Dear G2 from the Makers of Gatorade,

[photo courtesy bea-t]

Dear G2 from the Makers of Gatorade,

I noticed that you were called "G2" in the drugstore when I went to pick up TheraFlu, Kleenex, and ramen noodles just now, but I chose to ignore it. My head is too congested to try to figure out what "G2" means and how it is related to regular Gatorade. I just wanted the electrolytes, okay? But then I got home, and it was revealed to me: you are low-calorie. How this is possible when your second ingredient is high fructose corn syrup (the first being WATER), I don't know. And you know what? I don't think I want to know. If I grow a second head in the next couple of days, I'll know why.

But you know what, G2? You're okay. You do taste a lot like the syrup that gets drizzled on a Hawaiian Shave Ice at Summerfest, but in my physically-compromised state, I am a-ok with that. I feel more hydrated already.

It is, in fact, in me.
Anna

Dear Universe,

[photo courtesy mishwad]

Dear Universe,

Okay, I get it. I must have done something really, really bad in a previous life. Maybe I was the guy who guillotined people in the French Revolution. Maybe I am Jack the Ripper reincarnated. Perhaps I poisoned people, laughed at single mothers and the elderly, or invented lucite. I messed up. I'm sorry. But please, for the love of all that is holy, do you have to keep making me run into my ex and his awful new girlfriend every other day? I might have been bad in a past life, but I've changed. I'm an organ donor! I like puppies! I tell people that the camera adds 10 pounds and that to me they've never looked thinner. Please do me a solid and stop all these chance encounters. It's not "Serendipity." It's not cute. Shut it down.

Thanks in advance,
Laura

Dear Totino's Party Pizza,

[photo courtesy cafemama]

Dear Totino's Party Pizza,

We have a past, present, and, as far as i'm concerned, a future. When I was in college, without easy access to an oven, I had to forego baking you to a crispy golden crust and settled for nuking you in my roommate's microwave for three minutes. I grew to love you soft, against manufacturer's warning.

Then, in grad school, when I lived in an apartment with an oven, I renewed my love for you in your natural state: baked crispy. Back then I'd go get you and eat you the same night; but now that I live at home, I have access to not only a microwave and oven, but a deep freezer. I have recently learned that you are quite possibly the only frozen food on earth that can be caked unecognizable in freezerburn and consumed one year after purchase, and still taste as fresh as the day you were (orignally) made. Thank you is an understatement. Know that your trans fat has never bothered me; nobody's perfect.

I look forward to what lies ahead for us in our future; may it not include foodborne illness.

Grazie,
Joanna

Dear Sun,

[photo courtesy Kevin H.]

Dear Sun,

It's safe to say that I couldn't live without you. Thanks for making life possible, what with the warmth and the photosynthesis and all. That's pretty cool. You're like the king of planets.

But listen, Sun. Why you always gotta be shinin' all bright and shit when I gotta be inside workin' and shit? Shit. You should only shine when I am available to bask in the full glory of your 5,500 °C temperatures that take 8 minutes to get to Earth. Let's make a date for later today.

You're hot.
Anna

Dear EZ Combs and Those Who Wear You,

[photo by my magic phone - actual sighting!]

Dear EZ Combs and Those Who Wear You,


Why do you exist? And what year is this? I saw your commercial on TV when I was at the gym a few weeks ago and I thought they must have switched the channel over to TVLand...or maybe SNL from the early 90's. There is nothing cute or stylish about you. The only "plus" is that you are easy to put in one's hair. And yet your company can't even spell "easy" correctly.

Also WHO would wear you (in a non-ironic non-hipster way)? Not a woman of style and elegance for sure. And then I saw it. I was running to catch a flight at JFK last Friday and I jumped on one of those "moving sidewalk things" (a subject of a future letter, god willing). And there she was...in all her EZ Comb glory. A woman strutting her stuff down her own version of a runway, rocking the EZ Comb.

Airport Lady - I give you props for making this your own; but I hate to tell you - the EZ Comb is not a thing you wanna associate with. And if I was the one working the security check point that day at JFK, I would not let you past the gate. Clearly you are a danger to yourself.

Call my stylist,
Kat

Dear Jordan Catalano,

[photo by timewaster]

This post is a part of People Who Should Date Us Mondays.

Dear Jordan Catalano,


You are super hott. The way you lean is so mysterious and intriguing. I always wanted to know more. I was so jealous of Angela Chase when I watched "My So Called Life."

So maybe your band "Frozen Embryos" wasn't the best. Maybe your flannels looking back, were a bit disastrous. And maybe you didn't know how to read. But I would make out with you in the boiler room any day.

"You are so beautiful, it hurts to look at you.*"


I dedicate fifth grade to you,
Kat


*Actual line from the first ep - respect it people.

Dear Trent from Daria

[photo courtesy cec i]

This post is a part of People Who Should Date Us Mondays. Sad, right?

Dear Trent from Daria,

I know you're a cartoon. That's very obvious, based on the proportion of your head to your neck, which is semi-terrifying. But you're a cool rocker dude, and Daria's best friend's brother, and who among us hasn't had a crush on a best friend's cool brother? Plus, you play guitar, which is hot. I think we can make this relationship work if I just take enough LSD.

Animatedly,
Anna

Dear Crazy Dragon Lady Boss,

[photo by david.annel]

Dear Crazy Dragon Lady Boss,


What can we say really? You are the craziest of the crazies. And believe us, we've worked with many. We are not sure which is less productive: when you are not here, so we cannot meet to to discuss projects or when you are here to meet and discuss projects. We literally have no idea what you are talking about 95% of the time.

Also, your invasion of our personal space only adds to the creepy factor. If you are going to get that close, please tie your hair back....and trim those claws.

Lastly, please eat something. You need the brain fuel.


Many thanks,
Nat & Kat



ps- We're not your personal secretaries.

pps- Neither of us have seen you go into the bathroom the ENTIRE time you've worked here. Clearly, you are not human.

Dear Neighborhood Coffee Spot,

[photo courtesy seanbonner]

Dear neighborhood coffee spot,

Come on. All these beautiful unwashed hipsters writing on their MacBooks, Stumptown Coffee cuppings (complete with latte art), artistic-looking baristas who wear windbreakers indoors, your darling pressed tin ceiling - it's just all too much. Please, for the love of God, make one thing in this place not a cliche of itself. You look like central casting for Survivor: Williamsburg.



It's a thin line between love and hate,
Stephanie

PS. Please, however, don't touch the insanely old-timey music on the iPod. I don't care if you like it in an ironic way, or you do it to impress the girls, or because hipsters have ruined EVERY OTHER OLD-TIMEY MUSIC and this is the last vestige of non-coolness you have yet to appropriate. It's been far too long since I heard any Jo Stafford or Riders of the Purple Sage outside of the comfort of my own record player.

Dear T-Mobile

Dear T-Mobile,

If I sleep with you will you turn my phone back on?

(JUST KIDDING MOM IF YOU ARE READING. I don't sleep with anyone. Especially for cell phone favors.)

(Confidential to T-Mobile: Yes I do.)

xoox,
Clover

Dear Brie Cheese,

[photo courtesy wader]

Dear Brie Cheese,

You're sort of a mystery to me. You're not a typically "trendy" foodstuff, like bacon vodka or whoopie pies; in fact, you sort of make me think of the 80s. But at the same time, you carry this badge of - for lack of a better term - elitism, like you're somehow "fancy." I feel like if I proposed to my redneck relatives that we should have some Brie, they might slap me across the face and force Easy Cheese down my throat directly from the can. Then they would call me un-American and make me say the Pledge of Allegiance while listening to a Toby Keith song about kicking terrorists in the teeth. I think it's because you're French. And legally, we can't even get the real stuff in the U.S. because of, like, bacteria or something.

But Brie Cheese, you're so delicious. And your close cousin, Chaource? Shit. You guys. You're so creamy and good. I could eat you all day long. In England, you can go to Tesco or Sainsbury's and get brie and cranberry sandwiches. WHAT? Amazing. All I'm saying is that I want more of you in my life.

Je t'aime,
Anna

Dear Brooklyn Bridge Park,

[photo by my computer phone & magic!]

Dear Brooklyn Bridge Park,


Thank you for providing me breathtaking views during my lunch break. You remind me daily why I love this city so much. I don't know if I could make it through this hectic spring and summer without you. You make even the stinky East River glisten with beauty. It may be the pollution reflecting off the buildings, but I won't tell a soul.


Love & Secrets,
Kat

Dear Everything Bagel with Tofu Cream Cheese,

[photo by threecee]

Dear Everything Bagel with Tofu Cream Cheese,


You are delicious. I do not care if you have 8,000 carbs. If I had to pick a soul mate, it would be you.

Hey, what are you looking at? You think I'm just eating you cause I'm stressed? Well I don't care. Shut up. I hate you!

I take it all back.


Forever and Always,
Kat

Dear Fla*Vor*Ice,

[photo courtesy Thommy Browne]

Dear Fla*Vor*Ice,

Back in the day, I used to eat you like there was no tomorrow. And in a way, there wasn't - I was seven years old, and the world was only as big as our driveway, our backyard, and our living room, which had a camping tent in it because my parents didn't have any furniture to put in there. I didn't have much to worry about, Fla*Vor*Ice, and you were there with me, with your bright neon colors (which may explain some of my current fashion choices) and completely lab-created flavors.

You were simple, Fla*Vor*Ice. The only decision I had to make - and I knew all the options were good ones - was what color I wanted. You didn't come in complicated flavors like Kiwi Strawberry or Pomegranate Acai or Goji Tarocco Orange. You just came in green or purple, red or blue.

But somewhere along the way, I lost touch with you, Fla*Vor*Ice. You were supplanted by healthier treats and eventually, boozy ones. Why have a Fla*Vor*Ice when you could have a frozen margarita? I gained some things with these new indulgences, I suppose, most notably a habit for falling down, but I lost some, too: you.

Which is why I was so delighted yesterday when my writing partner had a whole 100-count box of you in the freezer.
"Do you want a freezepop?" he asked.
"Of course," I replied.
"What color? Not what flavor - what color?"
"Green," I said, sure that whatever green was, it was gonna be good.

Let's be friends again this summer.
Anna

Dear Lady Gaga,

[photo by NoOneEverGetsCreditedHere]

This post is part of the ever-so-eloquently named People Who Should Date Us Mondays.

Dear Lady Gaga,

So I have to be honest with you. I'm not gay.....per se. I'd say at best, I'm gay-ish but very open minded. And I need to confess something - I love you. Your music is bizarre but oh so catchy. Your outfits - to die for. And that bow made of hair...literally killed me. You are my fave. And I figure if I'm gonna go gay - I may as well go for the gold. So I'm ready to tell the world and make it official in Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, Vermont and most recently Iowa (The Hawkeye State!). I'm thinking a very traditional pant-less ceremony, as I respect your religion and the gods of fabulousness.

Thank you for everything (especially those legs).

Beautiful and Dirty Rich,
Kat

Dear Robert Pattinson,

This post is part of the ever-so-eloquently named People Who Should Date Us Mondays.

Dear Robert Pattinson,

I am 25 years old, more than twice the average age of Twilight's
target audience. I must admit, shamefully, that I saw your vampire
movie, and your coiffed hair and pale, British good looks stirred up
every pubescent feeling of lust I felt when I first saw Christian Bale
in Newsies. Damnit.

Bite me,
R

Dear Swedish Fish,

[photo by Cute_Kittyrina]

Dear Swedish Fish,

You have earned both my endless gratitude and deep, seething hatred for being one of the few gummy candies readily available at gas stations that contain no gelatin. For a vegetarian, gummy-loving fool like me, you are crack. But you are also terrible for my teeth, and sometimes I eat a whole bag of you in one sitting and then my belly feels like it has a big, hard gummy rock in it. STOP BEING SO DELICIOUS, SWEDISH FISH. And please never leave me.

Masochisticly yours,
Emily

Dear Annoying People at Work

[photo by: bite me]

Dear Annoying People at Work,

You fucking suck. I don't just mean, "you suck" like, "hey man, you suck!" but rather in the, "hey, you aren't good at that...actually, you suck" kinda way. Maybe I'm just burnt out - we've basically spent the last ten years together and now that the end is in sight, I am so totally sick of you.

If you aren't a singer, why do you think you should be when you step on my stage? You fancy yourself a dancer, eh? Good for you! Please don't come to me with your bullshit improv - I dance like that in my bedroom, that's where that dance belongs, not on stage...don't you see? You really want to recite your poem about buttons? Buttons?!? Really?!? If you want to sing without instruments why do you try to make your voice sound like a guitar? A bad guitar? Playing louder doesn't trick the audience into thinking you're good. Capoeira is probably a lot of fun to take part in. It's not so fun to watch, ya'll. When the audience leaves, that's a bad thing. You get that right?

Listen, it's my policy that a person can be an asshole if he/she is good at what they do. Conversely, if you are bad at what you do, you better be real nice. It is a huge fail to be a giant dick while also sucking at your job, huge.

Annoying People at Work, the thing is, I need the money. Lately tho, I just don't know if I need it THIS bad. Just two more months to go; please stop sucking a little bit.

ugh,
Jason

Dear PediPaws,

[photo by honestlyican'trememberwhereifoundit]

Dear PediPaws,

I should have known not to trust the "As Seen on TV" section of Walgreens.

I guess I was just really hoping you could help me with the difficult task of trimming my cats' nails. And let's be honest. Your packaging is kinda cute. Your instructional pamphlet, very informative. I was even amused that you recommended turning on the PediPaws for a few minutes to let the animals "get acquainted with the sound." Umm, I don't know if this was written for the lazy country bumpkin type of animal, but let's be real here. These are fast-paced - free-wheeling - live on the 1st floor of a walk-up in New York City - city cats....and I've got vibrators louder than this.

Here's what you failed to mention in your pamphlet or tv commercial: Animals don't like having their exposed claws put into a wand with a file spinning a mile a minute. I even tried it myself to make sure it wouldn't hurt them. I would not stick my finger in there again.*

Here's hoping the next person I date is a cat groomer.

Rawr,
Kat


*This blog is classier than a "that's what she said joke," but I will acknowledge that no better setup will ever exist in life.

Dear Dirty Laundry,

[photo courtesy ThrasherDave]

Dear Dirty Laundry,

I love all of you - I want you to know that first. I have even worn some of you on occasion, like when I realized that the grey dress that I can now only wear as a shirt because it somehow shrunk in length but not width was at the bottom of the hamper and I NEEDED to wear it.

But guys. You're so heavy. And it's been so rainy. And the laundromat is, like, FIVE WHOLE BLOCKS from my house.

So I have a request: can you magically become clean? Somehow? It's asking a lot, I know, but we've all been together a long time and I really think you can do this one teeny thing for me after I've put a closet over your head all these years.

Hugs,
Anna

Dear Scrunchies,

[photo courtesy of markdodds]

Dear Scrunchies,

I can handle high waisted pants, feathered hair and neon spandex but, you - you I can not handle.

Please stay in the decade in which you belong.

Adamantly Yours,
Lauren

Dear Gchat,

[photo courtesy of enda]

Dear Gchat,

It was about four years ago when it happened. I had given up on AIM after many failed attempts to remember my password and from bad chat room flashbacks. I had heard about you through the grapevine and decided to take the leap.

Four years later and I am completely in love.

Last night, I was video chatting my brother in Texas while simultaneously chatting a friend a mile away, who was transcribing another friends phone conversation she was eavesdropping on. Some may call this communication overload. I call this pure genius.

Thankfully,
Lauren

Dear Rock of Ages,

[photo courtesy cybermelli]

Dear Rock of Ages,

At first, I liked you, Rock of Ages. I was like “You know what? I wanna rock. Hit me with your best shot, Rock of Ages.” So I went. And in the heat of the moment, I enjoyed it. You were silly and fun and I figured everyone would see you as nothin’ but a good time.

But then, you know what happened, Rock of Ages? You went to Broadway. And just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song, you changed from a stupid, albeit well-constructed, karaoke revue to a musical nominated for a Tony Award. I can’t fight this feeling anymore, Rock of Ages – the feeling that you are a harbinger of doom for American musical theater. Because now people are gonna keep on lovin’ you and not support more original works.

But you know what, fans of actual musicals? We built this city. We built this city on well-crafted stories and dynamite lyrics and gorgeous composing and stellar orchestration, not on a 3-chord 80s power ballad. Contrary to popular belief, we did not build this city on rock and roll. So don’t stop believin’. Heaven isn't too far away.

Yours in quality,
Anna

Dear Yesterday,

[photo courtesy WoofBC]

Dear Yesterday,

You were pretty much perfect. I got to do everything I like. Thanks.

Love,
Anna

Dear New Apartment,

[photo courtesy groovnick]

Dear New Apartment,

You were so full of promise, just three weeks ago. I arrived with my boxes and bags and you met me with sun-filled windows and the promise of a roommate-free life.

How can so much go wrong in so little time?

I checked everything before I moved in. Every light switch, every faucet, every window. And yet, in the past three weeks, nearly every piece of this apartment has fallen apart at the seams. The electricity's gone out, the bedroom window's fallen, both sinks have started dripping, the hall light's burned out, the faucet runs, the freezer doesn't freeze, the toilet's woken me with gurgles in the night, and the oven's simply never worked at all.

Through all of this, I have been the model of patience, New Apartment.

But today, you took matters to a level previously unseen.

Today, you crossed a line.

Today, the internet stopped working.

And now? Now you have gone too far.

With great concern and consternation,
Laurie

Dear Dunkin' Donuts That Were Left Over From a Meeting I Did Not Attend,

[photo courtesy Paehder]

Dear Dunkin' Donuts That Were Left Over From a Meeting I Did Not Attend,

It's like you're taunting me. Sitting there, unattended, in the conference room mere steps from my desk. I don't know who decided to bring donuts to a meeting populated primarily by physicians - doctors are not exactly known for their consumption of donuts, which would explain why, of a dozen, there are about nine and a half of you left.

Oh no. It's my favorite kind. The chocolate cake one with the glaze.

It's no use, Dunkin' Donuts. You got me. You got me good. And you know what?

I'm into it.

With sprinkles,
Anna