Dear Woman With The Rolling Suitcase Who Stole My Cab This Morning,
Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see you roll past me, stop no more than eight feet in front of me, and raise your arm just like mine had been raised for 15 minutes? Did you think I was so involved in my text conversation with my friend Steve — about whether it’s possible/weird to poop with a baby in a Bjorn strapped to your chest — that I wouldn’t see you blatantly invading my taxi territory? I can think of no other explanation for the lack of subtlety you displayed in defying the laws of cab hailing. Keep reading »
Gee G-Spot, you sure know how to disappoint a girl. First you exclaim your existence to the world. Then you hide as my fellow ladies are poked and prodded in search of you. One day you promise earth-shattering orgasms, the next you disappear without a trace. A recent review of over 100 studies into your existence has come to the conclusion that there is no proof of it. That you don’t exist. But I don’t think this is the last we’ll hear about you, g-spot. You’ll lay low awhile and then pop back up again, taunting us. Why do you continue to play these games with our emotions? Do you find it humorous that millions of us ladies spend days and nights pondering where you are? Keep reading »
I am writing to express my admiration for the recent Ebay auction of your REAL Fart In A Jar. We all know what kind of havoc joining a gym and eating healthy food can wreak on one’s digestive system. Brussels sprouts and broccoli are particularly brutal on mine. Instead of keeping your “harsh smelling gas” a secret like most of us would, you decided to do something bold, something brave. You decided to “Sell That Shit” (as suggested by your brother upon smelling your gas). Keep reading »
I guess I should start by saying congratulations. You’re getting married this weekend. To someone who isn’t me. Still, even I can admit you guys seem like a good match: you share a love of tattoos and heavy eyeliner. You sent out gothic style wedding invitations with your names written in a dripping blood font. I get that. It’s pretty cute.
Speaking of invitations, mine seems to have gotten lost in the mail. It’s probably for the best, because if I had been invited, at the moment the gothic priest said, “If anyone has any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace,” I would have stood up and said this…
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Oh all powerful, all knowing Timing, why must you insist on being so wrong? I mean, sure, sometimes you are right, like the timing on the various dishes in my Thanksgiving feast, or the the timing of Melissa McCarthy’s one-liners in “Bridesmaids.” But those are examples of timing we can control; my beef is with you when I don’t have any. Keep reading »
Dear Ryan Gosling,
I just wanted to take a moment to say that I think it’s really noble of you to turn down People‘s “Sexiest Man Alive” title and let Bradley Cooper have the so-called “honor.” I mean, I can only assume that’s what happened because after a year in which you starred in three big movies (“Crazy Stupid Love,” “Drive,” and “Ides of March”), stopped a street fight over a painting, and inspired numerous internet memes, it just wouldn’t make sense to bestow the title on anyone else. Sure, People will probably deny what really went down, but I know the truth. Keep reading »
We go back a long way, you and me. We’ve gotten together a few times a week since 8th grade, although according to some of the girls in my class I should have become acquainted with you at least a year earlier. On the whole, our relationship has been delightfully smooth (see what I did there?), but there’s something we need to discuss, something that hasn’t changed in the past 13 years and is making it hard for me to trust you… Keep reading »
Dear In Touch,
Shiloh Jolie-Pitt does not have a crush on Kingston Rossdale. He is not her “first true love.” She is 5 years old. Shiloh is interested in taxidermy and being called “John” and engaging in sword play. She’s basically a little mini-bad ass. Kingston, when he’s not flipping off the paparazzi and getting his nails did, is probably down to look at dead animals and spar with her. It’s called friendship. Can’t a little girl play with a little boy without it being labeled “a crush”? Maybe Kingston has a crush on Shiloh and she’s all, “Nah, bro, not interested. Now engarde!” Consider that.
Dear Ryan Gosling,
Oh Ryan, you’re so funny. You know, I know what you’re doing, right? Sure, you may be telling people that this new look is for a movie, something called “The Place Behind The Pines” that I will obviously see 10 times. But I know you’re really just trying to look less attractive so I won’t love you so much. Not gonna work, Ry! You may have bleached your hair, but you didn’t bleach my soul. Even that fake tear tattoo isn’t putting a dent in my devotion. It washes off! The hair will grow out! Someday we’re going to be old and gray and incontinent, Ryan; your fading looks and a restraining order won’t keep me away then, and they won’t keep me away now. You can’t get rid of me, darling Gos. But props for trying!
Yours 4 life,
Amelia Keep reading »
Note: Let me first start by saying this excludes anyone 8 and younger and for now we are not going to even start with the girls who call their boyfriends “Daddy.” Right now, I’m looking at the 16+ crowd who still, for some really weird reason, need to call their fathers “Daaaadddddddy.” Ladies, this is for you.
Dear women and young women who still say “Daddy,”
Maybe it’s because I don’t understand you, that I hate hearing your shrill voice yell for your “Daddy” as you stomp your foot. Maybe it’s because I’ve had old men ask me if I need a new Daddy, so the fact that you refer to your father as “Daddy” complete creeps me out. But, it’s probably because while you are doing so, you are usually throwing a tantrum, and you are also well into your 20′s. That’s why I usually look at you with disgust then opt to walk the other way, hoping not to run into you again. Read more… Keep reading »