How are you today? I'm superfantastic.

XOXO

Dear New Kids on the Block,

Your new song is awful.  Just really, exceptionally atrocious.  Which is fine.  Quality of musical selection was never your strong point.  I guess I wasn't expecting it to be quite as bad as it is, but overall I can't say I'm too surprised.  At least it's not, like, comically bad (*cough* Step by Step *cough*).

The problem that I do have is with some of your lyrics.  A bad song I could overlook, but glorification of improper verb conjugation I cannot forgive.  "You wasn't lookin' for a man", New Kids?  "As long as we was together"?  What kind of example are you setting FOR THE CHILDREN? 

Allow me to point out that "was" and "were" involve the very same number of syllables.  So it wasn't a matter of making the word fit.  This is just poor grammar for poor grammar's sake.  A senseless act of language butchery is what it is and I won't stand for it.

I mean, not that I can actually do anything about it, short of changing the station when it comes on and not buying the tape downloading it from iTunes.  But I will strongly consider throwing out my giant Joey button, antique circa 1990. 

See that it doesn't happen again, Kids.

No longer a screaming 12 year-old fan,

Lori

P.S. Joey is still the dreamiest.  Totally.

XOXO

Dear Bus Driver,

I smiled at you and said hello when I got on board.  You asked me what I was so smiley about this morning, which I thought was just a little bit of bus driver banter.  It looks like I might have been wrong about that.  It might have been more of an accusation than a question.

I paid and went all the way to the back so as not to take up any of the seats reserved for senior citizens and the disabled.  During my 30 minute ride, I saw plenty of people try to exit through the back door and then have to instead go to the front because the back door was lined up with a snowbank.  Some of these people rattled the door to get your attention or tried to force it open.  You even had to yell at one guy to get him to come to the front because he was not giving up on that back door.  I understand that you were frustrated with this. 

At the stop before mine, you lined up the back door with a good spot.  The one girl who was exiting was heading for the front and had to turn around and go to the back instead.  So when my stop came, I stopped at the back door to see whether I could get out there.  The light wasn't coming on, so I went to the front.

Where I found you sternly pointing at the front door.  The door which you refused to open until you had finished giving me a rather lengthy diatribe on how opening the back door into a snow bank messes up the bus's breaks.  I said "OK, thank you" and yet you still refused to open the door and continued your condescending lecture for quite some time.

Listen, I know that you wanted to say all of this to the door-rattlers, but you couldn't because it was a busy street with buses waiting behind you.  I know it had been building for a while and you saw a good opportunity, what with me getting out on a side street.  Clearly you were in a pretty foul mood by then anyway, judging by the way you honked twice at a car who was sitting on the side of a not busy and plenty wide street, not obstructing your way, then pulled up next to him (see, plenty of room to go around) to open your door and yell at him that he had to move.

But when I was headed into a temp job where everyone will speak to me in condescending tones for eight hours just because I'm a temp and the new girl and they think until I tell them otherwise that I'm in college, your assholery was really the very last thing I needed.  I hadn't even had any coffee yet, despite the fact that it was in my hand, because I was being an exemplary passenger and following the no eating or drinking rule.

Yes, you deal with a lot of irritating people at work.  Who doesn't?  I don't know why you can't deal with it like the rest of us stoic Wisconsinites.  You just stuff it down all week and then on Sunday, you turn on the Packers game and let all of that rage out on the refs and opposing team members who can't hear you anyway.  Four out of five psychologists recommend it as a healthy way to relieve stress.  I mean, I didn't ask any, but I assume.

I should be getting my car back today, so it looks like we won't be seeing each other again.  Thank God.

your former passenger,

Lori

XOXO

Dear Expedia Corporate Travel,

If you must keep me on hold for over an hour, could you please, for the love of God and all that is holy, get some new hold music already!  Because those six bars of crappy imitation "music" you play in between frequent reminders that all of your agents are helping other customers, please stay on the line and you will be with me shortly, are etched into my brain.  Permanently.  You people are holding me hostage to my phone and I think the Geneva Convention and even President George W. Bush would have something to say about this torturous soundtrack.

Or, here's an idea: make your website ACTUALLY HELPFUL.  Then I would stop calling you all together and I bet a lot of other people would too and you might not be experiencing increased call volume causing longer than normal hold times.

I would not mind so much if I were ever arranging any of this international travel for myself, but as you very well know, it is never for me, so give a girl a break already and PICK UP THE PHONE.

And may your dreams be equally haunted by the strains of muzak.

Your valued customer,

Lori

XOXO

Dear McDonald's,

What's the deal with the Shamrock Shakes?  More specifically, why did you allow me to grow up with unfettered access every March only to yank the proverbial rug out from under me once I left the frosty confines of the Dairy State?  My first March in Northern Virginia, I thought "Hey!  It's March!  I will take my co-workers to the McDonald's drive-thru for the refreshing minty goodness!"  Because some of these people had not even heard of Shamrock Shakes, which I found difficult to believe.  But Vicki knew of the Shamrock and she is from Tennessee, so clearly this was a nationwide phenomenon.  So we went to one McDonald's and they had no idea what we were talking about.  Same thing at the second one.  What, I ask, is the deal?  I sort of assumed after that experience that the DC metro area was a shamrock-free zone until I read this and learned that apparently in Maryland you can get as many as you want!  I was shake-shopping on the wrong side of the Potomac.

And then I gave you another chance this year to prove to me here in San Antonio that McDonald's will live up to your it's the same life-endangering food of dubious quality everywhere you go promise.  So Amy and I went, on St. Patrick's Day no less, and stepped forward to order said shakes.  And the counter worker person had no earthly idea what we were talking about.  It was as if we had just ordered some McSushi or McCrack.  Which might also have been satisfying, but was equally unavailable. 

So McDonald's, it's really just the once a year anymore that I even darken your door (or drive-thru) and if you are interested in getting my annual $1.95, I strongly suggest that you address this shake-related geographic disparity issue ASAP.  Well, by next March anyway.  Get a move on, Ronald!

your once (and future?) customer,

Lori

XOXO

Dear California,

That's it.  We're fighting.  I'll admit--you seduced me with your nice weather and your fresh oranges the size of my head and your clam chowder in a sourdough breadbowl for sale right on the street.  I was willing to overlook your batshit crazy politics.  But now, NOW you have gone too far.

I think you know what this is about.  I thought I was over it but then you rubbed it in my face again today right in the middle of Celebrity Poker Showdown.  Is nothing sacred, California?

Happy cows live in California, you say.  You greedy bastards.  Wisconsin has one thing!  One!  Why must you try to take even that away from people who have done nothing to you but spend their hard-earned dollars cleaning your Rose Bowl out of beer.  (Seriously, you didn't see that coming?)  What, cornering the American market on television, movies, wine, produce, and crazies weren't enough for you?  Now you're gunning for America's Dairyland.  Why, California?  Why?

You should know that in addition to cheese, we also produce alarming amounts of beer.  What?  Too good for beer?  Well I hope you enjoy drip drying, because we're also your number one (pun intended!) source of toilet paper.

So lay off, California.  And enjoy your tofurkey and cranberry sauce.  Whoops!  Who controls the cranberry supply?  Something to think about.

your cheesehead friend,

Lori

No Xs or Os for you!

Dear Terrell Owens,

T.O., you big whiny baby.  Right when I was finally on a 2 game winning streak, you have to go and get yourself suspended.  With your big mouth and your poor me.  And now, when I had finally climbed out of last in the league and was hoping with this game to get out of the basement of my division, you're benched.

Rat bastard.

Sincerely,

Lori

XOXO

A post in which I do not discuss the swimming.

(except to point out that the style name of my new goggles is The Natator making me I suppose some sort of Nautical Terminator the same way that guy from Snap was the Lyrical Jesse James.)

Dear SBC Yahoo! DSL,

You might be the devil.  We Three Blondes pay you PLENTY of our hard-earned money each month.  (Seriously, one Blonde wrangles 22 second-graders for said money.  Another does some sort of Scientific Things involving Math.)  And yet, your Broadband Link light constantly flashes orange, mocking us with your stubborn refusal to do your one and only job and our total powerlessness to make you.

Before you, I had dial-up.  It was slow, but I could always, ALWAYS check my email anytime I wanted.  That's right, bitch.  I said dial-up was better than you.  And way cheaper.  Take that.

And I will post this rant-in-letter-format if you will only be so good as to let me online.  Pretty please.

Kisses,

Lori

(This rant was written last night in a murderous rage which included an Office Space-esque fantasy involving the DSL box and a baseball bat in the backyard.  However, I couldn't post it last night since the orange flashing would not stop.  So this morning I sat down to a green light which immediately started flashing orange when I touched the mouse.  I swear, for once in my life I am not even exaggerating.  I think the little bastard knew what I was going to write.  Spooky.)

XOXO

Dear Brett Favre,

Thank you for winning me a fantasy game by getting the ball to Donald Driver, particularly that one time in the end zone.   Now, at 1-3, I have a better record than you do and I'm sorry about that.  I would trade you Terrell Owens if I could.  Then again, you need a whole offensive line too, and I don't even have one of those.  I know that you're at the bottom of your division and so am I, although I'm not there alone.  I'm tied with a team called the Slutrags and I think I'd rather be all alone than considered on par with a Slutrag.  Because that is not a pretty mental picture.

I hope the rest of your team rises to the occasion at some point.  I hope your family is able to rebuild their homes and lives after the hurricane and that your wife's cancer ordeal really is over.  I hope that you'll pass along my contact info to any single teammates who can read above a fourth grade level.  And most of all, I hope that Driver becomes your go-to guy and scores LOTS of touchdowns. 

Please don't leave me alone with the Slutrags!  It's just not sanitary.

your #1 fan,

Lori