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11:10 a.m. - 2005-01-25
Dear Whoever: Bite Me
Dear People at the YMCA:

The cardiovascular equipment does not come with name plates. Therefore, please do not give me dirty looks when I get there before you and get on "your" bike. Additionally, morning desk babe, you need to drink some more coffee, or perhaps smoke some crack instead. That way, you might actually move faster than a glacier.


Dear Neighbors:

Quit using up all the hot water every morning. Due to the frigid temperature of the water, I was forced to quickly lather my hair, skimp on the rinse, and finish my shower via a box of wet wipes. That was not cool, especially since it was like 30 degrees out yesterday morning. And, on the off chance that I do actually get a few minutes of warmth from the showerhead, don't fucking flush your goddamn toilet while I'm in there.


Dear Noisy Bitches Next Door at the Office:

Based upon my personal experience, nothing you have to say is (a) funny or (b) anything the rest of the office is interested in hearing. Let me repeat: we do not care about your psycho ex-husband, non-toilet-trained children, political opinions, or hearing an interpretive reading of the stupid joke e-mail that got sent around the office this morning. Please do us all a favor, and shut the fuck up.


Dear Slim-Fast:

Please stop making "meal bars" out of sawdust, mouse droppings, and rancid milk. Slapping a little cinnamon and nutmeg into the mixture does not equate to actual oatmeal-cookie-like taste. Additionally, please make the regular Slim-Fast shakes in Cappucino Delight, because BFRB hates the new "less sugar" ones almost as much as I hate anything strawberry-flavored, and I like my friends to be happy.


Dear Office Building Architect:

Why the fuck did you design the building with all these slippery little uneven tile squares? They don't look that great, and they make it really hard to walk in my new high-heeled cute shoes. Me being a complete klutz has nothing to do with it.


Dear Mom:

Quit sending me stupid pictures of my pretentious little stepbrother's child. I don't like to be reminded of where my tax dollars are going, seeing as how both he and his live-in girlfriend are too good to work.


Dear Diaryland Buddies:

Clearly, I am having one of those "my life is completely lame, my writing is completely lame, and I am completely lame" kinds of weeks. I promise that one day soon, something interesting will happen, or I will at least make up something interesting. For real.




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