Open Letters: Cranky on a Rainy Wednesday Edition February 13, 2008
Dear People Who Think My Life is Perfect/I Only Write About the Good Stuff:
Ha.
Hahahaha.
Go back and read a little. This place is chock full of shit about my life that I haven’t even told some of my closest friends. There’s good, there’s bad, and there’s ugly.
There just happens to be a lot of good at the moment. I’ve worked hard to get to this place, this place where the Crazy doesn’t consume me and I’m okay with my body and I have a job that pays my bills and then some and I’m planning a wedding that is going to be one fucking awesome party.
If I want to write about all that good, I think I’ve earned it.
Just don’t think you’re getting everything. That’s just…foolish.
Love,
Bitchy McBloggerson
*************************************************************************************************************
Dear Wedding Planning:
Sometimes you really fucking suck.
I’m sorry. I know that you are window dressed in icing and tulle and all things romance but underneath, you are a minefield.
And occasionally, shit - like, say, who is paying for the rehearsal dinner and whether or not they think the place we chose is too expensive and fuck it, I swear to god, I will whore myself out in the Bronx and pay for it myself if it means I don’t have to deal with a whole lot of passive-aggressiveness - blows up.
Luckily, you’re worth it.
Excuse me, I have to go tip-toe around some more issues now.
Yours in jacked up prices and family tension,
The Bride
**************************************************************************************************************
Dear New Job,
Four projects. FOUR FUCKING PROJECTS.
I know. I know I asked for this. I asked to come back “home” but I didn’t realize that “home” had gone and gotten all kinds of huge and important since I left.
I’m working consistently from 9am until well into Daily Show time. And the thing I am most pissed about? You are infringing on my work outs.
Huh. I never thought I’d say that.
Love,
Grateful, but overwhelmed in NY
***************************************************************************************************************
Dear Miami,
12 girls. 3 days, 2 nights. Loews Hotel. My bachelorette.
Consider this your official warning.
Love,
Clink
***************************************************************************************************************
Dear Comments,
You are off indefinitely.
I don’t know. It’s just what I’m feeling lately.
Love,
The Proprietress
