the crazy stops here…every fifteen minutes

Dear Creeper from the Gas Station this morning:

You can look. You can appreciate. Staring slack-jawed and following me to my car? Not cool. I wouldn’t touch you with a 2000 ft. long cattle prod, but someone might be willing if they couldn’t smell you before they saw you.

NOT fondly,

girl in dire need of coffee who does not flirt before noon

Dear Walgreens Pharmacist:

I have taken birth control since I was thirteen. That’s over half of my life. I do not have questions about it. I know you have to ask. You don’t have to apologize for asking, and it isn’t awkward. It’s my body and my medicine, and my health, and if I had a question, I would ask you, even if it was really unpleasant. Obviously, you feel it is awkward to ask me if I have any questions regarding my birth control, and that begs the question…  why do you dispense medication for a living?

Respectfully,

that girl who’s cool with her reproductive organs, like on a first name basis and everything.

Dear He Who Must Be Tolerated and Managed Up:

Seriously, quit trying to engage me in conversation when I am trying to leave for lunch. You’re two hours behind me, and I’m sorry that when you get settled in and ready to pester me, I’m starving and bitchy or not even here, but a girl has to eat (and go to Walgreens). Also, why schedule a call for a two minute conversation easily handled by email? Modern technology- is like it!

Not so respectfully,

The Thorn in Your Side

PS: Unrelated- I need some of your finger clippings for a craft project….

Dear You Know Who You Are*,

Well. We established that you make me crazy in the good way, so it only stands to reason that sooner or later, you were gonna make me crazy in the bad way. I warned you that I was difficult, and you shrugged it off… until last night. I actually feel better about you than I did before all the crazy leaked out my ears, and I almost feel safe in saying that you feel better about me. Well played, my dear.

quite fondly,

The girl who warned you that she idled at difficult

PS:  um, i probably shouldn’t tell you this, but threatening to turn me over your knee when I’m being difficult is probably not the deterrent you think it is….

Dear Daddy,

You know that thing you do where you just send me money for no reason? Now would be an excellent time to do that.

all my love,

your spoiled silly daughter

Dear You Won’t Know Who You Are, Because You’re Too Humble:

I truly enjoy our friendship. You’ve taught me more in a few months than I learned over the last ten years. When the little chat box pops up from you, I grin. Every time.

affectionately,

The girl you keep on the straight and narrow

*We have not declared open season on the blog, so he is not reading here. Yet. I’m spoon feeding him posts, and if he doesn’t run away or vomit them up, then soon. Soon.

When I publish a post I’m sensitive about, I argue with myself about having posted it. The secret to my insane rate of self disclosure here is that I entertain that argument only after I hit publish. Then I spend two days trying not to puke on my shoes when I think about it.

My discomfort always stems from the same thought- what if someone were to judge me just on that post? What if someone just clicks through here and this is their first impression of me? Or, more terrifying, what if someone who knows what my laugh sounds like reads it and it changes their perception of me for the worse? Of course, you know the end to this story- I always end up reassuring myself that not being true to myself is a much worse fate than losing favor with people.

Still, when I’m in the middle of reorganizing my kitchen cabinets and wondering what a fucking lunatic I am, I get a Twitter notification with a link to a sweet surprise.

Thank you, Angela, for the reminder that if you trust people with the truth of who you are, you’ll be rewarded by the ones who matter the most.