An Open Letter To Courtney Cox

Dear Courtney Botox,

What the hell did you do to your face? When watching the season premiere of “Cougartown” last week, I actually gasped at how mask-like your face has become. Your forehead and eyes have gone totally Christopher Reeves on you and one would think the inability to move your face would really be a hindrance to an actress. Your lips are plumped to within an inch of their life and I feel tempted to stick a pin in them just to see if they’ll pop!

Here’s the thing, Courtney…WE ALL GET OLDER! It’s going to happen. Just go with it. No one expects you to look the way you did on “Family Ties” or “Friends.” However, we do expect you to look like a human being. Fine lines and wrinkles are OKAY because real people acquire them as they get older. Please, stop fucking with your looks and lay off all the fillers, plumpers, nips and tucks. You don’t need them. Just look like the beautiful, 40-something woman that you are. You are dangerously close to looking like The Joker, so if I were you, I’d take this warning very seriously.

Oh, and one last thing. Can you make your character on “Cougartown” a smidge less whiney/needy?

Thanks,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter to the Dudes in the House

An Open Letter to the Dudes in the House

Dear Fellas:

What is the deal with the hitting on me when I'm at my worst thing? I can be a sweaty, dirty, unwashed mess in a sloppy t-shirt and baggy yoga pants and you pick this time to flirt with me? I run to the Home Depot in the middle of a home improvement project or I schlep into PetSmart covered in dog fur to get Snuggles' nails ground down and apparently my ungroomed appearance translates to "Please check me out." I just don't get it. Why not when I'm all dolled up in a dress and red lipstick and all that crap? I have polled some male friends to figure out this phenomenon and I still don't understand. Don't get me wrong. It's flattering and all but it's just that..., seriously what the crap?

Please. Enlighten me.

Thanks,

Heather

cc: All mah grrrrrrrrls in the house... does this happen to you, too???

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 Aunt Flo

Dear Aunt Flo,

Bitch, where the hell have you been the last two weeks?! I'm just going along, thinking everything is fine and dandy, expecting you any minute and then...nothing. I start to freak out, think maybe my "pull out and pray" method of birth control is perhaps not the most effective for a single girl to be using. You even made me go so far as to look up "early signs of pregnancy" on Web MD! Aunt Flo, you had me thinking about my future, picking out cribs online, thinking about how I would have to turn my guest room into a nursery. You made me have the "awkward talk" with the prospective baby daddy about a possible bun in the oven.

And, FINALLY, you show up all late and totally unapologetic. You also brought with you an uninvited guest, PMS. She's a real bitch. She makes me want to cry and rip someone's face off all at the same time. I swear to God, Aunt Flo, the next time you put me through something like this, we're finished. I'm scheduling a hysterectomy and getting all my lady parts removed so you can't fuck with me anymore. Either that, or I better be preggers cause if I'm going through all that stress, I'm getting a cute baby out of it. Oh, and you better stop by the store cause I'm all out of tampons.

Feeling crampy,
Brooke Amanda

An Open Letter to Inspector No. 84

An Open Letter to Inspector No. 84

Dear Inspector No. 84:

I found your little inspection sticker on my underpants. I just wanted to say, thank you for inspecting my underpants. That was really nice of you. Also, I was just curious… do you have a badge or a license or something? Because I bet you could get a lot of girls that way. Telling them you’re an Official Underpants Inspector. Girls love classy stuff like that.

Thanks again,

Heather

An Open Letter to My Eyebrows

An Open Letter to My Eyebrows

Dear Eyebrows:

Why is it that every time I pluck you, you just insist on coming back? I would think that you would take the hint eventually. I guess not, though. So, let me be blunt. You aren’t wanted here.

Thanks in advance,

Heather

An Open Letter to the Skanky Guy

An Open Letter to the Skanky Guy

Dear Skanky Guy Who Pulled up Next to Me at a Red Light the Other Day and Said, “What Kind of Car is That?” to Which I Replied, “A Smart Car,” and Then You Asked, “Do You Plug it in?” and I Answered, “No, I Wind it up With a Gigantic Key,” While Pantomiming the Winding of a Gigantic Invisible Key, and You Were All, “Really?” and I Was Like, “No.” And Then You Asked, "Can I Drive It?" and to Your Great Surprise I Was Like, "No!" And Then When You Saw Snuggles in the Passenger Seat, You Queried, “Is That a Pit?” and When I Answered, “Yes,” You Said, “Oh. That’s Tight.” And Then You Were Like, “Are You Single?” and I Was Like, “No.” and You Were All, “Oh. Okay. Have a Nice Evening, Then”:

Don’t. Don’t do that.

Sincerely,

Me