Dear Two readers,
As I searched around my site today, doing some minor editing of posts, I cam across a comment on my Pitcairn Island post (henceforth called "Rape Post"). Apparently, my meager blog is read by people who do not directly know me (SHOCK!!). My surprise was instantly lost when I realized that the post was pro-island rape...or at the very least not anti-island rape?
Here is a brief list of talking points that went through my strange little mind
1- someone who did not go to college with me read this site
2- they have internet on Rape Island?
3- Am I really that bad at math or was i considering the fact that island territory also includes water rights? Or maybe I just blindly made up a number because no one cares.
4- There is no such thing as bad press...
Anyway, my apologies to any of the several dozen inhabitants of Sexual Misconduct Atoll that I may have insulted...please don't sue me. The point of the post was more about having to explain your actions to someone who doesn't know the whole story and it was mirrored by the trials of dudes who had to explain the actions of their society to outsiders who do not know the whole story. Mirrored imagery? Startling metaphor? I feel the urge to scream the words "freedom of speech" or "Fox news is wrong all the time" or something equally as dumb.
For those who do want to learn more about this interesting island, please do go to the official website- which sadly did not come up once in my many many searches.
Oh well, never again will I use the internet for the trivial purpose of gaining knowledge, no, i will reserve it for its intended purpose...a free and never-ending supply of amateur hardcore porn.
Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Dear Dad
Dear Dad-
I know that you are kind of an insane person. Indeed, you have a twisty-handle bar mustache, a severe case of OCD coupled with a sick desire to hoard random objects in large, spooky trailers in the back yard.
You have an odd sense of humor- a mix of wit, baseness and loudness that can be hilarious or soul-damaging. Like calling the place where your son meets men "McFisty's" or buying me an action figure called "The Crazy Cat Lady" complete with a list of criteria for being a cat lady (with the ones I had accomplished checked off- like 1)never having a boyfriend 2)being covered in cat hair 3)living alone).
Do not get me wrong, dad, you are fantastic. You are, for the most part loving and creative. Up until now, you had used your powerful crazy for good (or against my brother-which is similar to good). I was alarmed, then, when you turned against me- your youngest child, your baby girl.
I know that I often ask you for things. Thanks to your psychological illness, requests for objects like a crossbow, a gas-mask, an ocsillascope were all met with an enthusiastic 'YES". So when I asked you politely to send me a few sets of scrubs, I was unprepared for your reaction.
Aside from repeatedly saying that I needed a much bigger size, you were helpful. Your request to get my an XXXL were met with mild hostility and you still assured me that you would procure my garments and ship them to me free of charge. You even called me to make sure they had arrived and asked me to search the contents of the package for the note you wrote.
How was I to know you were so cruel?
I never found the note, dad. Nope, I looked through the clothes and nothing fell out. So, off to work I went.
I changed into my nwe green scrubs (which fit just fine) and walked into the lounge to put away my lunch. I had polite conversation with coworkers and then proceeded into the OR suite to get my assignment. I talked to people at the front desk, wandered casually back to my room and was introduced to the surgeons as the new nurse. Everyone was very polite to me, but i noticed they did not make eye contact. No dad, instead they all stared at my crotch. I didn't really know what they were doing, no one said anything, but their eyes darted around to my lady business.
I pretended not to notice, but I had only one thought in my head. You. Sabatoged. My. Pants. Because I did not want to wear a circus tent in pant form, you cunningly decided to sabatoge my pants in an embarassing and evil way. I walked into the sub-sterile room where no one could see and my felt down to my nethers. And i ripped of the tape. the tape where you wrote a single word.
TOE
I assume you meant Camel Toe, like the one I would have if my pants were so tight that the seam of tyhem seperated my labia. Yeah, great thoughts dad. I thought hrrmmm...i could explain this, but then, I am sure many would wonder why my father would casually reference my vagina like that...maybe they would assume that I had been diddled? Either that or I would explain that you were an insane pseudoasshole with a warped sense of humor, but I did not have the time to take strangers down that dark road.
I even thought briefly of falling back on my old "my Boyfriend put this here" and within seconds had thought of a fake story about how he had come shopping with me and thought that the pants gave me camel toe, but then that would also make him an asshole AND the scrubs were clearly marked as coming from a Hospital and not a store, so I was screwed on that excuse.
Instead, I did something I rarely do. Nothing. I did not lie or over explain. I just took the tape, balled it and threw it away. I briefly did the same thing with my self-respect.
So thanks for the scrubs dad. And thanks for putting that tape on the crotch of every single pair of pants you gave me.
I know that you are kind of an insane person. Indeed, you have a twisty-handle bar mustache, a severe case of OCD coupled with a sick desire to hoard random objects in large, spooky trailers in the back yard.
You have an odd sense of humor- a mix of wit, baseness and loudness that can be hilarious or soul-damaging. Like calling the place where your son meets men "McFisty's" or buying me an action figure called "The Crazy Cat Lady" complete with a list of criteria for being a cat lady (with the ones I had accomplished checked off- like 1)never having a boyfriend 2)being covered in cat hair 3)living alone).
Do not get me wrong, dad, you are fantastic. You are, for the most part loving and creative. Up until now, you had used your powerful crazy for good (or against my brother-which is similar to good). I was alarmed, then, when you turned against me- your youngest child, your baby girl.
I know that I often ask you for things. Thanks to your psychological illness, requests for objects like a crossbow, a gas-mask, an ocsillascope were all met with an enthusiastic 'YES". So when I asked you politely to send me a few sets of scrubs, I was unprepared for your reaction.
Aside from repeatedly saying that I needed a much bigger size, you were helpful. Your request to get my an XXXL were met with mild hostility and you still assured me that you would procure my garments and ship them to me free of charge. You even called me to make sure they had arrived and asked me to search the contents of the package for the note you wrote.
How was I to know you were so cruel?
I never found the note, dad. Nope, I looked through the clothes and nothing fell out. So, off to work I went.
I changed into my nwe green scrubs (which fit just fine) and walked into the lounge to put away my lunch. I had polite conversation with coworkers and then proceeded into the OR suite to get my assignment. I talked to people at the front desk, wandered casually back to my room and was introduced to the surgeons as the new nurse. Everyone was very polite to me, but i noticed they did not make eye contact. No dad, instead they all stared at my crotch. I didn't really know what they were doing, no one said anything, but their eyes darted around to my lady business.
I pretended not to notice, but I had only one thought in my head. You. Sabatoged. My. Pants. Because I did not want to wear a circus tent in pant form, you cunningly decided to sabatoge my pants in an embarassing and evil way. I walked into the sub-sterile room where no one could see and my felt down to my nethers. And i ripped of the tape. the tape where you wrote a single word.
TOE
I assume you meant Camel Toe, like the one I would have if my pants were so tight that the seam of tyhem seperated my labia. Yeah, great thoughts dad. I thought hrrmmm...i could explain this, but then, I am sure many would wonder why my father would casually reference my vagina like that...maybe they would assume that I had been diddled? Either that or I would explain that you were an insane pseudoasshole with a warped sense of humor, but I did not have the time to take strangers down that dark road.
I even thought briefly of falling back on my old "my Boyfriend put this here" and within seconds had thought of a fake story about how he had come shopping with me and thought that the pants gave me camel toe, but then that would also make him an asshole AND the scrubs were clearly marked as coming from a Hospital and not a store, so I was screwed on that excuse.
Instead, I did something I rarely do. Nothing. I did not lie or over explain. I just took the tape, balled it and threw it away. I briefly did the same thing with my self-respect.
So thanks for the scrubs dad. And thanks for putting that tape on the crotch of every single pair of pants you gave me.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Dear Meat
Dear Meat,
I know this is hard for you, but I have some things I need to say to you. I miss you, Meat. And with all the loss I have had in my life, I not only miss you, but I miss the things we used to do together and how every things reminds me of you. Allow me to explain.
Getting drunk and eating a Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich- well, how I am supposed to have drunk food now that you are gone. Where am I going to drunk drive, now, Meat? Subway? Are they open late?
I have BBQ sauce in my fridge and not a single thing to put it on- oh, and I have tried to be creative about this. Can I dip vegetables in BBQ Sauce? NO- celery, broccoli, carrots, peppers, cauliflower- all seem as equally tragic and horrible to my refined meat palate. Dare I save the BBQ sauce in case you come back into my life- would that seem pathetic? Wishful?
I need you to tell me, Meat, what am I supposed to put on my salads? tofu? You can go straight to hell if you think I am going to put tofu on my salad, you son of a bitch. Without you, salad is just a pile of rabbit food, a green mass of disappointment. Yes, vegetables have flavor, yes, they are good for me, but when you are there, Meat, a salad is just so much more. It is a whole meal. It completes me. You complete me.
You must think I am crazy, or obsessive, or needy. I lived for a very long time without you, Meat. I was a vegetarian for years and when I was young, it was not that important to me- but I am a woman now Meat, and once you came back into my life, you really opened me up to a world of possibilities. I don't know how I ever lived without you, you just made everything better, fuller, more interesting.
I remember the first time I had a really rare steak at Bin 54. At that moment, I really felt like you understood my needs and that you could be everything I needed in my life. You left a lingering taste on my lips that was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I love you meat, I always have and I am sure I always will.
Even as I write this, I am just now realizing how much I have relied on you. You are not a side dish, Meat, you are the main course. You are what makes a meal. Not only will I miss your taste and all the things we used to do together, but I will miss the feel of you inside me. You always satisfied me. I love you.
Forever Yours.
Chelsea
I know this is hard for you, but I have some things I need to say to you. I miss you, Meat. And with all the loss I have had in my life, I not only miss you, but I miss the things we used to do together and how every things reminds me of you. Allow me to explain.
Getting drunk and eating a Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwich- well, how I am supposed to have drunk food now that you are gone. Where am I going to drunk drive, now, Meat? Subway? Are they open late?
I have BBQ sauce in my fridge and not a single thing to put it on- oh, and I have tried to be creative about this. Can I dip vegetables in BBQ Sauce? NO- celery, broccoli, carrots, peppers, cauliflower- all seem as equally tragic and horrible to my refined meat palate. Dare I save the BBQ sauce in case you come back into my life- would that seem pathetic? Wishful?
I need you to tell me, Meat, what am I supposed to put on my salads? tofu? You can go straight to hell if you think I am going to put tofu on my salad, you son of a bitch. Without you, salad is just a pile of rabbit food, a green mass of disappointment. Yes, vegetables have flavor, yes, they are good for me, but when you are there, Meat, a salad is just so much more. It is a whole meal. It completes me. You complete me.
You must think I am crazy, or obsessive, or needy. I lived for a very long time without you, Meat. I was a vegetarian for years and when I was young, it was not that important to me- but I am a woman now Meat, and once you came back into my life, you really opened me up to a world of possibilities. I don't know how I ever lived without you, you just made everything better, fuller, more interesting.
I remember the first time I had a really rare steak at Bin 54. At that moment, I really felt like you understood my needs and that you could be everything I needed in my life. You left a lingering taste on my lips that was unlike anything I had ever experienced. I love you meat, I always have and I am sure I always will.
Even as I write this, I am just now realizing how much I have relied on you. You are not a side dish, Meat, you are the main course. You are what makes a meal. Not only will I miss your taste and all the things we used to do together, but I will miss the feel of you inside me. You always satisfied me. I love you.
Forever Yours.
Chelsea
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