Dear Lite 96.3:
Thank you for playing Christmas music. Now… about that… please stop playing the same 25 songs over and over and over again. Really. And another thing: not EVERY song with the word “Christmas” in it is actually a CHRISTMAS song. Seriously. Oh, and I am formally petitioning for the banning of all techno and reggae junk. Just so you know.
Dear Little Mutt Getting On My Last Nerve:
I swear if you bring one more kitty box crunchie into the living room to eat I swear I’m throwing you out in a snow bank. It’s disgusting. Stop it.
Dear Small Business Owners:
I understand your desire to add a “unique” quality to your business name by using some “flair” so to speak. But when I see “So-and-So’s Kustom Trucks” on the side of your show truck, all I can think is that you must be poorly educated and can’t spell. I realize we live in world full of text messages and IM’s, BFF’s, OMG’s, R U OK’s, and zillions of others I couldn’t decipher if my life depended on it, but really, all of this technology and available information also means you can LOOK IT UP! Or maybe ask your facebook friends how to spell it and VOILA!~ customers who now get the impression you’re grown up and professional. Try it sometime.
Dear Super Why!
Why oh why can’t you leave all those great classic children’s stories alone?! Does PBS realize you're doing this? I’ve never seen the story of the boy who cried Wolf turned from a great story about being honest turned into a ridiculous story about how people need to trust their children more implicitly. Really. How exactly did you come up with that twisted story line? Thank you. Thank you so much for removing all moral value from dozens of great stories for children. I’m sure parents around the country applaud you.
Can’t you just leave a girl alone for ONE MONTH a year? Seriously, the tears, the cramps, the emotional breakdown over random commercials… I could really do without all that at Christmas time. Go harass the girls in Cancun, with their perfect little bikini bodies laying out in the golden warm sunshine while I freeze here in the snow with my stretch marks. Sounds like a great Christmas to me! And while I’m on this note, how about all of you guys sending me gas bills, electric bills, and car payment bills take a similar break for the month of December. A Christmas time without bills to pay? Just about as close to world peace as you’re going to get for me.
Dear Taco Bell:
Is there any good excuse for you to have not been open on Sunday, Dec. 20 at 10:45 am when your sign specifically stated you open at 9:30 on Sundays? Hmm? I didn’t think so. Which brings me to my next note:
Even though I have no desire to eat your food, I didn’t appreciate your sign flashing at me as I drove away from a cold, dark Taco Bell that said, “closed Sundays”. Really. That’s just heaping insult on injury. Not called for at all. Which brings me to:
Dear Businesses closed on Sunday:
Why?! This is not the south. This is not the Bible belt. This is the north, where we are Yankees and like to shop on Sundays. Try to keep up here. I’ll be more than willing to support you if you want to close on Saturdays. Let me know what you decide. And back again to:
Dear Taco Bell:
It is because of you that I was forced to eat my bag of M&M’s and drink that Orange Crush laying around in the back of the car, giving me a total sugar high that crashed as soon as I got home, giving me a headache just in time to deal with two little girls who had found Joshua’s bag of Christmas candy from school and which prompted them to behave like Mexican jumping beans instead of napping. There is no forgiveness for this. Unless you give me a free baja gordita with beans instead of meat. Then I’ll think about it. Let me know what you decide. And so:
What in the world??? There I was, sitting in my car, absent-mindedly throwing a few of what I thought were yummy peanut butter M&M’s into my mouth, when I’m suddenly aware that they are NOT peanut butter M&M’s. After a closer inspection of the package I see that I have been TRICKED! In tiny little words above the “peanut butter” is the word “strawberried”. Um. If I had wanted peanut butter and strawberry in the same bite I’d have made myself a PBJ. Do you realize how many women out there make a dozen PBJ’s in any given week? UGH! We’re sick of PBJ’s!! Okay, obviously, you are marketing these toward kids and not their mothers, but you should probably be a little more aware of how your packaging looks old fashioned and cute and not “aimed at kids” at all. Which brings me to my conclusion:
Dear Fast Food Chains:
Is there some reasonable answer to why not a single one of you offer PBJ’s for the kids? Wouldn’t that make sense? It takes so little time. Make up a bunch, advertise it on your billboards, and I guarantee you’ll have parents with picky-eater kids in the backseat lined up around the block next lunch time. Think about it. Thank me later.