Dear Guy at Foxwoods sitting next to me at the slots: You really did look like a Butch-y woman. Didn't mean it as an insult when I called you "she". Peace out.
Dear Discountfloor.com: $676.10 for 8 boxes of clearance carpet tiles really doesn't feel like a discount. And $80.00 for shipping? This is for our basement. Thanks but no thanks.
Dear Ants climbing the pipes into my bathroom: It's February! We can do battle in the spring. Go night-nights fer chrissake!
Dear Barry Manilow: I'm so happy I found your Ultimate Manilow CD when we moved the fridge this week. I must say, however that listening to it while driving around on a cold and dreary day makes me want to drive into a bridge abutment. I hope you're happier than you were back in the 70s.
Dear NPR: I understand that the ethics of force feeding hunger strikers is an important topic but do you think you could schedule the discussion for a time when I am not trying to shovel down a not-so-savory Healthy Choice meal? Not good.
Dear Me: Oh, looky! Simon and Garfunkel's Greatest Hits! Into the car it goes!
Dear Me (2): Find a current radio station. Listen to it. You're getting a little pathetic.
5 comments:
Ah yes...Barry. Makes me want to slit my wrists.
"guy" at Foxwoods probably wasn't always one.
At least you didn't ask if "she" was pregnant.
I'm perpetually horrified by out of touch I am when it comes to music. I've gotten a little better over the past year...but I'm still probably right behind grandma in the list of people who are behind the times.
Never was a Barry fan. Though he has talent, it just never fit me...
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