Anonymous Letter: To The Teenage Girl Who Tried to Drag Race Me Tonight

Dear Teenie Bopper:

Congratulations are in order! You apparently have a new driver’s license. With that license comes a great deal of fun, and a lot of responsibility. However, there are certain things that they didn’t teach you in driver’s ed.

First of all, my apparent air of casual disdain is not actually an attempt to seem “hip,” “cool,” or otherwise encourage you to associate with me. It’s not an air at all — I really don’t care. I’m happily married, you look twelve years old to me, and I only “pulled up alongside” you because that’s where the stop line for the traffic light was.

Second, pulling up next to you is not an invitation to race. It’s what happens at a red light. I didn’t even notice what color hair you have, whether you were pretty or not, or even if your passenger was male or female. It’s a complete accident, it might happen again, and hopefully I won’t need to write you another letter.

Third, swerving back and forth in your lane is a sign that you’re an idiot and shouldn’t be allowed to drive, not an indication of how good a time you’re having. Tell you passenger very quietly, “Whee” if you really feel the need.

Fourth, if your car’s zero-to-60 time is only measured in whole seconds, because no one cares whether it does it in 14.5 seconds or 14.6, don’t bother revving your engine at the car next to you as an invitation to race. You’ll verge on losing to a Prius, much less an actual car.

Fifth, that was my Audi that smoked your mom’s Toyota sedan without trying.

 

Sincerely,

X

Mr. Anonymous

Anonymous Letter: To “National Deed Service”

Dear National Deed Service:

In the age of spam and selling of false hopes, it’s a distinct honor and privilege to receive an actual snail mail letter from a business that actually has a product to sell. Having identified me as a recent home buyer, you are kind enough to provide me with the opportunity to buy a copy of my deed to the property I’ve purchased from you, a disinterested third party, rather than obtaining one directly from my local County Auditor.

On most occasions when a company offers to sell me something through the mail, it’s easily identifiable that they wish to prey on the dumb and the lazy. In this case, however, you are courteous enough to eliminate the “dumb” from accepting your offer. In large print, you tell the recipient of your sales pitch that they can go and accomplish the same thing you’re offering to do — for free!

You’ve made a business out of selling something free to the lazy — I would almost like to buy your mailing list, solely so that I can profit from their laziness as well.

However, unless you decide to sell that list, know that I’m not yet QUITE that lazy, and please refrain from offering to sell me a copy of my own marriage license, as well.

Sincerely,

X

Mr. Anonymous

Mashed potatoes

I was going to “cook” tonight — nothing too fancy, as it was just for myself, but I had some time available, so why not?

I started poking around the kitchen, eliminating items — I’m short a few staples, so I can’t make some dishes I’d like to — and had just about given up and defaulted to “microwave burritos” when I saw… Mashed Potatoes!

Okay, so they were mashed-potato-flakes. Not really potatoes, and definitely not yet mashed. I took ’em down, and checked to make sure I had everything… no milk. Milk goes bad, Mandrina is allergic, so we don’t tend to stock milk in the house. Okay, fine. I go to put the box in the pantry, and for a moment, just a moment, I wonder if I could use the non dairy creamer to prepare the microwave potato flakes.

Then I get the microwave burritos out of the freezer.

How can this not be intended as a guilt trip?

I received an email from my mother, volunteering what she wants for her birthday.

She doesn’t want presents; she wants to my brother and myself to be sure to remember our grandmother and aunts and uncles on the major holidays, because they’ve done so much for us. To quote: “They expect it. I do not any longer. Funny…when they have been skipped once or twice you decide it is better to not have any expectations…then no disappointments.”

Ouch.

I hate Mandrina’s home town

Everyone sodding knows everyone. It’s a fairly populous area, but the place comes across as if everyone went to the same schools with the same people for years. Tara or Mandrina will give voice to how it’s a sucking vortex, and nobody escapes.

I hate it for entirely different reasons. I still have yet to be treated as an individual when I was there.

Case in point (and cause for today’s rant): I hired someone Mandrina approved of to take the wedding pictures. It’s been over a month, and I haven’t heard anything about them. So I asked. She’s an artist-type, I thought the photographer may have still been cleaning them up.

I got a response this morning — she had dropped the pictures off with Mandrina’s MOTHER. Why? Because she was in the neighborhood. Who paid for the photographs? Who arranged for the photography at all?

Not Mandrina’s mother.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Mandrina’s mother. This small town “everyone knows everyone” thing is annoying the heck out of me, because I don’t know everyone, so I’m just treated as an accessory.

We should have been the first ones to see the pictures after the photographer, and to pick and choose who sees what. This small-town mentality has ruined that option.

It will be a long time before I want to go back there again.

March 11, 2007 is a date that will live in

Something or other.

I was going to write a long-winded, lengthy post, but given that I don’t have time for that, I’ll post the great news, then move on to the less important items that are clogging up what little brainspace I have.

On March 11, 2007, Mandrina and I were married in Pensacola, Florida.

Pictures will follow. I didn’t take any, I was busy getting married.

Oh, no! Snow!

I honestly don’t understand Seattlites inability to handle a bit of snow. The moment that some of the white stuff starts coming down, they shut down, just as they do when the sun comes out or we get rain.

I left work around 19:30 last night, as I was trying to finish up some work. I was hearing all these horror stories on the radio about how people have been stuck on the roads for five and six hours.

I got home, including stopping at a drug store and grocery store, in under an hour and a half. What, you may ask, was the difference?

I was smart enough to know NOT to get on the bleeding highway with the five hour backup! Learn where you live, people!