Category Archives: letters

My Weekend in Letters

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Dear super-expensive car driver,

Thank you. No really, thank you for going through that stop sign and almost plowing down my family. It gave us a great opportunity to teach the kids a great life lesson – that rules are for the poor. After all – you stopped whole the folks in front you were obeying traffic laws (the mid-80s Buick and a late 90’s minivan), so you really can’t be expected to do more.

Love, Gina

Dear Neighbor,

When you do yard work right at the edge of the road – the wooded, rural road, near a blind curve – perhaps head to toe camo isn’t the best choice. Just a suggestion.

Love, Gina

Dear Cell Phone Guy,

This may come as a surprise to you, but nobody here gives a shit about you, your phone call, your investments, your car or your weekend. Take it outside.

Love, Gina

Dear Guy in front of me at the movies,

Do you really need 5 minutes to stand there and take off your coat, then put it back on then take it off again then fold it, then hang it over the back of the seat, then pick it up and arrange it on the seat, then pull up your pants then check your phone for calls then stretch your back before you get settled in your seat? Because you are one big dude and I can’t see. And they may only be previews, but if I can’t seem them, then I can’t get all excited and declare my intent to see every single on of them when they come out, even though I know I will see approximately none of them. Still. I want to see. Sit down.

Love, Gina

Dear people behind me in the movies,

Ok, first off, your toddler? Too young for this movie. The only thing he understands is that doggies say “ruff ruff” and that The Rock is tough. I know this because I heard him say it. TEN THOUSAND TIMES. And the fact that you refused to stop him from kicking my seat for two straight hours made me have to work really hard to not punch you in the face. It wore me out and made me unable to fully appreciate this:

Next time I can’t promise not to punch you.

Love, Gina

Dear Uncle Crappy,

I promise it was just a coincidence that I saw you in the library – I am not a crazy fangirl stalker. And I apologize for not remembering your “real” name and being forced to refer to you using the word “crappy” in a public place. My memory is not what it used to be. I blame college.

Love, Gina

Dear Melissa Rivers,

Shut the fuck up. When, on Celebrity Apprentice, you said that it was embarrassing for the men’s team because they lost to a bunch of girls, you became dead to me. Dead. Way to perpetuate sexism, dumbass. And while we’re talking – lay off the goddamned plastic surgery – it makes you look older rather than younger.

Love, Gina

Dear Ministers,

I hear a whole bunch of you are refusing to perform a ceremony at the playboy mansion. I understand that you probably consider the playboy mansion to be the veritable Cinderella’s Castle of pornography. But really, who gives a shit. I am sure you feel that by refusing that you are standing up for and protecting women from the big, bad pornography industry. And don’t get me wrong, I am sure that there are some young women that get taken advantage of. But in general, the women involved with playboy have chosen to be there. Many are educated, intelligent women who have used their assets to get ahead. Many go on to successful careers in other fields. By trying to “protect” them, it is implied that they need protection – that they can’t make decisions for themselves. While I am not a big fan of playboy, I can’t really sit here and lecture about the objectifying of women, blahblahblah, when I think that most beer ads are more offensive. At least at playboy they are honest – it’s all about sex. But when just about every product known to man is sold by oiling up some tits and ass and pretending it has something to do with beer or shoes or cars or Doritos, it’s hard to get worked up about a company that is only using tits and ass for the sake of tits and ass. Ease up, dudes.

Love, Gina

Dear Ass,

Go away. And take your fat friends thighs and belly with you. And please do so without any intervention from me, OK?

Love, Gina

Letters

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Dear jogger,
Contrary to what you clearly believe, briefly interrupting your run in order to comply with basic safety laws will not, in fact, result in your immediate death. Not doing so, however, just might
Love Gina

Dear pedestrians,
While I realize that auto traffic must yield to pedestrians, I feel the need t point out that this law refers to pedestrians already in the crosswalk. This does not mean that it’s a particularly wise idea to fail to look both ways and step into the street, assuming that this law will protect you from speeding traffic like some sort of super shield. Because if you step directly out in front of me and I kill you – sure – I’ll feel bad. Really bad. But you’ll be dead nonetheless. If you see that jogger – let her know.
Love Gina

Dear flag-shirt-wearing jackass driver,
If you put as much though into things like traffic laws and stop signs as you clearly did to the application of those 16 “W” stickers, perhaps you’ll increase your life expectancy. Because if you continue to drive like that, you’ll either die in a fiery crash or some bitch with PMS and a liberal streak will beat you to death.
Love, Gina

Dear parker,
It’s a pull-in space! And you’re driving a Chevette. Are you seriously having that much of a problem?
Love Gina

Dear Boy,
You are waaaaay too young to be turning into your father. Please pick your underwear up off the bathroom floor. If you take up snoring, you’re outta here.
Love Mom

Dear Girl,
If you are going to get out of bed and wander the house in the wee hours of the morning, you really need to let someone know. Because I had a heart attack, died, came back to life and spontaneously combusted this morning when I found you missing from your bed. I’m too old for that.
Love, Mom

Dear mr b,
Just because you don’t hear it, smell it or see it, does not mean that it does not exist. Recall, if you will, that you are deaf, blind and have a seriously fucked up sense of smell. And the next time you resort to the age-old, good old boy, misogynistic, bullshit explanation that “[I;m] crazy”, I will be forced to kill you.
Love, Gina
PS. Smoking is ugly.

Dear Bass Thumper,
The volume and tone of the bass is clearly inversely proportional to intelligence. Since my skeletal system is vibrating, you must be a serious mental midget. If you weren’t so obviously disturbed, I might beat your woofers with a club. You know, if I had money for lawyers and damages. And a club.
Love, Gina

Dear Spider,
Get out!
I hate you,
Gina

Dear Dog,
You have very few jobs in this house. And while, admittedly, you are doing a fine job of “Barking Your Fool Head Off”, you are failing miserably at “Spiders.” Shape up.
Love, Gina

Dear Cat,
See Dog. Also – spring weather is not a license to jackassery. The “Let Me In…Psych!” game is getting old. I’ll let it slide if you get cracking on those spiders!
Love, Mom

Dear Polling place worker,
Seriously? You are seriously that stupid?? Ok, then.
Love, Gina

Dear Litterer,
You are an asshole. But on Earth Day? Super Mega Giant Asshole of Assholery.
Love, Gina