* Open Letters *

Yet another Open Letter…

Dear EB Games,

Stop taunting people.

If you don’t have any Wiis: put the boxes away. Break them down and stick em in the trash. I was in your store last weekend… and I thought I might buy one… but maybe not… so I went home and thought it over… then I decided I’d get one, and called the Best Buy, because I have GiftCards for Best Buy. I figured, if the EB Games just has rows of them on the shelf, they must be easier to get now… after all, they’ve been out since November. NOVEMBER. Why do they make video game systems so hard to get?

But Best Buy did not have any… so I called the EB Games where I saw them, and figured I’d spend my best buy cards on something else…but noooooooooo…. YOU don’t have any either… and you didn’t have them last week.

EB Games just likes to display EMPTY Wii BOXES.

Not the “Display Only” ones with the green corners either. Unmarked legit looking boxes.

Now I want a Wii… badly, and there are none in stock anyplace for miles. Wal*Mart says to call back every day between 11 and 1. Best Buy says check their Sunday circulars and when I see them comming in, be there before opening. YOU, EB Games, say you don’t know WHEN you’re getting them, they just magically show up now and then… I should call Target next… Knowing Toys R Us even if they had one in stock they wouldn’t tell me.

But you know what… thanks to your box prank… even if you get them in, I’m not buying a Wii from EB Games. As a matter of fact I’m not buying much of anything from EB Games, until you stop with the bait and switch boxes.


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If I had a hammer…

Dear Behind us on the Other Side if the Building Neighbors:

Please, STOP banging on our wall. I’m trying to put together a shelf here, and all that noise you are making is making it very hard for me to concentrate. I have taken care to check the apartment complex policy on “disturbing noises” the upshot of which is “Don’t make disturbing noises, but if you do, please do it before 10pm and after 7am.” It is not yet 10 pm. I have food… all over my kitchen table, and floor, and I have a shelving unit here, which is 16 tiny finishing nails, which require a hammer, and 8 adjustable pegs and 2 shelves, which do not, away from being my pantry. The whole operation will take another 5 minutes. Less even. So either shut up over there, or get your shoes on, and come over here and give me a good freaking reason not to assemble my shelf. Do not simply pound on my fucking walls and make an even bigger and more belligerent racket than I was making innocently trying to assemble my shelf.

Now it is true, that I once said, ok… more than once, but always facetiously, that if I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the midafternoon so as not to disturb anyone. But I don’t get home until 6:30 in the evening, and today, lo, I rested for a few hours before I started putting it together (tho in my defense I figured it would all be screws… and all the structural things are… it just takes 24 tiny nails to put the bloody backing on.)

So you can have your quiet NOW. But at 6:30 tomorrow, I’m finishing my freaking shelf, and no amount of pounding is going to make me stop untill the bloody thing is good and well assembled.


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One More Rant…

Dear Pope Benedict,

Um… Congratulations on your first official policy… but you really could have thought it out better… seriously. Priests are supposed to be celibate anyhow. It doesn’t matter who they’re attracted to if they’re not going to be getting with anyone. You’re not instilling much faith in me. The Love the Sinner hate the Sin thing I could work around… but I’m not so sure about this new policy of yours. I keep trying to find ways so that accepting LBGT and being Catholic are not mutually exclusive… but really, you’re not helping matters.


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Two Open Letter Rants…

Dear Cube Neighbor,

I’m sorry I interrupted your personal call with something as absurd as, oh… WORK. You know… since you’re the one who was supposed to have coordinated the meeting that fell thru, I thought you might want to know about it. I listened in on your convo for a good 60 seconds… before I interrupted you. It wasn’t a fracking emergency. It was a chit chat call, so don’t get all miffed at me when after 10 minutes of waiting, I have to interrupt so my whole day doesn’t get backlogged. You complain an awful lot about the amount of work you have, but you seem to have plenty of fracking time to make personal calls and surf the web.

By the way, the reason I get “all the fun stuff” is because I’m better at it than you are. Yes… you have a degree. An Associates Degree, from Frigging ITT Tech. I have 3 and 1/2 years towards my Bachelors at RPI, and I know that the font tag is no longer the proper way to format text… yes… I know you make more than I do, and yes, I know you’ve got a higher position, but a) you’re outside my chain of command, so I don’t answer to you, and b) it doesn’t matter WHAT they taught you when you were in school, because there’s this funny thing about internet languages. THEY EVOLVE. So don’t get on my case for using different tags that you don’t know.

You’re mental, you know that?


Dear Across the Hall Neighbor,

This is a Non-Smoking Building. No… really. Remember that paper you signed when you signed up for your room? That said you promise not to smoke in the building. The entire rest of the Quad is Smoking. You could have gone to any of those other buildings. THIS Stack is NON-SMOKING. So please. KNOCK IT OFF OVER THERE. IT wafts right into the hall and under my door, not to mention that it’s going to get into the carpet overthere and the next poor sap who thinks he’s in a non-smoking building is going to get stuck with your stench.

And it’s still smoking in the room, even if you put the ashtray on the windowsill.

No… really… it is.

Even if you put your head out the window to smoke.

The wind blows it in.

No Smoking… means NO SMOKING.



Posted in Just Saying, Open Letters | Tagged | 5 Comments

Proud to be a Upstate NYer…

Dear You,

You know who you are. You’re the one who told me, that because I wasn’t feeling lost and lonely and absolutely dying at college, that where I’m from, has nothing to do with who I am. You’re also the one who insists that only big cities, like the one you live in, have culture, and small cities, suburbs, and rural areas do not. You are the one who christened me a ‘burb,’ despite my living in a rural area, because otherwise I’d be a ‘hick’ which would make me a closed minded, bigoted, bible thumper with a rifle and a pick up truck.

You. Are. An Imbecile.

Firstly, I’ll have you know that the reason that it wasn’t killing me, to be at college, is because college is 20 minutes from my home town and I can go home any time I like. You knew this but insisted the fact that I did not take advantage of this meant I did not care about my home… allow me to explain…

Posted in Just Saying, Open Letters | 3 Comments