Dear People Who Go Balls Out On Halloween,
I’m not referring to people who choose Halloween costumes that expose their testicles. If you are one of those people, you’ll probably want to close this page and move on to a different open letter that deals more specifically with your definition of “balls out.”
If you’re someone who goes balls out in a metaphorical way, though, this letter is for you. If you bring your A-game every Halloween, I want to thank you. Here’s why: Keep reading »
Yesterday Jezebel got ahold of an email that had been sent out to 72 members of an Administrative Law class at a law school in Canada. The anonymous student who sent it has some choice words — 655 of them, to be exact — for his or her classmates regarding a very specific topic: their snacking habits. I could go on about this person’s hilarious disdain for crunching noises and how I actually kind of agree about the “don’t eat tuna sandwiches in enclosed spaces” thing, but really, you just need to read this letter for yourself… Keep reading »
Dear Cookie Butter,
I wasn’t aware of your existence until I was standing in line at Trader Joe’s a few weeks ago and noticed a display of jars with a sign that said “LIMIT TWO PER CUSTOMER.” I went to investigate but was stopped by a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache wearing a Gryffindor t-shirt. Apparently sensing my curiosity, he held his hand up and shook his head. “You don’t want to buy that,” he said ominously.
“Why?” I asked. “What is it?”
“It’s cookie butter,” he said, “and once you start buying it, you will never stop.” Keep reading »
Dear Goat Thief,
Listen, I get it. There is nary a time when I watch a funny goat video or walk by the urban goat sanctuary by my house (I live in Portland) and don’t plot a way to steal the adorable goats and make them my pets. My eventual life goal is to have a herd of a thousand pygmy goats who all wear coordinating sweaters, and it can be frustrating that my current lifestyle does not allow for that. Stealing just one goat often seems like a quick fix for my sad, goat-less life.
Perhaps you felt the same way when you abducted a pygmy goat from a Montana petting zoo. The next part though, the part where you took said goat to a bar at 1:30 in the morning, that’s the part I don’t really understand. Keep reading »
Dear Sienna Miller’s Wardrobe Circa 2004,
You don’t know me, but I know you better than I know many of my family members. Would you like me to draw a detailed inventory of every one of your shrunken denim vests, floral sundresses, and slouchy thigh-high boots? Because I totally could. I will even defend you for that six-month period when you decided pants in public were totally optional. You see, Sienna’s Wardrobe, I was completely and totally obsessed with you from around 2004 to 2005. I worshipped you to a point of unhealthy obsession. You were my one and only style inspiration for nearly two years of my life.
But the truth is, I haven’t thought about you in quite awhile. At some point I must have moved on, but I didn’t realize it until I saw this new photo (shown above) of Sienna Miller, circa last week. Like seeing an old boyfriend pop up in Facebook’s “People You May” section, it instantly brought back a flood of memories, but something was different: I didn’t experience the mad rush of envy and desire that I’ve felt so many times before… Keep reading »
A few weeks ago, I was taking a walk by my house and a random lady started yelling, “Jenny! Jennnnnyyyyyy!” from her porch. I looked around to find this Jenny character she was getting so excited about, but I was the only one on the street. “Jeeeeeeeeeenny!” she yelled again, waving her hands madly to get my attention. I just shrugged and shook my head in what I hoped was an “I’m not Jenny” sort of way, and kept walking. Huh, I thought, that was weird.
Then, at the airport last week, I noticed a middle-aged couple staring at me intently from across the terminal. I sidled up a little closer, leaning against a decorative plant to improve my eavesdropping abilities. I heard the woman say to the man, “That looks EXACTLY like Jenny.” He squinted at me for a second. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “It does!” My plane started boarding before I could ask them what has suddenly become the definitive question of my life: Who is Jenny? Keep reading »
Dear Ryan Gosling,
I know that it’s usually Amelia who writes you letters, but this week it’s my turn, because of some major news that just emerged: apparently you tried to join the Backstreet Boys way back when they first made it big, but BSB bad boy AJ McLean (aka the #1 love of my life) didn’t return your calls. I bet that stung. I’m sorry. But guess what, Ry Ry? AJ never meant to blow you off! He just lost your phone number! Duh, bad boys are notorious for losing their address books! And now he has officially invited you to join the Backstreet Boys.
Do you understand what this means? Amelia’s well-documented celebrity obsession is you. My well-documented celebrity obsession is AJ McLean. When this news broke, it was like our spank banks merged and became the Goldman Sachs of sexual fantasies. Are you considering AJ’s offer? You should. Here are eight reasons why… Keep reading »
“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” –Fred Rogers
This quote has been a constant presence on Facebook and Twitter and Tumblr the past few days. Every time I read it, I feel myself exhale, slowly and cautiously, and in that moment I realize I’ve been holding my breath ever since the first terrifying details started spilling out of Newtown, CT.
Twenty children and six teachers were murdered at school on Friday. Three days before that, a masked man walked into a mall a few miles from my house and murdered two people. I have no idea how to process that reality. I think of the victims, and I am overwhelmed with grief. I can hardly bear to think of the pain and fear they experienced in their last moments on Earth, and worse, how they were robbed of the chance to live. I think of the killers, and I am overwhelmed with anger–sadness, too, but mostly anger. I think about the cultural factors that contribute to tragedies like this, and I am overwhelmed with frustration and hopelessness.
Then, with a gentle nudge from Mr. Rogers, I think of you, the helpers, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Keep reading »
Dear Whoever Was In Charge Of The Guest List For The Upscale Walgreens Opening Party In Hollywood,
I’m sitting here at my computer, sipping my second cup of coffee, and looking at photos of Fergie and Mark McGrath posing on the red carpet. This might sound like a pretty standard moment in the life of a pop culture blogger, but there’s one difference: instead of smiling genially at the reminder that Mark McGrath still exists and is starting to look like a wax museum version of himself, I’m seething with rage and disappointment. Because you see, Mark and Fergie weren’t just posing on any old red carpet, they were posing on a red carpet rolled out for the opening of a new upscale Walgreens superstore in LA, and, due to a seriously tragic oversight, it seems I wasn’t invited… Keep reading »
Dear Fat Girl,
Last week, I saw an overweight news anchor respond to a bully with such power and confidence that it made me cry. It also made me want to write about my own experience of being a fat girl. I almost wrote this letter to my younger self: a deeply sad, chubby fourth grader who endured horrific taunts from classmates at recess, and even worse abuse in her own head when she’d go home and look in the mirror. But then I realized that there is something about these two little words, “fat” and “girl,” that denotes a shared life experience. If you’ve ever been a fat girl, you know what it’s like to have a body that feels like an enemy, to suppress your own voice because you think it doesn’t count, to be informed with a sigh that you have “such a pretty face,” as if it’s a bit of a tragedy. Here are some things I wish someone would have told me, back when I felt so hopeless, back when I felt like I would never be anything more than the fat girl… Keep reading »