Attention! Attention!

OMG are you so excited to hear this?

In the past we have posted a handful of guest blogger letters, but here's the breaking news: we have officially decided to take submissions of your own Open Letters to post on this here blog! Can you even believe it? Click the badge on the sidebar if you've got something to say. An esteemed Board of Directors will make a decision on the letters that will make the final cut, and who knows? Maybe you'll see your name in lights one day! And by "name in lights" I mean "name on this blog".

Do it! Do it now!

Open Letter to Zen Office Guy

Open Letter to Zen Office Guy


Dear Zen Office Guy,

While your office may provide you with a tranquil place to retreat to while at work, it is messing me all up. Consider someone other than yourself dude. Im sure that your (not one but TWO) trickling, gurgling, fountains relax you. Thats wonderful, really it is. The problem is that when you are not in your office (which is a great deal of the time) you leave your door open and the fountains on, which means when I walk by your office, I always feel like I have to pee. So, thanks for that.

Im sure that keeping your over head lights in you office off makes you feel at one with whatever,and that the soft lamp glow gives you the ambiance you desire. However, Im already tired when I come to work, and as the day progresses, I get more sleepy, so your office darkness is torture. AND that soft asian music? It doesnt help either. It makes me want some Chicken Sub Gum and hot tea BEFORE I nap.

Constantly peeing, wanting chinese food, and desiring a nap are not condusive to a productive work day. Its no wonder that you get NOTHING done, and that people are always complaining about your lack of progress.....you are TOO RELAXED.

Do no be surprised if after a hard day (my hard day, not yours), you find me in the middle of your office floor in the lotus position (or whatever the meditation position is called)....you kind of asked for it.

Sincerly,
the Classic Rock Blaring Office Girl.

(by Obladi Oblada)

Open Letter To the Word Verification

Deerrr Word Verification att thu bodum uv thu komint sexun uv mi fayvert blogggirz:


Wy doo yew lerk beeloh wen wee syn awff, staen tu thu vuree lasd menet, lyk thu lefd ovir dizguzteeng bakkwarsh inna 2-yeer ols sippeee kupp?

Uhbowt thu tym wee theenk wee arr dun maykn owr phunnee komints wee ind upp tripppen ovr yew. Soh itz tym yew herrd frum uhs. Juz reed ahn, yew liddl bockz uv nooisunz.

Awww, wut's thu maddur? Caynt reed thiz leddir??? Let's try it my way.

Perhaps a different font would make it a little more interesting, hmmm?!

Let's try a little Webdings...can ya read this????

Let's try a little Webdings...can ya read this????

No??? UH-oh! TOO bad, do over!!!! Do it over I said! Well, too bad. Go away and stop annoying all of us. You are not needed here.


Really perturbed (that's p-e-r-t-u-r-b-e-d),

Nan

PS- "Word Verification" indeed....how about ACTUAL words...it's not like you would ever run out....or how about spellcheck, you oxymoron!


[Editor's Note: After reading this letter I had to inform my mom, the author of this letter, that she has had Word Verification turned on in her blog settings all this time.]

Open Letter to the Sport of Tennis

Open Letter to the Sport of Tennis

Dear Tennis,

What is your deal? You obviously think your special. Using all those words like "love" and crap in your scores. What is wrong with a number score, huh? What do you have against 5-0, or "its tied up" or "scoreless". I mean, "deuce"? It isnt a card game for Pete's sake, its a sport with a ball, which should use the number system. Oh and if that isnt bad enough, your female players wear skirts. Well, la-ti-da, arent you something? Please. Oh, and your fans? Boring. Their polite little applause like they all sticks up their bums. How about some shouting in the stands? Or someone throwing a plastic beer cup, or a people with painted faces? Nope, too good for that obviously. Then you go and put yourself into a wii game, and now my children are using your ridiculous terms for scores, and frankly, its making me ill. Please stop the insanity.

Respectfully,

Obladi

A Baseball, Football and Soccer Mom

Open Letter to the Drunk Guy at the Concert in Chicago

Open Letter to the Drunk Guy at the Concert in Chicago

Dear Across-the-aisle-just-3-feet-away-endlessly-puking-perpetually-spewing-idiot-who-had-WAAAAAAAAAY-too-much-beer-at-the-Corona-sponsored-tailgating-party-before-the-Kenny-Chesney-Sun-City-Carnival-Tour-concert-ever-even-started-at-4PM-so-that-you-were-totally-passed-out-while-providing- quite-the-disgustingly-memorable-projectile-emetic-show,

So. I'm guessing you won't ever eat peanuts again...am I right?

No pity for you,

Nan

PS- Too bad about your boots....and your shirt.....your jacket.......jeans....the guy in front of you...you idgit.

Open Letter to Isaac Newton

Open Letter to Isaac Newton

Dear Mr. Newton,

I don't typically write about "personal" things but today is different. Being 50, every day I am reminded of your "science-changing" discovery. I mean really. Gravity?!? Come. ON!!! Thanks to you, my lovely facial structure is a thing of the past. The rosy cheeks I once had in my youth have migrated to the underside of my jawline. Instead of my Welsh/German/ English heritage being most evident by softly sculptured cheeks and patrician facial features, now I just look like a dang greedy chipmunk storing up food for the winter in its pouchy jowls. My other, er...um... cheeks used to garner compliments that would make me blush, but now they have taken up residence at a much lower altitude these days. Thanks to you, I'll be needing walking shorts pretty soon just to be decent in public. I went jogging yesterday and thought some one was running right on my heels, until I realized the 'whap-pa-ta, whap-whap-pa-ta" sound I was hearing was my below-sea-level mudflaps hitting the backs of my thighs. Way to go, Isaac! And let us not forget the inevitable, a woman's worst enemy, thanks to that big fat Red Delicious taking a bounce off your noggin. The air has certainly gone out of my tires.....and if you don't understand the analogy, well you been in the lab a liiiiitle too long. Let me tell you something, Mister. It's pretty bad when your mammo tech takes one look at your attributes, before placing your precious parts in that glorified drill press, and asks "Um, do you have implants?" A quick opening of the gown illicits a pitiful look from said mammo tech along with a mummur of "Oooooooohhhh, guess not." I reckon a picture's worth a thousand words. You could have come up with a better idea than Gravity. How about a Helium Brassiere? You could have called it the "Up, Up and Away". Or here's a thought- How about a simple jogging bra for the blessed amoung us, huh? WHY is that so hard? You science brainiacs can split the atom, and put people in space, but you can't come up with something that Paula Petralunga can jog in without looking like a freakshow or appear as if she is smuggling two small piglets under her wick-away shirt. (Obviously the heartfelt letter to Under Armour did NOT work.) Why couldn't you have discovered a way to DEFY gravity? There's a money-maker! Then every woman would love you. But instead we all have to find ways to lift, shift, undergird and overlay all sorts of things just to fight that never-ending gravitational pull!! History says that perhaps you died of mercury poisoning due to all of your strange experiments. But I wonder if you might have been strangled by an irate woman with a whale-boned corset or two...

Thanks from the bottom of MY EVERYTHING,

Nan

An Open Letter to Home Depot

Dear Home Depot,

I am really beginning to hate you. First, you NEVER have what I need. Ever. Although you are the biggest hardware store in the world, you have squat. Secondly, your help blows. Your "experts" are more often than not a bunch of idiots. I took a PAMPHLET with me for a valve for a sprinkler system, with the part number circled and showed your "expert" what I needed, for Pete's sake. He gave me something that was NOT what I needed. When I said that it was wrong, he treated me like an ignorant female, and evidently one who couldnt read. So, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, after all he was the "expert". Guess what Home Depot? It was the wrong part. I do hope that you enjoyed my husband's little visit to your establishment, with wrong part and pamphlet in hand, and a lack of being amused. Supposedly the "expert" had left for the day, but I know the truth. He was hiding behind the conduit display. A moron AND a coward. Way to go Home Depot, way to go.

Signed,

Obladi Oblada