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Teacher-like heels

10 May

Dear teacher-like heels,

You are not good for running to the bus. You are only good for face plants, and you know, that’s embarrassing in front of a bus load of people. Also, you are loud.

We’re broken up. It’s been a slice.

Maybe I should try these:

Or on second thought….

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Guy with dog

10 May

Dear Guy with Dog* (you know who you are… actually, you probably don’t,  since you don’t know who I am. Fyi: I’m that awkward chick who has your exact same schedule.  You know, the one won’t look you in the eye and acts as if her ipod is the most interesting fucking thing since sliced bread. Yup. You got it, I’m that girl),

After much deliberation, I’ve come to believe that you are genuinely frightened of me.

What gave it away? Hmmm…

Well for starters, it was the way you urgently pressed the button as we stood at the intersection waiting for the light to change.  I mean, jesus, it’s not as if I was standing there with a loaded gun (maybe). I’m surprised that button didn’t sink into the pole the way you were hitting it like you were the Duck Hunt gold medalist. Seriously, it took quite a bit of strength to not burst out laughing, but I managed to compose myself, because, well that’s what I do.

Anyhoo, good on ya, buddy. Congrats.

Here’s a tip: Try changing your schedule. That way I won’t be awkward and you won’t be running scared. Deal? Deal.

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

* <— HEY! WTF! This little guy means I’m shocked I even took the time to write this. Wowzers, batman.

Burnt toast

20 Apr

Dear humans that make toast,

You’ve got me thinking I’m having seizures, for real. Come on, now. It’s not rocket science, brain surgery, or hopscotch.

It’s toast. Simple as that.

And get this: The toaster even cooks it for you!

See, you put this bread in the machiney thing, set the lightness/darkness, push the button and…. holy shit, crunchy warm bread comes out!! Who knew life could be so grand?!

Even cartoons know the difference.

For instructions on how to use the toaster, please refer to your brain and/or google search the word ‘toast’. Seriously.

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

The return of moron #451

25 Mar

Dear moron #451,

If you ever clip your nails at your desk again, I will not hesitate to throw up on your face, rather than in my mouth.

Sick.

I’ll probably drop kick you as well, like so:


Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Big league chewers

7 Mar

Dear gum chewers of planet earth,

Trust me, as a gum connoisseur, I appreciate the wonder of its chewy, bubble-blowin’, sugary fabulousness… but really, must I see your tonsils and directly into your esophagus while mistaking the sounds coming from your mouth as those of an elderly person going to town on a jar of peanut butter without their dentures? I mean, come on now. I know it’s hard to be an adult, but you might want to consider trying a teeny bit harder, so as to avoid looking like a moderately unbalanced farm animal (at least in public).

Love,

Allergic to you.xo

Hipster Teenage Dropouts

2 Mar

Dear hipster teenage dropout who laughed and pointed at me when I almost wiped out on a random spot of ice while crossing the intersection,

1. That was mean. I’m judgemental and bitchy too, but at least I have the tact to keep it to a delightfully themed blog.

2. Karma’s a bitch (likely the main reason you slipped and actually fell when you crossed that same spot). ZING!

3. For lack of a better reaction:

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

Papercuts

3 Feb

Dear moron who consequently forced another moron to give yours truly a fabulous papercut,

Not only did you continue to fondle me even though I kept moving so you had more room to read your stupid book, you swung around on the pole like the high-class subway stripper that you are and knocked me into that other moron who doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.  Thanks for that.  Since I had no time to react, I had to use other moron’s stupid book to break my fall so I could avoid my face being smothered in her crotch, which resulted in one bitch of a  papercut. Instead of knocking you over head with the much deserved overpriced bottle of Pinot Noir that was in my bag, I strategically pulled your high-class subway stripper pole move back on you as I left the train, knowing that my bag that carried that overpriced bottle of wine would whack your kneecap. To avoid this type of random violence in the future, please attend my new seminar, “Idiot’s Guide to Public Transit Etiquette” (also known as “Seriously?”).

Love,

Allergic to you. xo

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