Celebrating Women for the Real World

Category Archive

The following is a list of all entries from the Open Letters category.

So Sorry

Dear Peeps At The Gym:

I just have to apologize to you people on the equipment at the gym last night.  I ate soup…..made with black beans…..and refried black beans…TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!




Cranky, Crabby, Stabby, and The Likes

That’s what I am.  I started sneezing my head off yesterday.  I woke up during the night and snot was literally running out of my nose.  My throat hurts. 

No, I’m NOT sick.  It’s allergies!  It has to be.  My body has it out for me.  See, I woke up Sunday and there were little buds on my trees.  I worked in the yard…..a lot.  My body has an evil plot to bring me down so that I don’t enjoy this season called spring!

Dear Body:

I live in Texas.  Spring lasts for all of one week.  Two weeks during a good year.  Could you stop it!  No more snot!  The sneezing must quit.  The headache must go!  Now!


Dear Dad:

You did notice that I called you Dad, not papa, daddy, or pops.  You were not the endearing, lovable, teddy bear of a father that most girls have.  In fact, you really weren’t around.  I’m not sure why?   Perhaps it was because any time you tried to do anything, mom ridiculed you and told you that you weren’t doing it right.  Unfortunately you have daughters.  Daughters tend to pick up on what their mothers do.  In my eyes, you became the man who couldn’t do anything right.

That being said, I know beyond knowing that you loved us.  I know beyond knowing that we were a hard bunch to love.  I think we put the “f” in fucked up.  Actually, make that a CAPITAL “F”!  Yes, our family was very fucked up. 

Dad, I think the thing that I regret most was going from this little girl who thought the world of you, to going to this girl who just didn’t fit into your heart.  It was like suddenly I turned 5, you taught me to ride my bike, and then never wanted anything to do with me again. 

I often wonder what I did to make you not want me around.  I just can’t figure it out.  Perhaps I embarrassed you.  That wouldn’t surprise me.  I excel at that!  Why do I say this?  Well I remember overhearing mom, you and Diane talking about the teachers wanting to test me because I was a slow reader.  Apparently I wasn’t on level.  I remember mom saying, “eventually those teachers will figure out that she’s just lazy and isn’t going to read unless there is true motivation.”  So true!  Boy was that the truth.  But do you know what your response was?  You said, and I quote because I will never forget it, “well honey, she does seem slow.  I think she may be retarded.”  Do you know what hurt about that?  You weren’t kidding.  You went on to say, “she always seemed kind of off to me.” 

Dad, I wish I would have known then what I know now.  I wish those words wouldn’t have hurt me as bad as they did.  I wish that I wouldn’t have let those words keep me from being the best that I could be.  Those words continue to ring in my head.  Every time I try something new, step out of my comfort zone, or majorly screw up something up, I hear your voice.  I hear those words.  Thankfully I am now old enough to yell “shut the fuck up” (which I literally say out loud when those feelings crop up).

You died 13 years ago.  It’s taken me that long to write this; to acknowledge some of my feelings.  Dad, I will tell you that deep in my heart, I forgive you.  As a parent I better understand that what you said you said out of concern.  You were trying to address the problem and perhaps try to get me help.  I hope that was the case.  In my mind I’ve justified what happened by thinking this.

Dad, I love you.  I miss you.  I want to thank you.  Even though you weren’t around much and you didn’t know what to say when you were around, you taught me a lot.  I have an excellent work ethic.  I’m usually at work 15 minutes early and willing to stay late to get the job done.  I almost always start what I finish.  I kick ass when it comes to numbers.  I love my animals and take care of them well.  Most of all, dad, I try to be the best mother that I can be.  All of this I learned from you.

I’m still angry at the doctor who let you die.  You shouldn’t have died.  If they would have diagnosed you properly, you would still be around.  But Dad, because of your death, Diane and I actually have a relationship.  We actually talk to each other, email, and she comes to visit on a regular basis.  Your death was what brought us together.  I just wanted you to know that because I think that would make you happy.

Dad, I regret not being able to say these words to you before you died.  I love you dad.  Thank you for being the best dad that you could be.

RIP  10/26/96.

Tickle Tuesday and A PSA

Say it with me….It’s not Monday; and it’s not Humpday; therefore, it must be Tickle Tuesday.  Tickle Tuesday is our way to lighten your load and make your day a little brighter.

First let’s start with a PSA so that we can end with a smile. 

Dear Son:

Stop pissing me off.  You were headed in the right direction.  You got your truck back.  It seems responsibility has now taken a back seat.  I’m going to have to be a bitch.  I don’t like being a bitch.  Contrary to what others believe, I really want to be nice.  But in the words of my dear friend, “It’s On!”

Dear Husband:

When I can’t sleep because I’m pissed at said son, could you please roll over and snore in the other direction?  I’m very sleepy today.  So sleepy in fact that I forgot to put dinner in the crock pot.  It was going to be good.  Sorry.  Love you, mean it!

OK, now to the funny.  Enjoy!

A lesson on how consultants can make a difference in an organization.

Last week, we took some friends to a new restaurant, ‘Steve’s Place,’ and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket.

It seemed a little strange. When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I observed that he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around and saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets. When the waiter came back to serve our soup I inquired, ‘Why the spoon?’

‘Well, ‘he explained, ‘the restaurant’s owner hired Andersen Consulting  to revamp all of our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour.  If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift.’

As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he replaced it with his spare. ‘I’ll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now.’ I was impressed.

I also noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter’s fly. Looking around, I saw that all of the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies. So, before he walked off, I asked the waiter,

‘Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?’

‘Oh, certainly!’ Then he lowered his voice. ‘Not everyone is so observant. That consulting firm I mentioned also learned that we can save time in the restroom.

By tying this string to the tip of our you-know-what, we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, shortening the time spent in the restroom by 76.39%.

I asked quietly, ‘After you get it out, how do you put it back?’

‘Well,’ he whispered, ‘I don’t know about the others, but I use the spoon.

An Open Letter and A Strange Conversation

Good morning.  Happy “Halfway through the workweek” day.  What a week thus far.  Busy, busy, busy.  I had to hire someone, fire someone, deal will drama at home, deal with drama at work!  Jeez.  Can’t a girl get a break?  Or at least a raise?


On to the open letter………………………………

Dear asshat in the red car:

Please listen to me.  There was an accident on the Beltway.  The constable was directing traffic from my lane into yours.  Me being the patient person that I am (shad up) kept a car length behind.  Everyone was playing nice BUT YOU.  Each car in your lane was letting a car from my lane in.  Not you.  No sirree.  You sped up so that the car in my lane couldn’t get over.  Nice!

Now, I’m not usually an eye, for an eye kind of person, but my evil twin took over.  It was only natural that when I, in the exit only lane saw that you needed over and tried to get over in front of me, I had to speed up so you couldn’t get in. 

Can I give you some advice?  Instead of flashing your middle finger at me and rolling down your window to yell obscenities at me, could you maybe keep your eyes on the road?  The car in front of you may just slam on it’s breaks.  You should really pay attention next time.  How’s your bumper feel?  Oh, that’s right.  It’s laying in the middle of the Beltway.  Sorry!




Now for the interesting conversation.  I was stuck in traffic behind a hearse while talking to SuZan.  We started talking about whether we wanted to be buried or cremated.  I was a little skeptical, but SuZan talked me into being cremated.  I told her that would be fine, but it’s her job if I die first to make sure I have on make-up and cute panties before going into the incinerator.  She said she would.  Then I want my ashes spread over some exotic island that I won’t ever get to visit while living.

Why cremation over burial?  Well, I’m a little cheap and I think it’s strange that people pay a huge amount of money for a box to hold a dead body that will be thrown into the ground with the bugs and worms.  That’s the other thing.  I don’t do bugs or worms.  That’s gross.  And disease? I mean, my body would be rotting.  Gross. 

I also decided that I don’t want a funeral.  When I die, I want a big ass party in my honor and I want all of you bitches (and guys that read) to say really nice things about me.  I want there to be laughter and, of course, adult beverages.  Deal?

In fact, I went one step further and decided that, should I ever be diagnosed with a terminal illness, I’m going to throw a big ass party, announce my illness, then have everyone say the nice things directly to me while I’m still alive rather than after I kick the bucket.  Oh, and I want to partake in the food that they would have brought to my family after I die.  Shit, you make food because I’m dead?  Hell no!  I want to partake.

BTW-SuZan agreed with me on all counts.  Of course, she may have been appeasing me to get me to stop talking about such morbid things!

Does anyone else ever think about stuff like this?  No?  Just me?  Well, you’ll never be able to say I don’t plan ahead!

Have a great day! 

An Open Letter…



Dear Asshole: 

I’m quite sure that you are relieved that your boss intervened in our conversation because I was about to stab you in the neck.  First of all it is rude to ignore people; seriously it is always a good idea to acknowledge peoples’ existence when they walk into your store.  Also, you must understand that when someone breaks their glasses they might be a little testy. 

It is also a good idea not to make assumptions, let me elaborate for you:  When the receptionist brings you my file, do not tell her (loud enough that I can hear), “oh she can just wear her second pair.”   

WTF?  Asshole, do you not see in my file that the “second” pair of glasses is prescription sunglasses? 

Can you not read to see that without corrective lenses I am legally blind? 

We did have a few other lovely moments after that.  I am not very happy that you greeted and helped another customer who arrived 20 minutes after I did.  I am floored how you helped another lady for an hour, assisting her with frames and styles when she had NO INTENTION of making a purchase.  

Uh huh….love your business savvy! 

Oh and that brown nose little receptionist of yours…the next time that she makes a sarcastic comment like “well, she can’t wait, for some reason she says she has to see”.  I’m stabbing her in the neck too! 



Seriously, these people expected me to wear my prescription sunglasses 24/7 for a WEEK!  To quote she who roundhouse kicks assholes like this….”I hate people” 

Have a great day!