Dear...

While I appreciate that you like my boyfriend- and I obviously agree that he's amazing- don't you think that fanclubs are a little bit over the top? And the seriously disturbing fanfictions as well? Don't think he hasn't noticed how you feel. He's uncomfortable with your obsession in the first place, and then you make your sexual fantasies public? Not only that but you make sure that he reads some of them? How do you think it makes him feel to read those lies about himself? He'll feel like a failure for not measuring up to expectations. Because honestly, nobody is as perfect in every way as people of our fantasies are. That's only human. And guess what? You'll never have a chance with anyone, going about it the way you are. You want to know how I got to go out with him? I was a friend. I listened, I talked, I joked, I teased, I lent stuff, I borrowed stuff, I treated him as an equal. We enjoyed each other's company. He was my best friend, so finding out that he wanted to be more than friends was a pleasant surprise. Please go annoy someone else and stay away from MY boyfriend.

-Your "celebrity crush" 's very annoyed girlfriend

Quit worrying about how to define me. It doesn't matter if you think of me as "the black lady in the left cubicle" or "that African American woman over there." It's semantics. But really, if you have to refer to me as anything, my name is Alicia.

Look, mental handicaps don't count when it comes to the handicap stalls in the restroom. It's not there for you to change clothes in, it's there for people with access problems. People like me. I did not appreciate the twenty minutes it took you to hog the only accessible stall, since it was obvious you were changing clothes in there. People can see under the edge of the stall you know. Shoes going off, pants, and shirts and stuff.

If this restroom only had two stalls, I would understand because maybe when you got there the other one was occupied and you really had to go. But there were four stalls and the odds that you would have had to wait more than a minute to get into one are pretty slim. This place just doesn't have a lot of restroom traffic.

Handicapped stalls are not a public convenience, they're a necessity for an admittedly small part of the population. To use one when you don't have to is rude and says a lot about your personal character.

And I'm not saying I'm any better than you. Hell, I'm the one who went and got the manager who was waiting for you when you finally got out. I'm petty sometimes but when it comes right down to it I don't have a choice. I can't get a wheelchair into a regular stall. You had a choice and you made the wrong one.

Signed,
Still Wheely, Wheely Mad

Please quit...

• ...bitching about the people who are posting about Blog Her. So you didn't go. You didn't want to go/couldn't afford to go/felt like you wouldn't belong/whatever. Get over it. Hell, I didn't go. No clue what it was until it was over. But bitching about the people who went, and the things they did, the friends they met and the enemies they avoided--man, you just sound petty. If it's not your thing, fine, but don't berate those who enjoy stuff like that. If you felt like you wouldn't belong, that's fine, but it's not anyone's problem other than yours, the same as those who couldn't afford to go yet somehow seemed to expect other people to pool cash together to get them there. I'd like to do a whole lot of things that I can't afford, including seeing family I haven't seen in nearly a decade, but I sure as hell don't expect anyone else to pay for it.


• ...taking potshots at the "popular" bloggers. Yeah, 99% of us will never have their traffic, we'll never have the several hundred comments a day they get, and we'll never be on CNN. So? If you got into blogging thinking you'd get rich and famous, you got into the wrong thing.


• ...acting like the blogosphere owes you something. Sure, a lot of bloggers are getting free stuff from companies. So? Did you start doing this for the freebies? Even the people getting the free stuff aren't going to get it forever, and most of what they're getting is kind of crappy. So why get so bent about it?


• ...complaining because cancer or MS or whatever is getting more sympathy from other bloggers than your diabetes or chronic pain. People sympathize with things they can relate to. It's not personal. Perhaps you'd get more sympathy if you offered it in turn. Funny, the people I see complaining the most don't seem to be offering anything to the bloggers they're complaining about.


• ...making fun of blog genres you don't "get." I don't enjoy politics; I find it boring and not worth the time to poke through the endless political opinion blogs. But that doesn't mean they don't have a place. I don't have kids so I can't really relate to a lot of Mommy blogs, but thousands of parents out there can. If you don't like a blog, stay away from it, it's that easy.

I swear to God, it's like the entire blog arena is infested with twisted shorts these days. Just be nice. That's all. Be nice.

Sincerely,
Lurking On A Whole Lot Of Bloggage

Today is the 10th anniversary of the day my father shot himself. I was 14 years old and had no idea he was suffering at all much less so much that he wanted to die. It was literally like one minute I had this normal life and the next I was living someone else's nightmare.

You were no fucking help. You still aren't.

Do you remember how you told me he was dead? I came home from a friend's house and you were sitting there in the kitchen at the table and you said before I could even put my stuff down "Your dad killed himself this afternoon. Don't go in the bathroom, it's a mess. He put a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out."

Don't deny it. I will never forget it. There was no sympathy there for him or for me. Did you even care? You were irritated that you had to make all these arrangements, like he intended to be an inconvenience to you.

I get that you were angry and felt abandoned. But you had a kid to take care of and to help get through it, but you were so goddamned matter of fact and mean about the whole thing.

Everyone kept telling me that you were grieving too and that people get through it in their own way. I knew that. But Jesus Fucking Christ, you made me go to school the next day. You made me go to karate class. I got one day off for his funeral, and then it was like life was supposed to go back to normal.

Two weeks later you were dating.

And here we are ten years later. Since that day I've had this boiling inside me, a hatred that I hoped would go away. I kept waiting for you to at least pretend that what I was missing was big enough to matter, and I kept telling myself that I had to give you time. But I'm done.

It's been ten years and I'm an adult, I'm on my own, and I know that I don't really owe you anything. I'm moving. You don't need to know when or where. You don't get to know.

I hope you have a nice life. Better than the one you gave me.

I'm going to have a terrific life. The one my dad would have wanted me to have.

So long,
and thanks for nothing.

I was surprised when the new foundation you had specially color-matched for me wasn’t right. We had spent so much time swiping and blending and comparing colors on my face that I was confident you had lined me up with the right tools I needed to be gorgeous.

I wrote the check, gathered up all my purchases, and skipped home giggling gleefully with anticipation to try out all my new pretty-girl toys.

I’m sorry, dear.
But I look like I fell asleep under a heat lamp.

I was so sure there had been a mistake.
Maybe you had written down the wrong color code.
Honest mistake.

And thankfully, your company has a 30-day return policy.
You were so eager to correct the color mis-match, and I appreciate it.

However…

When I returned for a re-match, I heard you tell your color-match associate, “See, it blends in nicely here… but her skin is more of a reddish tint here.. a nice rosey glow… so I matched that.”

Honey.

That’s not a rosy glow. That’s called blotchiness.
That’s what I’m trying to hide.
And you color-matched it.

::sigh::

Thanks for fixing it.

But I hoped you learned from this experience.

Signed,
The woman who doesn't wish to look like an Oompa Loompa

This is not right: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/worldnews.html?in_article_id=528694&in_page_id=1766&ito=1490

These are not your lives to take. You are not superior to these animals and cannot dictate when they die. Though I am thinking that death is better for them than what they are suffering though at the moment - Why are you giving your pets away simply because someone tells you to? These pets only crimes were trusting the humans they lived with. Now they are being shoved out the door in the middle of the night to suffer an ordeal that will only lead to their death. If they are lucky they will die quickly so they won’t have to live long with both a broken body and a broken heart. Hopefully they won’t live long remembering the nights sleeping on the beds with their humans, or sitting on their human’s lap during quiet times. Hopefully they won’t live long remembering all the head butts and purr-y kisses they gave to the human they considered their protector and parent and best friend.

It is crap like this that makes me ashamed to be part of the human race. We are not cattle, People! Think for yourselves for a change! It is crap like this that makes me want to go make sure these monsters don’t inflict pain on any additional animals. It is an unspoken rule that animals and children are off limits - mess with someone who can defend themselves.

For goodness sake People, we are not superior to animals - we are barely equal to them! In fact, I have never met an animal I didn’t like, but I am surrounded by people I can’t stand. Most animals are better people than the people are! These are not expendable commodities to dispose of at your will – each and every one of these animals serves a purpose…and that purpose is not to show kindergarteners that it is okay to club a pregnant cat and her unborn kittens to death. God! What a painful and terrifying way to die.

Everything I do in order to ensure that any animal near me is healthy and happy is wiped out by stuff like this. All the spays/neuters, all the fostering of newborns, all the rescues I have nursed back to health, all the kitties I have found healthy homes for, ALL OF IT, is wiped out by your indiscriminate murder. These are not your lives to take…please stop!

Scared for the Human Race

Yes, I know what I said was a taboo word. Yes, it was my fault, I was thinking another word when that word came out by mistake. I apologized for saying it and for the next couple days afterwards. You wanna know something, I worried so much from it that I made myself sick.

But now, you won't even talk to me. I can't sit with my other friends that you are also friends with, because I am still scared of you. I'm afraid that you will stare angrily at me until you make me cry. Most of the time I sit and eat by myself, because I can sense your presence in the cafeteria and that the negativity that your pushing out is directed at me. I wish you would stop and tell me that you don't care what I said and to come sit with you and my other friends. But, as I mentioned before you always seem so angry when I walk by.

I am sorry again!