with people I have not messaged in a while. Clearly I want to avoid these people. Most likely I never was actually friends with them in the first place, so I am not interested in receiving their boring and/or insipid status updates. Like the girl from high school who was a dumb stoner and now seems to be a dumb slut who complains that people judge her for being a stripper. This is just one example, Facebook, but I’m warning you, I know what I am doing and you better just stay out of it. Word.

Dear Cabernet Sauvignon, you have the ability to make me swoon. When you are full-bodied, your velvety texture and earthy bouquet are music to my taste buds. I want to put all of you in my mouth and feel you. Your sexy tannins slide down my throat and give me that fuzzy, heady feeling that anything is possible. I think you and Friday should get together and give me call.

Dear Butch Cashier at Shaw’s, you are a cunt. You do not acknowledge me with a hello, you look at me blankly when you’re done ringing me up, and then you have the audacity to sit back on your fat ass and watch while I bag everything. Um, excuse me, I just worked a full day so why am I doing your job? To top it off, you do it all with a sour puss on your face. I hate you.

Dear Spin Bike, you are so intense! You stand there in the corner, looking all unassuming and timid, but I know better. You are so sleek and shiny, summoning me to you. I mount you gingerly, clip in my shoes, and begin to pedal slowly. Your flywheel moves with me ever so smoothly, afraid to catch, lest you scare me away too soon. But you are so tricky, Spin Bike, because once I think I know how things will go, you begin to resist me and I really have to work for it. I am forced to focus on what my body has to do to conquer you into submission. My heart will be thumping, sweat will drip down the side of my face, and my legs will quiver with every stroke. Yet, all that does is cajole me into pedaling faster and harder until we are moving so fast and furiously the room is practically a blur and I want to cry out from the exertion. Finally you relent a bit so I can ease up and catch my breath. I can’t believe how amazing you can make me feel. No one would guess it from looking at you, but I love that you have this secret smile just for me. Damn, you’re exquisite.

Dear Europcar, I know you are scamming me. The only traffic violation I could have committed while trying to navigate out of Rome was not driving enough like a lunatic on a one-day pass. Methinks you troll through your records to find the American drivers and just send them an incomprehensible letter that ultimately demands 40 euro. It’s a crafty ploy, but it makes me trust Europeans less than I already did. Pezzo di merda.

The truth hurts

Some babies are ugly. I know, no one wants to be the asshole who admits this, but it’s true. What’s worse, some children are ugly. You look at the kid and hope that this state of being unfortunate-looking is merely a part of puberty, but if it persists into young adulthood, all bets are off. If it’s a sin to acknowledge the ugliness aloud, it’s probably a bigger sin also to admit that the ugliness makes the child inherently less likeable. Surely this is a result of evolutionary forces that drive us to seek out attractiveness in order to survive, but as adults we feel badly for these homely little suckers and do our best to try to like them. Most likely the child in question is oblivious---thankfully---but it really does a number on the adult who is going against the grain of natural human behavior in order to seem like a nice person. The conflict between repulsion and guilt is quite strong and I suspect it could have deleterious health consequences in the long term. Someone really should do a study on that.

On a similar note, let’s be honest about perpetuating the myth that all brides are beautiful. Really? What about the fat ones? There is nothing beautiful about watching a fat dude try to cram a ring onto the sausage fingers of his fat bride. I also don’t find it beautiful to watch him try to cram a piece of cake into her chubby cheeks at the reception. I’m going to leave it at that, lest I conjure for you images of any other “cramming” that could occur later that night.

This one is a jagged little pill, but I’m sure there are some ladies in the house who will agree, size does matter. Average is fine, no problem. But please, do not come near me with that thing if my pinky finger could beat it up. I don’t want to belabor this point and risk sounding crass, but no one wants to ask if it’s in. It’s just not right and no one enjoys that. Sure we enjoy the attention you have to lavish on us in order to deflect, but at the end of the day, we are laughing at you with our friends.

It is easier---and frankly more energy efficient---to pee in the shower. I’m not saying I do this; I am just making the point. That’s why I’m here, folks.

I have seen no evidence to suggest that there is a God. However, I have seen a great deal of evidence to suggest the opposite. Let’s take childhood cancers, for instance. That is part of some benevolent grand plan? Random acts of violence, famine, AIDS, etc., all rain down upon this world because God said so? And with all the horrific things going on in the world, He is listening to you ask Him on Sunday morning if you can please have nice weather for your golf tournament next weekend. If you believe in that malarkey, you probably also believe that global warming is a myth. Sigh (insert shaking head here). I am sure that one night all the environmental scientists in the world got together and decided it was time to get even with greedy businessman. They were ready to exact revenge so all together, they concocted this idea to sell to the people: for the sake of our planet’s continued survival, humans need to reduce their production of greenhouse gases. The benefit for the scientists would be the satisfaction of impacting market forces with greater taxation, regulations, and protections that ultimately would result in a global government, while simultaneously securing funding for their research. Oh, those scientists. Pure. Evil. Genius.

I think this a good time to mention that there is no Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy, calories consumed on vacation do count, and blood is not thicker than water. These are sad facts, my friends. Don’t shoot the messenger.