Dearest Nephews

Dearest Nephews,

I don't think you appreciate quite how time- and energy-consuming looking after you is. Maybe, next time you're put down for a nap or for night night, you can think a little about your behavior and constant demand for everyone's attention, and try to atone for it.

Remaining hopeful,
Your loving aunt.

Open Letter

I doubt you realize you will always be the most difficult relationship in my life.

Note to Self

NOTE TO SELF

Invest in

air conditioning

To the Other Me's

To the Other Me's (assuming parallel universes/worlds as described in Brian Greene's The Hidden Realty which I am currently reading):

Hello, Other Me's, Other Me's with slight variations.  Are you blogging right now as well?  Have you been more ambitious in your Thirty Day Projects than me?  Did one of you go for painting?  (Show off.  But also, good for you.) 
Has anyone landed a full-time job yet?  Will you let me know how you managed it?  Maybe the economy isn't so bad in that section of the universe?  I hope everyone's making at least minimum wage.  Is anyone actually putting their degree to good use?
No one's had kids yet, have they?  I at least hope, if anyone has, the kids aren't too old?  No one got knocked up as a teenager, right?  You have to watch out for yourself, ladies.  Save those things for when you're good and ready. 
How many of you are still living with your sister?  Hands up, who never left St. Louis?  Ooh!  Who actually managed to land a job those two weeks you were in KCK and are now located out there?  Did anyone manage to get out to the Pacific Northwest?  What about Scotland?  Who found a way to get back out there semi-permanently?
Anyone make it to grad school?  Please tell me one of you at least got accepted to Harvard or MIT.  How many theses are in the works right now?  U of T in Austin for Linguistic Anthropology anyone?  Maybe hanging out with your other sister? 
How many have long hair right now?  Will you send me pictures?  I need inspiration and motivation for my own attempts.
Who's managed to watch Inception?  It's good, yeah?  Don't tell me anything.  I'm going to watch it soon, I swear.  Anyone manage to get through all those Linguistic books?  Or the books Dad bought you for Christmas?  Could anyone get into A Canticle for Liebowitz?  And how many of you will understand this: Phase five: big fucking breakfast. 
Who's happy and who's unhappy?  How many just content?  How many in love?  How many out of love?  How many seriously approaching clinical depression?  How many truly elated and over the moon? 
Keep it up.

Regards,
Me

Thoughts on June

Wow.  How are we to June already?  April was the longest month of my life and now here we are, May wrapping up.
I believe I'm going to stick with the writing exercises next month.  This time I'll be utilizing the Word a Day I signed up for through Dictionary.com (my online dictionary of choice).  I don't ever read the definitions of the words I am emailed, so at first I thought I could randomly select one of the 250 words I have sitting in their own folder in my mailbox for each day's project.  Then I thought I might as well just use the word that's provided to me every day.  Saves some time and trouble.  Right?  Right.
Now, I'm not sure what the other rules will be at this point. Do I write a short narrative each day?  A response?  Do I have to actually use the word, or just write something that relates to it or is inspired by it?  These are things I will think on.  And probably I will not settle on something until the first few days of June.
Is anyone else hot?  It got hot here.  Summer came very quickly.

To all

To all:

My manager is the best.

K. Bliss

Internal Dialogue

Left Big Toe: What the hell?
Left Middle Toe: What's up?
LBT: Did you just feel that?
LMT: Feel what?
LBT: That tingling sensation?
LMT: ....no.
LBT: It kinda felt like--WOAH! There it is again.  You don't feel that?
LMT: Feel what?
LBT: That.  That tickling feeling.
LMT: There is no tickling feeling.  Nothing's tickling us.
LBT: There's definitely a tickling feeling.  How are you not feeling this?
LMT: Dude, I'll prove it.  Hey, Pinky?
Left Pinky Toe: Yeah?
LMT: You feel any tickling?
LPT: No.  No one's tickling us.
LMT: Yeah, thanks.  Hey, Inbetweenies?
Left Third Toe: Don't call us that.
Left Fourth Toe: Yeah, don't call us that.
LMT: Whatever.  Are you feeling a tickling sensation?
L4T: How do you mean?
L3T: A sensation?  Of tickling?
LMT: Yeah, do you feel like you're being tickled?
L4T: .....
L3T: .....
LMT: Simple yes or no question, guys.
L3T: If we were being tickled, then so would you.
L4T: Yeah.
LMT: I know.  That's my point.  Big Toe here says he feels a tickle.
L4T: Then why don't we?
LMT: That's what I'm trying to figure out.  Maybe he's faking it.
LBT: I am not faking it.
LMT: Maybe he's hallucinating.
LBT: I am not hallucinating.  WOAH.  Definite tickling sensation here.
L3T: If he's hallucinating, why would we feel it?
L4T: Yeah.
LMT: Christ.  You wouldn't.  That's my point.  Just--nevermind.  Go back to collecting lint or whatever it is you two do.
LBT: I'm not making this up.  And consensus of the moron twins doesn't count for anything.
LMT: Pinky didn't feel it either.
LPT: That's true.
LBT: Whatever.  What about the Right?
LMT: Now that doesn't make any sense.  Anyway, I don't feel like talking to them.
LBT: Fine.  I'll ask.  Hey, Right Toes?
Right Big Toe: What?
LBT: Any of you guys feeling a sort of tickling?
RBT: No.
LBT: Well, what about the others?
RBT: If I don't feel it, why would they?
LMT: Because Big Toe over here is the only one who can feel this supposed "tickling."
LBT: Shut it.
RBT: .....
LBT: Look.  I'm just asking you a favor, toe to toe, see if any of the other toes can feel anything.  OK?
RBT: .....hold on a second.
LMT: Why is that guy always such a dick?
LBT: I have no idea.
RBT: They said no. 
LMT: Ha.
LBT: I'm not delusional!  I feel a god damn tickling.
LMT: Hey, BT.  Calm down, alright?
LBT: No!  I'm tired of this patronizing bullshit.  I am being tickled.  I don't care what you say.
LMT: Jesus.  Hey, Brain?
Right Brain: What is it?
LMT: Big Toe here is losing his shit.  Says he's being tickled, but none of us feel a thing.  Neither does the Right.  Man that Big Toe over there is a dick....
RB: Is he delusional?
LBT: I AM NOT DELUSIONAL!
RB: .....
LMT: .....so anything going on that could maybe explain this?
RB: Hang on....Left Thumb is getting sucked.  That's all I got.
LMT/LBT: What?
RB: That baby.  He's sucking on Left Thumb.
LMT: ....
LBT: Well why am I feeling it then?
RB: I don't know.  What do you want me to do?
LBT: I don't know.  Can't you impede that shit or something?
RB: It's automated.  Knee-jerk.
LBT: Oh sure.
RB: What?
LBT: What?
RB: What was that?  Was that attitude?  Was that disbelief?
LBT: Well how many times do you use that whole knee-jerk excuse?  I mean, come on.
LMT: He's got a point.
RB: You're saying I'm consciously sending tickling sensations your way and just your way?
LBT: Well....
RB: The fuck would I want to tickle you for?
LBT: I don't know.  I don't know what goes on in that mind of yours.
RB: But definitely toe-tingling tendencies--that's what you're saying?
LBT: Yeah.  That's what I'm saying.
RB: No wonder you guys are at the fucking bottom.
LBT: WHAT?
LMT: Hey fuck you, pal.
LBT: Try getting around without us.  Try even just standing without toes.
RB: One word, Stinkies: paraplegic.
LMT: You're sick, man.
LBT: That's not even funny.
RB: Then leave me the fuck alone.  Alright?
LBT: What an asshole.
LMT: Right?
LBT: WOAH!  There it is again.
LMT: That's really weird, man.

True story.  My nephew was sucking on my thumb and I could feel it in my toe.

To Joseph of Dominos

To Joseph of Dominos,

While watching the progress of my pizza online, I saw that you double-checked my order for perfection before sending it out for delivery.

Thank you, sir. While I can't say it was perfect as it was not precisely what I was craving (Pizza Hut was what I really wanted, but they do not apparently deliver to my location. This was very disappointing.), it was as fine a Dominos pizza as I have ever had. The side order of cheesy bread added just the right amount of grease, striking that balance between glorious care-free gluttony and utter disgust with oneself.

Keep up the good work!

Sincerely,

K. Bliss

Dear Ms Rusty Martin

Dear Ms Rusty Martin:

I am writing to resign from your "dance class" as well as to request a refund for the first session.

It was my understanding that we were to be instructed in modern dance techniques. However the class consisted almost entirely of you dancing with all the male students while the rest of us merely watched before it devolved into a juvenile flirting session with whoever that man was that interrupted.  It was bad enough that he clearly had no respect for my time and money, but for you to encourage his behavior is truly astounding.  As for your actual dancing, let's just say it leaves much to be desired.  Several times I thought I ought to call in paramedics to ease the seizures you seemed to be suffering and prevent you from injuring yourself and others.

Additionally, I would like to say that I found your outfit to be wildly inappropriate.  Whatever the latest trends, tights are quite simply not a substitute for pants.

Regretfully,

Your former dance pupil

P.S. I was equally unimpressed with your skills as a swim instructor, which I happened to notice as my niece is one of your students (though hopefully not for much longer).  I also happened to notice that man "bothering" you, much to your delight.  Might I suggest two things? 1) Keep your professional and personal lives separate. 2) Give up the teaching profession.

*For those of you not fortunate enough to have seen the 1964 Elvis classic Viva Las Vegas with Ann Margret, this video will help to enlighten you.

From the desk of

From the desk of an Oriole-supporting twenty-something

THINGS I WILL TELL MY FRIEND LOUDLY AT THE BASEBALL GAME:

In regards to one of the players,

OHMYGOD I saw him on the television while you were in the bathroom and he is SO. FUCKING. SEXY.  He reminds me of the Bartender.  I guess I need to stop bothering him since he's not interested.  But feather in my cap: he said I was the sexiest girl in the room.

In regards to recreational drinking,

I need to stop getting blackout drunk.

In regards to men (in general),

I can't be bothered with average guys.  They either need to be super skinny or like huge.  This one guy from class was totally hitting on me and after he left I asked [insert poor sap descended upon] if he looked like a serial killer.  She said, No no no, and I was like, never mind then--not interested.  I mean, he was like stick then and looked like he had five bodies in the basement, you know.

Jesus

Jesus--

Hey pal.

Missed you again.

Maybe catch you

later.

--K. Bliss

Dear Caterers

Dear Caterers:
Thanks so much for the salad and fish (and more fish and stuffed mushroom and those shrimp at the beginning). Not only did you feed me tonight, you fed me tomorrow, and also kept me from spending the last $3.74 I have left available to me in my checking account.
You are champions.
Affectionately,
K. Bliss

Dear Weather

Dear Weather:

What is this shit you keep tossing us? Really? It's May. Come on already.

Feeling you could really being doing much better,
K. Bliss

Dear God

Dear God,

I would like to earn more money (Earn!  Not just have or be given.  I want to work for this money.  How totally worthy does that make me?) so that I can afford my own place.

Alright, alright.

Do I believe in you?  No.

Do I find writing to you to therefore be hypocritical?  Sort of, yeah.  But who else can I write to?  I don't think I can write to prospective employers any more than I do as to why they should hire me.  And somehow I don't think "I would like my own apartment" would make for good cover letter material.

If I did believe in you, do I believe that, after allowing 6 millions jews to die, you would help me to find another job?  Of course.  Id be a white middle-class Christian--your fav!  Joke.  Just a joke.

(If I did believe in you, do I believe you would have a sense of humor?  You bet your sweet bippy I would.)

Look.  I really need my own apartment.  I'm that type of person.  I'm not sure I'm what you'd call a loner.  I like other people and socializing and all that crap, but I need my own space and time to myself.  I need a patch of floor and four walls that are definitively, undeniably mine.  Nothing shared.  No considerations to be had for someone else's food or stuff. No could you do the dishes please.  No permission to use this, borrow that, or bring people over.  Just.  My.  Space.

And I don't ask for much.  Ok.  I ask for wood floors.  Wood floors, but that's basically it.  What can I say?  I was raised on Yankee Workshop and This Old House.  I think carpet is the scourge of the Earth.  But other than the wood floors, I don't care.  The place can be tiny.  Miniscule.  It could literally be a closet (with a full bathroom and kitchen) just so long as it's mine.

Would you be at all moved if you knew how pathetically desperate I am?  I just got five books from the library about living in small spaces (Yes, such books as "Your 4 X 4 Cell and How to Squeeze You and All You Own into It").  I look at apartments on Craigslist.  And not just in the city I live in.  I look at apartments in random other cities I have no intention of moving to but damn they have beautifully cheap housing there.  I'm even writing to a deity I don't believe in.  Clearly, I want this very badly.

So if you're not busy doing...well, fuck all probably (no offense), if it's not too much to ask, could you find it in your heart (or whatever you have that passes for a heart) to steer me towards an employer that will hire me and pay me a reasonable sum to live on and then steer me towards a nice, honest realtor who can help me find a cheap but lovely studio or one bedroom that is not in Allston-Brighton, I would be eternally grateful.  Actually that's probably a lie.  If such events occurred, I more than likely wouldn't start believing in you.  I'd just be pleased as punch with myself and my good luck. 

But if I did believe in you, do I believe you'd care whether or not anyone believed in you?  Hell no.

Thanks pal,

K. Bliss

Boredom

I was reading Lazy Self-Indulgent Book Reviews and really just wishing I were her and that Me Productive! was it, so I decided to redo the layout.  Again.  We'll see how long this lasts.

Memo to Me

MEMO TO ME:

Writing is fun.

Remember:

Writing. Is. Fun.

And you don't

necessarily entirely

suck at it.

So ease up and

have fun with it.

Dear Daisuke Matsuzake

Dear Daisuke Matsuzake, pitcher for the Boston Red Sox,

I know nothing about baseball. In fact, tonight was not only the first game I ever attended, but also the first I've ever watched.

Despite my ignorance, I still feel it is unacceptable that you walked just about everyone for the entirety of the innings you pitched.

How did you even find that many players to walk? Surely you went through all the Orioles. Did they bring people into Fenway especially for you to walk?

I did enjoy my first basebell game. But thanks to you, I'm very tired.

Not very cordially,
K. Bliss

Perhaps...

...it may be fairer to call these notices as opposed to letters.  I think maybe that captures the wider spectrum of what I've explored with these posts.  Hmm, yes.  Indeed.

Obituary

OBITUARY

Savings Account

K. Bliss’ Savings Account died in its home today Sunday May 15, 2011 of depletion after a transplant.  It had been dwindling for the past three months, remaining at the minimum required amount of $25.

The Savings Account is survived by a similarly dwindling Checking Account (who received the potentially successful transplant of the Savings Account’s final $25.37) and a maxed out Credit Card.

Funeral services will be held as soon as written confirmation of the death is received from the Bank.  Meanwhile attempts to create and maintain another Savings Account are in the works.

Dessert

To the chocolate souffle cake with coconut ice cream, rum caramel, and candied hazelnuts,

To the dessert sitting quietly, provocatively on the clean white plate,

To the smooth, rich filling within giving way to my fork,

To the smear of drizzled caramel and melted ice cream and soft cake pushing across the plate and blending together,

You were delicious.

K. Bliss

To the approaching apocalypse

To the approaching apocalypse:

Though I have no faith invested in either argument, I would appreciate if you occurred in December of 2012 as supposedly predicted by the Mayans and/or the Aztecs as opposed to next week as predicted by the man with the bible math. A week is just not quite enough time for me to wrap everything up. My sister is in town the following week and it would be nice to see her before we all die.

Much obliged,

K. Bliss

So that "late" post earlier today...

Totally blogger's fault. Their system was down from last night til sometime this morning/afternoon. I had that Dwayne Johnson letter all ready to go last night, but it was a no go.

Mr Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson

*I've only just realized that this failed to get posted. This was the "late" post to which I referred before. Oops.

Mr Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson,

First of all, let me say, I am a big fan, which is impressive because I believe I've only seen one of your movies. But you, sir, have an undeniable charm. You smile and we almost forget you could very easily crush our skulls. (Almost.)

It is precisely for this reason that I ask of you this one monumentally big favor: please visit the Old State House in Boston, MA and star in a how to instructional video for incoming Museum Associates. My coworkers and I feel you would be the perfect M.A., polite but firm and ready to bust heads when necessary.

Dealing with museum patrons can be very tedious. They do not want to listen to or follow our rules, but they continually demand our attention and utmost respect. This video would show new hires how to deal with both common and unusual situations in which M.A.s might find themselves. For example, what to do when someone is reluctant to give us their bag. You must stand your ground! The safety of the building and artifacts is at stake after all, no matter what's in the bag or how much it cost. We feel you could easily articulate precisely why large bags and back packs are not allowed through the museum as well as firmly grasp the bag and pry it from the person's hands all with an irresistible smile on your face. Another example: rope jumpers. This one is particularly frustrating. However, we think, if you simply vault over the front desk and chase down the perpetrators, you would instill in lookers-on enough fear and awe as to prevent them from attempting a similar act of misconduct.

Clearly this is a big decision, and we by no means expect an immediate response. Please take your time to think it over. Once you've decided to come and do the video, please call or simply show up unannounced. It really would give us all a genuine thrill.

Sincerely,

K. Bliss
The Old State House Museum
Boston, MA

Mein Liebchen Japan

Note: this may in fact make me a terrible person.

Mein Liebchen Japan:

Wie gehts?  We hope du are doing besser und we wish du viele gut things to come in the near future.

Hier ist the thing: the gut Deutsch image ist nicht working.  We try alles: we go green, we go liberal, we go David Hasselhoff, but nein.  Nichts.  Nothing works.  We make sehr gut autos but this ist also nicht enough.  The world kann nicht think past 1945.  

But du, ach, the world lieben du!  Du bist weird und kinky und oh so technische.  But this ist nicht why the world lieben du.  Nein.  We spend much time thinking on this und we have sehr brilliant idea: cute babies.

Du hast the cutest babies in the world!  Everyone knows this.  No other country comes close.  Und people mit cute babies are forgiven alles.  Gut image ist instant.  So bitte: how do du do it?  How machst du such cute babies?  Your diet?  Your exercise regimen?  Life on an island?  Bitte, we must know!

We realize this could be sehr sehr complicated, so bitte, take your time to reply.  We are eager, but we want no mistakes.  To show our appreciation, hier ist ein new set of wind power collecting devices, sehr gut design, sehr effiziente.  Enjoy.

Your Freund,

Deutschland.

Dear Beer

Dear Beer:

Shit.

Respectfully,
K. Bliss

Dear Cobras

Dear Cobras:

The Queen would like to applaud your bravery in standing against our mutual enemy the Honey Badger.  We too have suffered many casualties at their paws for far too long and we hope for a day when the Honey Badgers have been scoured from this land.

However, the Queen would also like to point out that your crass albeit accurate personal jabs have sparked a fury in the Honey Badgers that Cobra blood alone will not appease.  Everyone now suffers from your hasty actions, however justified.

The Queen would like to say, thanks a whole fucking lot.

The Bees

Email Exchange

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Leg

SUBJECT: Any day now

            I said move, bitch.

                                    --R. Brain

FROM: Left Leg

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Any day now

            Shove it up your frontal lobe.

                                    --L. Leg

            P.S. No.

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Leg

SUBJECT: Did I mention you’re a pussy?

You realize of course that Right Leg would be up those stairs and back again before you even managed to lift a toe, right?

                        --R. Brain

FROM: Left Leg

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Did I mention you’re a dick?

Why don’t you ask him to move then?  Oh wait.  That’s right.  You can’t control your own half of this body.

                        --L. Leg

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Brain

SUBJECT: Left Leg/Right Leg

            Left Leg is being a bitch.  Get Right Leg to move, will you?

                                    --R. Brain

FROM: Left Brain

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Left Leg/Right Leg

            I would rather not get involved in this.  Beside which, Left Leg always leads.

                                    --L. Brain

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Brain

SUBJECT: WTF

You’d rather not get involved?  You’re as big a pain in the ass as Left Leg.  Just tell Right Leg to motor.  I don’t give a shit who always leads.  I want up those stairs.

                        --R. Brain

FROM: Left Leg

TO: Right Leg

SUBJECT: Right Brain the Dick

Can you believe this?  I’m totally wiped and Right Brain just keeps nagging nagging nagging.  It’s like, Hi, I have muscles and they hurt, ok?  Back the fuck off.  You’re so lucky.  Left Brain is so much more chill.  How are you feeling anyway? 

                        --L. Leg

FROM: Right Leg

TO: Left Leg

SUBJECT: Re: Right Brain the Dick

Yeah, I’m about to collapse.  I think I could maybe do one stair, but there’s not much point in that, is there?  Anyway, Left Brain is kind of a douche too, just in a different way. 

                        --R. Leg

FROM: Left Brain

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: What is this really about?

Have you stopped to examine why you want up the stairs?  Maybe if you seriously consider that, I’ll consider speaking with Right Leg.

                                    --L. Brain

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Brain

SUBJECT: Food and sex

That’s what this is about.  Are you fucking kidding me?  There’s a hot meal and a penis right at the top of those stairs and we could be swimming in both in a matter of minutes if the Legs would just get it the fuck together. Who doesn’t want food and sex?  Nobody.  I mean, let’s put it to a vote.  Watch it.

                                    --R. Brain

FROM: Right Brain

TO: all body parts

SUBJECT: Quick poll

Attention, folks: there’s food and sex at the top of these here stairs, but Left Leg doesn’t quite feel like hoofing it up there.  I thought I’d let everyone else know.  What do we want to do about this free food and sex?

                                    --R. Brain

FROM: Left Leg

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick poll

            You’re a total dick.

                                    --L. Leg

            P.S. I sincerely hate you.

FROM: Left Brain

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick Poll

            That was very immature.

                                    --L. Brain

FROM: Stomach

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick Poll

           

            FEED ME.

                                    --Stomach

            P.S. Really.  I’m starving.  It’s been like three lifetimes since lunch.

FROM: Vagina

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick Poll

            Yes please.

                                    --Vagina

FROM: Clitoris

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick Poll

            Well, there’s a no-brainer.  Ha ha.

                                    --Clitoris

            P.S. Vagina already responded before me, didn’t she?  Such a slut.

FROM: Mouth

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick Poll

That sounds good.  You think it’ll happen soon?  Are we talking like in the next few minutes?  Will you let me know when you know? 

                                    --Mouth

FROM: Large Intestine

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Quick Poll

            Nothing spicy, alright?  I can’t handle anything spicy right now.

                                    --L. Intestine

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Brain

SUBJECT: The parts have spoken

The results are in.  Everyone is either totally for or completely indifferent to going up the stairs.  But really, when you think about, if they’re not actually against the idea of going, then they’re essentially for it.  So I’ve got 100% approval from the whole body except the Legs.  Suck on that, Mr. Mature.

                                    --R. Brain

FROM: Left Brain

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: You may be sick

            You should seriously consider seeking help out.

                                    --L. Brain

FROM: Right Brain

TO: Left Leg

SUBJECT: Any. Day. Now.

ATTACHMENT: foodsexlist.doc

Take a few moments to look over that list.  You see that?  That’s all the other body parts expressing their desire to get in on that food and sex.  It’s also the list of parts that hate your lazy selfish whiny guts.  So, what’s it going to be?  If you’re ok with being public enemy number one, go for it.  You can just stand there and feel the hatred pulsing toward you.  Or you can climb the fucking stairs. You’re move.

                                    --R. Brain

FROM: Right Leg

TO: Left Leg

SUBJECT: Just do it

         

That was a dick move, I admit, but come on.  We won’t hear the end of this if we don’t get up there now.  Also, Left Brain won’t shut up.  Please put me out of my misery.

                                    --R. Leg

FROM: Left Leg

TO: Right Brain

SUBJECT: Re: Any. Day. Now

            Whatever.

                                    --L. Leg

And that’s how I got up the stairs.