Random Letters

Dear Aspiring Pop Princesses of the World,

Want to be unique and really stand out from the competition? How about you try NOT being a whore? Just a thought. Also, it might help if you could actually sing.

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Dear Facebook,

Stop suggesting that I "reconnect" with someone and write on their wall or send them a message. There's a reason I haven't written on their wall. I've been avoiding them. Because I probably don't like them. Because I probably just felt bad denying their friend request in the first place. Quit telling me what to do. You're not the boss of me.

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Dear Major TV Networks,

How about you let a show stay on the air more than 10 minutes before you cancel it? This is precisely why no one watches new shows and instead wait until 2 or 3 seasons are out on DVD before they tune in. I still haven't forgiven you for canceling Pushing Daisies or Kings. I miss the Piemaker!! In other news, we don't need a new version of CSI set in Boise, Idaho, ok? 28 editions is plenty.

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Dear Arizona Department of Motor Vehicles,

Thank you for not making my driver's license expire until 2046. Even though I'm quite certain that at the age of 65 I will look nothing like I did when I was 21 & got my license photo taken, I appreciate never having to go to the DMV. Even though I now live in another state and have lived in said state for 4 years. Which brings me to my next letter...

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Dear Indiana Department of Motor Vehicles,

A written test?? Really!? After having my license for 12 years? Seriously!? This is precisely why I still have my Arizona license. Also, I'm not a fan of your new "no showing your teeth while smiling" and "your hair must be pushed behind your ears" rules for license photos. Is it your goal in life to get me to look as uncute as possible? How about you make it mandatory for everyone to wear an oversized t-shirt they bought at a kiosk in the mall and no makeup? Just an idea.

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Dear Technology,

I love you. But I hate you. You were created to make my life more convenient but when you stop working and take all of my data with you, it's inconvenient. When you allow people to reach me at all hours of the day and night regardless of where I am or what I'm doing, this is inconvenient. When I intend to send a personal and somewhat embarrassing email to a friend and you send it to everyone in my address book, this is inconvenient. When you stop working and forget to record new episodes of Gossip Girl, this is seriously inconvenient. Work on that, will ya?

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Dear Parking Lots,

I'm sure that someday when I'm a mother, I'll appreciate the fact that you designate special spots close to the door just for me. But right now, when I'm a childless person who just wants to get into the grocery store quickly without being drenched by a monsoon, you kinda just tick me off. And make me hate children.

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Dear Robert Pattinson,

How YOU doin'?!?

Eight Strikes You're Out

Let me start off by saying this blog is being written out of pure frustration, fueled by my own irritation and anger. It's only 9:15am and I'm inching dangerously close to the line where annoyance turns into violent rage. Don't worry, you have no reason to fear. I have not yet discovered a way to cause any physical harm to you through the computer as you sit in the safety of your own home reading this. Apparently, Apple hasn't created an app for that yet.

What is the cause of this frustration, you ask? Three letters: I. R. S.

I needed to get a simple question answered this morning. (Calm down...Kyle & I aren't battling charges of tax evasion or anything like that. We're helping with the upstart of a non-profit and I had a basic question about tax exemption.) Exhausting all other options, I realized I needed to go straight to the source to get the answers I needed. In this case, the source is the Internal Revenue Service.

Strike One: Actually being the Internal Revenue Service. No offense, IRS, but you've gotten a bad rap over the years. I'm beginning to understand why.

The answer I needed should've probably been Google-able, but since the IRS has apparently decided to write all of their forms in the official language of the planet of Melmac, there are no answers to be found. Strike Two, IRS: Making an already complicated process exponentially more complex by failing to communicate anything in a way that is understandable to the average (or in this case, extremely brilliant) American citizen.

So what did I do next? I called the 1-800 number foolishly believing I might be able to speak to a live human being. Heck, at this point, I would've taken an intelligent alien life form. Or even a well-versed robot. But no. Instead, I had to go through roughly 2,483,812 electronic prompts before ever having a hope of talking to a real person. And those 2,483,812 prompts? Oh yeah, all in the Melmacian tongue. Strike Three: Having prompts that say things like, "If you're calling to find more information out about forms 3175b, 4471x, 317-g, 5535, 1819m, 312a, 7689-qe, 1414z, 1224, or 647xyzabe, please press 4."

At this point, I basically just started jabbing numbers into my phone in a desperate attempt to reach a human, or at the very least cause a serious malfunction that shut down all electronic prompt operations for the next 24 hours. I finally got through the prompts (totally clueless by the way about what department I might end up in) and was met with this recording: "The next available operator will be right with you. Your estimated wait time is 10 to 15 minutes." Oh no you didn't, IRS. Strike four.

So 15 minutes later when someone finally answered the phone, you know what I was told after about 2.4 seconds (which, by the way, is the total length of time it took me to ask my simple question)? "Um, I'm going to need to transfer you to another office. I have no idea what to tell you." Fantastic. Strike five.

New lady at new department picks up after only a few seconds and I'm thinking, "Gee whiz, this is going to be great. Finally, the answers I need." Can I get through an entire question without her interrupting me? No, I can't. When I let out an audible sigh of frustration, do you know what her response is? "You need to calm down. It's ok. You're going to be ok. I'm trying to help you. Stop getting so worked up." Strike six. And then when I responded to her little pep talk by telling her that I've already been on the phone for approximately 20 minutes trying to get one simple answer, do you know what her response was? "Well, lucky you. That's a short wait." STRIKE. SEVEN.

So FINALLY, she gives me the answer I need: "Yes, ma'am, we can just issue you a simple letter that you can use to exempt you from taxes on all of your purchases." YES! HALLELUJAH!! The skies have parted and the angels are singing in unison. The guy at the Apple store who is waiting for me to send in my form to complete the purchase I made this morning will finally have the paperwork he needs. Praise ye Almighty God! And then IRS lady goes on..."You should have it sometime in the next 3 weeks." Say what?! "Can you email or fa---?" "NO, ma'am!"

Strike.

Eight.

I'm done.

Satisfaction Guaranteed

Dear New York City (aka New York, New York; The Big Apple; Manhattan; The City that Never Sleeps; The City; The Melting Pot; Gotham, and the list goes on...)

First of all, you have more aliases than Puff Daddy. You might want to tone that down a bit. For the record, I will never agree to calling you N. Yorkie no matter how hard you plead. Let's just make that clear.

I recently paid a visit to your booming metropolis and on most fronts, you did not disappoint. Your food was delicious, your shopping was superb, and the crazies were in rare form. Overall, I had a delightful time. But there were a few minor things that did not meet my expectations. Given the cost of a weekend spent in your city, I felt it was my duty to report these things to management. I hope we can reach a satisfying resolution moving forward.

1. Your residents are kinda jerkfaces. Seriously, all 14 billion of them. They don't smile, they don't exchange pleasantries on the street, and often when you're petting their dogs and trying to make conversation about how wonderful dogs are in general and how God really knew what He was doing when He created dogs (as opposed to cats), they sorta grunt in response instead of excitedly agreeing with you on how a dog should probably be our next President. Also, they can be a little forceful when getting in and out of trains which can cause a bit of trouble for a person who hypothetically might be carrying 8-10 shopping bags while drinking coffee and eating a cupcake. I'm just saying.

2. Your streets are kind of dirty and they often smell strongly of human excrement. Are people walking around with poop in their pants? If that is true, that would actually offer a good explanation for my first complaint.

3. You're a little pricey. I know that people are constantly saying that you're the greatest city on earth, the most exciting place on the planet, the hub of fashion, finance, entertainment, and shopping, but I think some of those compliments may have gone to your head. Should it really cost me $20 for pancakes and a cup of crappy coffee? Is it necessary to charge $2 per ride on a crowded train that smells a bit like urine? Must I be tempted by $4 cupcakes at every turn? I think not.

4. You're really close to New Jersey. Being in such close proximity to that much hairspray and stonewashed denim is probably not safe for anyone.

Thank you for your time and consideration in reviewing these complaints. I trust that you will look into these matters immediately and begin making strides to improve upon your great city. I do appreciate all that you've done for me in the past. You're the only place on the planet where a person can find a store dedicated solely to selling various types of creampuffs and for that, I say thank you. The world is in dire need of more creampuffs (the kind you eat, not the kind that say things like "Heyyy girlfriend!" while snapping their fingers in zig-zag patterns in front of their chests. The world has plenty of those. Just watch Project Runway.).

I look forward to seeing you again.

Sincerely,

Nancy

Music to My (Virgin) Ears

Last week, Kyle & I were in Atlanta hanging with his family and one night, we started going through my brother-in-law's ipod and listening to old songs. As I sang along, never missing a lyric, to songs about humping, sex, big butts, and funky cold medina, I was hit with a realization: I knew the lyrics to a lot of wildly inappropriate songs as a child.

I mean, seriously. Who let me listen to that stuff?! I'll tell you who. It's the same people who thought it was a good idea to take a 7-year old to a Poison concert. Yeah, Poison. The band fronted by that creepy Rock of Love guy. And the same people who thought it was not an issue for a second-grader to have a life-sized poster of Bon Jovi in her bedroom (which is no small feat I might add; his hair alone just barely fit on the back of my door). And don't even get me started about our family movie selections (Faces of Death, anyone?). Needless to say, I've pretty much been scarred for life. But I've decided to compile a list, for your reading pleasure, of the most inappropriate songs I could sing every lyric to on the playground.

In no particular order...

1. "I Want To Sex You Up" by Color Me Badd: Tick tock, you don't stop. But really, Color Me Badd, you should stop. Stop corrupting the minds of innocent children everywhere, that is.

2. "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mixx-a-Lot: I spent a great deal of my childhood wondering what an anaconda was. When I find out, it's safe to say I was thoroughly disgusted with Sir Mixx-a-Lot and his pervy ways. Who knighted this guy, anyways?

3. "Wild Thing" by Tone Loc: If you're unsure how inappropriate this song is, google the lyrics. Then wash your mouth out with soap.

4. "Let's Talk About Sex" by Salt-n-Pepa: Um, how about we not?

5. "Talk Dirty to Me" by Poison: Do these titles give away nothing? Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure "talking dirty" doesn't necessarily sound like a kid-friendly concept.

6. "I'll Make Love to You" by Boyz II Men: Again, the titles aren't hiding anything here, folks.

7. "The Humpty Dance" by Digital Underground: Hate to break it to you, but this song has absolutely nothing to do with an egg falling off a wall.

8. "Bump 'n Grind" by R. Kelly: I actually do see something wrong with a little bump 'n grind, R.

9. "Do Me" by Bell Biv Devoe: You kiss your mother with that mouth?!

10. "Nuthin' but a G Thang" by Dr. Dre & Snoop Dogg: There's a lot wrong with this song. Not the least of which is the ruthless promotion of improper spelling of some really basic words. What kind of example does that set for the youth of America?

Back By Popular Demand

To quote the immortal words of some famous movie villain who I totally can't recall right now and couldn't find anywhere on the internet (what are you good for, Wikipedia?): I'm baaaack!! And to be quite honest, I'm better than ever. Really, I am.

So it's been awhile. I know. Stop telling me. Stop whining about it. I haven't blogged in forever. 328 days to be exact (which coincidentally are the numbers of my birthday....March 28....it's never too early to start buying me presents). According to my calculations, had I waited one more day, a mutinous uprising would've most certainly occurred bringing utter and total annihilation to the earth as we know it. And honestly, I didn't want to be responsible for the end of civilization. And I most certainly didn't want to miss out on the premieres of Gossip Girl, The Office, and the new Vampire Diaries (which surely wouldn't have aired if the whole earth was destroyed). So here I am to rescue you from the vast emptiness that has been surrounding you for 11 months. Your days in the wilderness are over, my friend. I'm here to guide you as any good and fearless leader should.

What I really want to know is this: how have you survived this long without me? I have the great luxury of getting to bask in my brilliance daily and sometimes not even that is enough. How you've made it this long without my wisdom and insight is beyond me.

Since it's been so long, I feel the need to sum up the past 11 months or so. A lot has happened. A lot of great CHANGE has taken place in this nation. CHANGE that we all HOPED for. Our HOPE prevailed and CHANGE took place. CHANGE. HOPE. HOPE. CHANGE. That's right, folks. You know what I'm talking about. Last November, for the first time EVER in the history of the world, ABC selected a single dad to be the Bachelor! Shocking, I know. Sadly, he turned out to be a total toolbox and although in previous posts I rooted for him mercilessly, he's now dead to me.

I want to sum up the rest of the year quickly so here's what you've missed:

1. I'm obsessed with Twilight now. This should come as no surprise to anyone who has ever met me. Teenagers. Vampires. Werewolves. Love triangles. Ginormous books that take me longer than 24 hours to read. Robert Pattinson. What's not to love?!

2. I get paid to blog now (though sadly not from any of you). This is primarily why this particular blog has been so neglected. I thought I was too big-time for you guys. But the people have spoken. And I have listened to your humble cries for help. So I'm back. However, please don't let that stop you from paying me if you feel so obliged. I will happily forward my PayPal info along to anyone.

3. Gus is 2 now and supremely mature. Just yesterday I walked in on him wearing a robe & ascot, sipping on Scotch while he smoked a pipe and read the Wall Street Journal. They grow up so fast (sniff, sniff).

4. Some exciting news among my friends: Pam & Jim are engaged (and expecting a baby!). George is dead. Izzie's got cancer, although I have every confidence she's going to make a full recovery. Blair is going to NYU and is going to be forced to be roommates with that evil Georgina Sparks (gasp!). Dan and Serena broke up (why, God, why?). Annie ran over some guy with her car (kinda wishing someone would've run Annie over instead). Jeannine is America's new favorite dancer (although not for long). And Bret & Jermaine have yet to secure a record deal...what does Murray do all day long?

5. I am awesome. Oh wait, actually this is a fact that has remained unchanged since the dawn of time. Just thought I'd remind you.

It's nice to be back. I'll post again soon. And by soon I mean sometime between 1 and 328 days. Peace.

The Fresh Maker

Am I the only person who gets really paranoid when someone offers me a breath mint? I mean, logic tells me that when someone is partaking of something, the polite thing to do is offer to share with everyone around them. (Have our kindergarten teachers taught us nothing?) And I would most certainly be offended if someone was eating some peanut butter M&M's and didn't bother to offer me a handful (or twelve handfuls). So, 9 times out of 10, when someone eats a mint in my presence and offers me one, they're probably just being polite. But I can't help but wonder if pulling out a mint to eat it in my presence is all a ruse in order to offer me one so that my rank nasty breath would stop assaulting them. Therefore, when someone offers me a mint, I feel absolutely compelled to take it even if I don't want it because I'm terrified that if I turn it down, the Mint Offerer might be thinking, "Dang it. That plan didn't work. Must move on to Plan B." And for all I know, Plan B might include banging me over the head with a lead pipe and tossing me in their trunk just to keep my bad breath from harming anyone else. 

It's just something to think about.

Statuesque beauty

In the booming metropolis that is Carmel, Indiana, where I reside, there has been some major overhauling of Main Street in the past few years in an effort to create a quaint, small-town charm with overpriced boutiques, locally owned restaurants and...statues?? Yep. For some reason, the city thought adding realistic human statues would add a certain flair to the city. Don't believe me? Take a look.

The first statue I recall seeing was of this father helping his daughter ride her bike. That seems sweet, doesn't it? Yeah, except that it's located right next to the street and looks as though the father is preparing to push his young, unsuspecting daughter into oncoming traffic. I cannot tell you how many times I've driven past that spot, felt my heart race and slammed on the brakes, certain I was about to collide with a young girl on a bike. 

Next there's this man playing the  violin for donations. I've almost tossed a few bucks in his case while passing. The first time I saw him, I felt bad for the poor guy. What self-respecting man, in chinos no less, stands on the streets of Carmel, Indiana and plays violin for cash? These are hardly the streets of New York, people. Has the economy really gotten that bad?

Then there's this old lady with her groceries standing in the middle of the sidewalk. From far away she seems friendly enough, but up close, there is an intense hatred in those eyes. Perhaps it's because there are no decent young men to offer to carry the groceries to her car. All the decent young men in this town have resorted to pandhandling and shoving their unwitting daughters in front of moving vehicles.

There are more statues but I'll spare you the photos. There's the man standing right next to the curb carrying a squirming young boy on his shoulders who looks as though he's about to squirm his way right onto the top of your passing car. And then there's the old man taking up half of the only decent bench on Main Street reading his paper.  

It seems every time I drive down Main Street, I'm greeted by some new, creepy statue staring back at me. I think my concerns are obvious. First, is it possible that these are not statues at all? Have our peaceful streets been infiltrated by some heartless, Medusa-esque villain who is sucking the very life out of innocent passers-by and turning them into hardened bronze versions of themselves? And secondly, with the increasing number of statues, is is possible that we may soon reach a day when the streets of downtown Carmel are so overrun by these statues, that there is no longer walking room for us living folks? Something to think about. Something to think about indeed.