2005-05-14 4:50 PM
Hell Is (Writing Letters To) Other People
Dear Carpooler,
Know what's almost as uncool as grooming when you're driving? Grooming
when you're a passenger in a stranger's car. Especially when you've been
a snarky bitch from the get-go, and not at all in the good way. Especially
when your grooming is in the service of hideous mall bangs. Especially,
especially when you're spraying something noxious and perfumey all
around a car, which, please note again, is not yours.
Leave that crap at home next time. Pretty begins from within.
Suddenly fragrance-sensitive,
Mag*cough*pie
Dear Britney Spears' Publicist,
Congratulations! The Daily Dish runs an item on your client almost every single day. For doing your job so well, you should be commended.
However, even for those of us who have an interest in vapid celebrity minutiae, your material is getting a little thin. I know your Brit is a busy girl, what with preparing for her big tour while also trying to find the time to nail the 6 or 7 of her dancers whose hugely pregnant wives or girlfriends haven't yet given birth. I know that being a vaguely robotic un-singer/kind-of-dancer/not-much-of-an-actress must be harrrrd in ways mere mortals like me can't really understand. But really, what's next? "Britney Likes Peas?" "Britney Chips A Nail While Rehearsing For Her Onyx Hotel Tour?" "Britney: 'My Left Foot Sometimes Falls Asleep While I'm On The Tour Bus?'" Come on. If you don't want us to pay attention to what Jessica Simpson's doing instead, you'll need to either cut back on the items or make them juicier. "Britney Likes Pot" is a good start, so keep 'em coming.
Hearing that Ashlee Simpson is coming out with an album too,
Magpie.
Dear Food Selling and Serving People of Northern California:
Why are so many of you so wasted lately? First it was the woman who took my order for seasonal veggie skewers, who seemed barely tethered to the planet. Then there was the guy who brought me portobello mushroom skewers instead, then tried to convince me that they were seasonal veggie skewers, even though they had exactly the same veggies as the portobello mushroom skewers, then stood there, staring into space and drooling quietly as he tried to wrap his brain around this incredibly difficult concept. And the guy who made my salad today, and who couldn't pronounce my name? He gamely tried, "Ma... Maaa... Mapgee?" before bursting out into such stoney, nasal giggles that I expected bong water to come flying out of his nose.
I know, retail really sucks and you need an escape, but please either save it for after work or bring me some, so if you screw up my order I won't care.
With only your best interests in mi -- hey, brownies!
Magpie