Dear Music,

What happened to the days when you could be ugly as sin and still have a record deal? Or the days when you could sing like shit and still make millions of dollars and become a rock legend because you were talented with words and notes? What happened to our poets? Where did the Bob Dylan's, the Mick Jagger's, the Jim Croce's, the Joe Cocker's go? Not that those new singers out there aren't talented. I love the fact that any joe-schmoe off the street can walk into an American Idol audition and if they have any talent at all will be able to make an effort toward their dream - what I hate is that they're so bias toward 'pretty' people. Do you think Kelly Clarkson would have won if she had a huge Roman nose? Would Carrie Underwood have won if she had a gravelly Marianne Faithfull voice?

I feel the same way about movie actors too. Theatre actors on the other hand can be ugly as sin and as long as they can act, they can play any part they want to.

Anyway, the original point - Music, stop being so shallow. Go back to the days when music had meaning. Lyrics had to be listened to. Guitar solos and drum solos and showing off the fact that there was a band behind the lead singer who was just as talented (if not moreso).

And on the flip side of that, America - grow up.

Sincerely yours,

Melissa

Dear Snow,

I have been having a very horrible day today and I have decided, it's all your fault. If you had not decided that it was cold enough under the altitude you'd been swirling around in, happy in your little cloud, my day would have gone much better I think.

Because of you, I have lost faith in humanity and their ability to drive. I have also lost faith in humanity and their ability to read. Finally, I have lost faith in humanity and their ability to keep an office building warm.

There is less than an inch of snow on the ground. Actually, less than half an inch of snow. I saw two serious car accidents on my way to work this morning. I also heard about at least 3 others on the radio. Humanity, most of you have lived in Ohio all your lives, you should know by now how to drive in snow and rain, especially those of you in SUVs. You have four-wheel drive. Use it.

My lunch was in the freezer door. It said very clearly, Chicken Noodle Casserole. So the person who put their lunch into the main body of the freezer that said very clearly, Chicken Carbonara, still apparently mistook my lunch for theirs. Learn to read. Please. I know there's snow on the ground and therefore you had to bring your lunch to work instead of driving out to eat because, God forbid, you have to drive in the snow any more than you need to (down the street), but that is not an excuse for not being able to tell the difference between freezer door and main freezer body, or the difference between Noodle Casserole and Carbonara. Now I have medications to take and no food to take them with except my diet coke. Not fun.

Finally, this is not a large office building. There are only 60 people in this office. It is below thirty degrees Fahrenheit out there and you think that 60 degrees is an acceptable temperature to keep this (very airy) office, that does not have thick carpet, curtains, or any other things in it to keep the heat in, warm?

In conclusion... Snow, this is all your fault.

Sincerely yours,

Melissa

Dear World,

I would like to get off. No seriously. This year has not been the best and then you bitch-smack me like-whoa all in three days. This Christmas is going to be far from Merry and my job and life are not helping any more than you are.

So please, don't make me turn this planet around.

Sincerely yours,

Melissa

Dear Body,

I hate you.

Just saying.

Sincerely Yours,

Melissa

Dear Toy Companies,

Please stop raping my childhood. I mean, I guess I'm glad that you found a new audience for the new age-y, kindness, goodness, etc to preach too. However, I have some complaints.

First, My Little Ponies. What did you do? I mean seriously, are there pony steroids? I mean, your heads are HUGE and not proportionate to your bodies at all anymore! The boys! Don't get me started about the boys! Where did they go? Do baby ponies now just spontaneously appear? No daddy ponies? I LOVED the daddy ponies with their furry hooves. And the fairy ponies with their flimsy, plastic butterfly wings.

Care Bears. Again, what the hell with the huge heads? Where is the scary, terrifying movie about a huge carnival and a boy playing with black magic they have to save?

In fact, where is the scary period? I HAD NIGHTMARES, IT'S ONLY FAIR THAT THEY DO TOO.

I don't even want to touch what you've done to Sesame Street and Rainbow Bright and Strawberry Shortcake.

I mean really. Why would you do this to me? Why would you bring back awesome things from my childhood and then RUIN them and cute them up and take away the lessons that need scary things to learn them? And cookies, WHY WOULD YOU TAKE AWAY THE COOKIES? IT IS NOT YOUR JOB TO TEACH CHILDREN ABOUT EATING PROPERLY IT IS YOUR JOB TO TEACH CHILDREN ABOUT COOKIES. IT'S UP TO THEIR IDIOTIC PARENTS (who all grew up watching the same TV I did mostly which is just SAD) TO TEACH THEM THESE THINGS.

Ahem.

Sincerely yours,

Melissa

Dear Ticketmaster,

WHY do you taunt me like this? WHY? Do you find some sort of sadistic glee in tormenting me with news that someone I would MURDER (not kill, MURDER) to see will be doing a show? Not only do you torture me with news that he will be touring for the first time in YEARS, but you tell me he is not coming to Ohio, no you tell me because he is coming to FORT WAYNE, INDIANA. Which, by the way, is 154 miles away (according to Google). AND THEN, you taunt me even MORE by pointing out that you've sent me this email so that I can receive PRESALE TICKETS. Which, being masochistic, I go and check out, just to see how much they are and to see if I could have gotten good seats anyway. Section B, Row F, Seats 2-5. Section B of this particular theatre is like, practically front row.

You, sir, are no gentleman.

And the offer ends tomorrow. And three tickets (for myself and my two roommates) would be 207$, which at Christmas time is near impossible.

I hate you Ticketmaster. You make me die a little inside because I will miss Bill Cosby and it's your fault for telling me. I could have lived happily in a blissful state of ignorance. I would not have known that he was going to be in Fort Wayne and wasn't even going to come near Ohio, but no.

I hope you stub your toe and learn something from this letter. Like how not to taunt poor, defenseless girls who grew up listening to Bill Cosby because of their wonderful grandfathers who taught them to play chess.

There, I bet you feel all guilty now. As well you should.

Sincerely yours,

Melissa

Dear Holiday Tea,

You are the best thing ever. No, really, I'm not just saying that to make you blush. You are absolutely, hands-down, my favourite tea in the entire world, and that's saying a lot, since I've tried many teas in my time. Not that I'm a tea slut. I didn't mean it like that. You're really the only one for me. The other teas, they meant nothing. NOTHING, I tell you. That cold brew ice tea this summer? It was just a fling. A summer thing. You know how it is.

...Stop looking at me like that. You KNOW you're only sold in the winter, after Halloween. You know I can't afford to buy enough tins of you to last me through till next winter! I always come back though! Okay, there was that thing with the vanilla chai for a while, but I still buy you every year! I save your beautiful red tins and I lovingly fill them with candy and... and... well... other tea bags.

I know, I'm a horrible person. I feel terrible. I don't want you to think I'm a tea slut and that I brew these other teas when you're not around just out of spite, but I get excited about trying something new. You're still my One True Tea though. We'll always have November through February...

Sincerely yours,

Melissa

Dear Internet,

It's good to see you again. I know I've sort of been away for a long time, working, playing video games, etc... But I wanted you to know that I DID miss you. So here I am again, to brighten your electrodes with my razor-sharp sarcasm, silly anecdotes, and letters to mostly inanimate objects such as yourself.

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that I can't possibly do it. That somewhere between my ADD and my laziness that I'll forget about you again. That you'll be lonely and desolate without me, with nothing to brighten your days except porn popups.

I can't promise anything, I know, I should pretend to be a responsible adult and tell you it will all be ok, and that I won't forget you or leave you hanging again... but let's face it. I'm lazy. I'm easily distracted by shiny objects. I'm also incredibly flighty sometimes. You will probably survive if I don't remember you in a week, sure you'll be disconsolate and depressed for a time, but you'll probably get over me. You always do, and I always come back, just like that really strange smell in the refrigerator that I've scrubbed out an hundred times and can never seem to make it go away completely.

Really though, if you've survived Al Gore, Brittany Spears, Twitter, and Facebook, I'm sure you'll continue on if I forget about you again. You can do it, I have faith in you.

Sincerely yours,

Melissa