We All Knew It

Dear Speidi,

And I use that term so excitedly for the last time.

I would like to thank you guys for finally putting an arrow through the heart of this mess and letting your made-up relationship finally bite the bullet.  We (the American public) thank you for doing what should have been done years ago and ending this charade.
I kind of don't know what to do with myself now, quite honestly.  You've been as big of a mystery to me as evolution is to the Pope (you see what I did there, I made a joke about evolution.  Heidi, evolution, see the tie?).  I just can honestly say I've never gotten any of it - the dating, the marriage, the real marriage, the surgery, the crystals, the facial hair (don't worry, Heidi, I'm talking to Spencer now.  The skin cells on your face are completely plastic and can't grow hair, silly), the fights, any of it.  Wow, there was actually a lot more substance there to "not get" than I thought.  I was sure that sentence would only be two or three items long. . .

Mostly, I'm sad when I see the reality couples finally bite the bullet because secretly, I hope that the power of television will keep them together.  But not you. . . no way.  When Heidi filed for separation, I was excited.  Now that she's filed for divorce, I may throw a fiesta.  Ole!

I do have a couple of words of advice: Spencer, look what cha did.  You took a sort of normal human and completely obliterated her.  You actually, physically turned her into plastic which, from what I can tell, eats brain cells once it's under the skin.  The poor girl probably couldn't even cry when the played the montage of her former self on national television.  There are laws against animal cruelty and I would say that you violated at least four of them.

Heidi, Heidi, Heidi.  Well, at least people won't call you Speidi, Speidi, Speidi anymore?  Um, before you opt-in for major reconstruction under the orders of your husband next time, maybe stop and ask yourself if there are TupperWare factories that could have better use for that plastic. . . oh and maybe if it's really what you want.  Go hug your mom for crying out loud.  She deserves at least that.  Darlene is America's new sweetheart after the way you treated her.  She could be the spokesperson for Normal Moms with Crazy Kids.

Anyway, I just wanted to say 'Thanks' again for the memories. . . that haunt me in my sleep.  I can't even believe I spent time on this, I'm just so relieved.

Crystal your way out of this one Spencer!

-Me

Remember the Time

Dear Michael,

I'm sorry that I haven't written before now. You death was a tough pill to swallow and I've only recently come to grips with the fact that you didn't pay the hospital to fake your death to drop out of the limelight and that you are, in fact, dead. Yes, it took months to get over that small hope that it was a fake. Sad, I know. But, it's certainly not above me to write my dead peeps (just ask Ed), so here we go. . .

So, you lead this incredibly crazy life, right? I mean you were an abused black boy from Indiana who became a confused, acne-prone superstar as a teenager that eventually changed into a wealthy white woman that has a perplexing resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor?? That's the perception anyway. And not that there's anything wrong with that, I guess? I mean heaven knows that you should be forgiven of all your odd ways because of how you danced. I'm sure you are aware but your video-taped rehearsals topped the box office recently. Even your practicing is better than 90% of all major motion pictures. If that doesn't scream talent, I don't know what does. That's amazing crap right there that should get you some sort of "You can't make fun of me" pass or something? That seems only fair. Give a little, take a little. It all comes out in the wash.

So, you lead an abstract life? Who doesn't? Just because you thought you were Peter Pan and never wanted to grow up and lived in a magical fairy land of maids and cotton candy and Ferris wheels doesn't make you abnormal. Adults act like that all the time. . . at least they would if they had the phrase "muti-platinum" on either side of their name and had the bones to pick up the tab for all the fun. I give you credit for all the money you blew - at least you did what you wanted? I spend my money on lame things like bills and gasoline. Not once have I rented a Ferris wheel let alone owned a theme park. Good for you. BTW, the gold casket was a very opulent touch. I like.

So all of the oddities of your life and your house and your skin and your hair (which I'm glad you still had after that Pepsi incident - man that was scary, huh? I hope you fired your pyrotechnic people. I would have fired mine if they let my locks catch a flame. . . that and if I HAD pyro people to fire. As an afterthought, do you think when you tell pyrotechnic people that they are "fired", they think you are telling them to work because FIRE is what they do? I digress. . . ) aside, there is one thing (OK, probably multiple) that I can't seem to wrap my mind around: your three spawn. It's funny how all the other stuff fades away in lieu of a genetic mystery.

You kids are white, Mike. Tan at best but even the whitest folks can accomplish that at the local Bed and Burn tanning salon. I know that you were white in your last 20 or so years but it's kind of not the same. . . I mean bleach is bleach and genetics are genetics.

You left everyone is quite the pickle about those three mask-wearers. After you left (died is such a harsh word Mike. . . because in my heart, you'll never die), all sorts of loonies came out of the word-work saying that they were your "baby daddys" and trying to get custody and all sorts of things. The weird thing is that every dude that claimed parenthood was also white. You'd think that if there was any confusion about the kids' race, at least one minority would have come out with a claim, yeah? One? Nope.

Now your kids are running around with the rest of the Jackson 5 and your boob-exposing sister. There are rumors that your abusive pops is going to try and take them on tour as some traveling circus and they are finally getting their hair cut but having to drench the cut locks in acid basically so that nobody can prove their genetic makeup. Now I'm sure you were a good dad to them - I'd love a private showing of the Fall Collection of toys at the local FAO at all hours of the night too, if I were a kid (ok, maybe now). . . I just don't know what you did on this one and it makes me nervous.

Al I have to say is that LaToya better not be involved in whatever scam might have gone on because losing two American Icons in one year is just not an option. I mean three. . . sorry about that Ed.

Was it really Billie Jean?

-Me

Future Family

Dear Kim and Reggie,

I was very distraught to hear that you broke up today. I saw the announcement in the gossip section which must mean that your relationship was really big time; when I tried to send my last breakup announcement in for publication, it never made it. I even tried to make it sound really bad like there was infidelity and craziness (I took a page from John and Kate) and nothing. Not even a small blurb on Entertainment Tonight. You, on the other hand managed to make front page news with a CIVIL breakup. Not even a little bit of chaos - totally amicable. Which is why I ask you, will you please stay together?

Let's think about the bennies (that's cool slang for benefits) for both of you:

Reggie, Kim is extra famous in my book - mainly because she does what so few people have the ability to do. . . be famous for nothing. She has built an empire out of nothingness and in this day in age, that takes talent. Dad was a lawyer (but who's isn't) and mom married a former Olympian who nobody would remember that well if it weren't for the Kardashians. Now, she has a gazillion dollars and it all came from ambition. . . sort of. . . how sort of impressive is that?

In addition, you'd always be surrounded by good company. Kim comes from what could be the most crude yet entertaining family of all time. Her mom is a bit crazy, pops is a motivational speaker for a living, and her siblings are funny as crap - Especially Khloe except that she is always trying to strip Kourtney down to her nothings. Oh wait, that's funny too! Plus, she doesn't even hang around the crazy girls that made her famous anymore (Paris Shmaris) so the annoyance factor has to be WAY down.

Kim is a socialite, Reggie. Do you know what that means? She gets invited to the swankiest clubs and gets paid to be there. No hassle, no issues. I feel like that's pretty conducive to your lifestyle and actually, a great convenience. Think about it.

Kim, p-r-o-f-e-s-s-i-o-n-a-l football player Reggie Bush!?!? Um, really, really ponder this one hard. Not only is he one of the most successful players in the league (thanks to his parents for the good genes) and one of the most well-known players in the league (thanks to your show Keeping Up. . .), he's filthy rich! Oh, and seems like an all-around nice guy who sponsors charity events and helps out in the community. I meant for that to come out before the rich thing but I couldn't help myself. Some of the ladies might also comment about what a looker he is as well (thanks again parents for the good genes) but I didn't want to bring it up because how fair is it to judge someone by their looks??!

Ok, so the bottom line is that you both are attractive, rich, ambitious, generally nice people. It's beyond me why this didn't work out. The paper says that your lives are headed in different directions. Is that figurative or literal because geography issues can be worked out! Kim, you can take New Orleans like your sisters did Miami! I'm just distraught. I hope that you'll both come to your senses soon or I don't know what Kim will talk about on the next season of Keeping Up. . . .

Praying for Reconciliation,

Me

That was weird

Dear Wal-Mart Cashier,

I'd like to commend you on the first 30 seconds of our interaction. You did the polite thing and asked me if I found everything ok to which I politely responded 'Yes, thank you.' and proceeded to swipe my favorite plastic friend.

Come to think of it, why do you ask me at the register if I found everything ok? I don't know of one person that waits until they are checking out to say 'Gee, you know what, I was looking for these tie downs and couldn't seem to find them so I gave up. Could you show me?' Wouldn't they ask that WELL before they are ready to checkout? Interesting. . .

Anyway, back to our conversation. You really held it down for that first 30 seconds and for that, I extend my congratulations. That summer job is serving you well by teaching you courtesies and greetings that you'll be able to use for the rest of your life.

It's after that 30 seconds that things went terribly wrong, girl-I've-never-met. Since I'm feeling the slightest bit 'Shakespeare' today, I'll replay the scene for you, in play form, so you'll never forget. The part of the 'Patron' will be played by yours truly and the part of 'WMG' (short for Wal-Mart Girl) will be played by you.

Patron: swipes amazingly flexible piece of plastic through the card reader and begins inputting pin. No words are said as it's unnecessary at this point.

WMG: "I'm so confused."

Patron: now also confused, stares at WMG with what can only be seen as a look of disgust/desperation to get out of the conversation that is, quite probably coming. Still, no words are said.

WMG: "I feel like my friend just, like, knows my state of mind today and so he is really trying to confuse me."

Patron: still confused and now slightly annoyed, agitatedly waits for their receipt for the TWO items that were purchased. Thinks to themselves, 'What did I do wrong? Is this worth it?'

WMG: "So I like text him, 'love ya' and he writes back and was like 'no' so I sent a frowny face and he was like 'why?' and I was like 'huh?'"

Patron: grabbing the two items and forgoing the receipt as, at this point, it's a mere death trap. "Thanks."

WMG: yelling as the Patron bolts out the front door. "Oh my gosh, you're welcome! Have a great day!"

Do you see how awkward this scene is? For various reasons? First, you talk too much. Second, I was not remotely interested and you kept talking. Third, did you see the look on my face that I can only imagine was there? My guess is that you should have run screaming in the opposite direction because I probably looked like I may throw something at you. One thing I can say, you are brave WMG, very brave.

Best of luck at your new job!

Me

Monday, Monday

Dear Monday Afternoon,

So, we've been seeing each other for a while now and I think it's finally time that we had a heart-to-heart about our relationship. I know this seems sudden but I've been needing to do this for some time now. No, no, please let me talk. I need to get this out.

You'd think that after such an extensive relationship, we'd either learn to get along or stop seeing each other. Unfortunately for me, you keep rearing your ugly head and doing everything that you can to make my life miserable. I can't even enjoy Sunday anymore because I'm so worried about running into you the following day. Not cool, Monday. Not cool.

What I don't understand is that even as much as I've tried to help you correct your personality flaws, you continue to be your dreary self week after week. Never changing, always constant. It's just the same old garbage - you're boring Monday and more times than not, completely cantankerous. You're just a swift reminder of weekends past which is never a pleasant thing. How could anyone subject themselves to your torment?

After a while, I thought it was just me who had the issue and I should just learn to deal with your shortcomings, but no. I've talked to too many people that see your issues too, Monday. They don't like being around you either. You may say "Well, that's their problem." But is it really? Just because "you are what you are" doesn't make it right.

So I'm taking a stand Monday Afternoon. Today has been the last straw. Next time we run into each other, you had better bring some excitement and some energy and some fun with you. I just know that everyone would appreciate it and you wouldn't be the most hated of all weekdays. . . and let's face it, you ARE the most hated. You need to shape up or ship out because I WILL replace you.

Looking for a better day,

Me

Letter to Ed

Dear Ed McMahon,

I'm sorry that you died the same week as The King of Pop. After enduring a long 86 years of one of the most diverse careers EVER, you should have had a better farewell.

I know that you were best known for your role as Johnny's sidekick on the Tonight Show but I would have to say my favorite work was your tenure as the host of America's most underrated talent contest, Star Search. I liked that show. Except the model portion. That was lame.

Amongst all the hub-bub about Michael's kids and his property, nobody has even stopped to think about who is going to hand out your giant checks to all of the under-enthused people that always seem to win them. If I had ever won a visit from you with a giant check, I would have at least done cartwheels in the yard, that's a promise. Most of those people that won were lame. . . just like the modeling contest on Star Search.

You were in a lot of stuff, most of it as yourself and that's pretty cool. It basically means that you were the biggest reality star of all time. . . Chew on that Real World-ers. You were beat out by an old man. Ed McMahon vs you on The Challenge? My money is on Ed.

Anyway, sorry about the improper send-off. You deserve better, especially at your ripe old age. I guess you have one thing going for you though - you got the same week, not the same day. Sorry Farrah.

Thanks for the Memories!

Me