Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Open Letter: To Firemen

Dear Firemen,

I watched a bunch of you out of my window last night. It made me feel like a creep to peer out of my blinds like that at one-thirty a.m., but I was curious about what was going on out there. The house was on fire two houses away, but since I couldn't really see that, I watched you guys instead.

And my question for you is: Why do I think you guys are so hot? (Pun intended).
Obviously the hero and danger factors top the list, but there is so much more to my feelings. I love the sound of a fireman running. I couldn't tell you why, maybe it’s the thumping of your huge boots and the clicking of all the buckles on your jackets that does it for me (I've always had a thing for buckles). Maybe it’s the obvious brawn underneath your uniforms (you have to be strong to carry a zillion pounds of equipment). The fact that a fireman always runs with purpose might be the answer I'm looking for here.

I fear though that most of you would bore me to death after five minutes. So, what’s my problem? It scares me that I could be attracted to some of you long enough to try to justify the use of the word 'Bub' or the saying of the word 'sassage'. Oh well, I guess I'm just a victim of my own hormones or something.

But let me admit something to you that I have never admitted before (because what is the fun of blogs if there is no really secret information divulged?) When my house caught on fire when I was in high school, a certain school cop who was apparently a volunteer fireman showed up at my house. I had reasons for not liking him, but as he stood in my driveway in his fireman get-up I thought to myself, 'Damn, our school cop is hot.' And that’s when I knew I had a problem.

Thanks for being hot hero's, you stallions of danger,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Woman on the El

Dear Woman on the El,


I was sitting down on the train. You were talking to your friend. You both had just gone to Dunkin' Donuts and you had a coffee in one hand and a half eaten bagel in the other. Do you even remember me?

I remember you. Mainly because you were letting your bagel crumbs fall on my head and bounce off my glasses. Who the hell holds on to the pole on the train with food in their same hand? That's just fucking sick. Especially after last week when I saw a guy sneeze into his hand then grab the pole. But, back to you.

As that crumb bounced off my glasses, I knew that I could actually murder someone in cold blood.

Hope to see you soon!

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Flying Buttresses

Dear Flying Buttresses,

I understand that you are important to load-bearing you know what you remind me of?

Just Checking,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To "Always"

Dear 'Always',

You are a deceiving word. You should be pronounced: all-ways,
but are actually pronounced all-wheeze. Or. Hmmm. Maybe that is just the way I say it?

I will be thinking about this now,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Hibernation

Dear Hibernation,

I am busy sitting here trying to understand you. I am doing this because I feel a deep need to hibernate right now, but I am not even sure what that means exactly. I learned about hibernation in grade school, but it was not as fascinating then as it seems to be now.

I am pretty sure that cold blooded creatures like me cannot hibernate. I perch on my heated rock under a sun-lamp on cold days like these. As I sit there, I dream of hibernation. To be a raccoon or some kind of bear and hibernate all through the winter, only to wake up a couple of times to eat some fish or garbage or whatever it is that animals eat, that would be the life. And that is all that I remember learning about you.

I think it would be cool to tell people that I was hibernating. At work they would say, "How was your day off?" and I would reply, "Oh, you know, I just hibernated, like usual." I think that would really impress people at work. At least more than saying, "Oh, you know, I was just thinking about hibernation." If I had to say that, they would think I was a total loser. (And I am not).

Anyway, I just hate winter and being cold. I am wishing for you, hibernation, but I am not some kind of weird, it’s just never gonna happen. It’s one of those things I talk about, but will never be able to do. Oh well.

Hibernating is so sciencey,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To My House Plants

Dear My House Plants,

I am so sorry. I do not even know if there is anything that I can say to make things between us okay. I apparently have no idea how to care for you on the most basic level.

Your friend, the succulent, has died. It is completely my fault. I must bear complete responsibility for this. I just thought that since he had such fat leaves he needed more water. I thought that if I was from a desert, I would crave water like how I crave candy and salt here in Chicago. I thought he would really like it. I was so wrong.

Then there was the roundie leaf, woody stemmed favorite. I still have no idea what I did wrong. Too much water, not enough, too much sun? He died too. His death represents my failure to take care of living things, literally.

And innocent begonia; she never hurt anyone. All she did was try to live her life in a nice little pot. She is on her way out, all falling over herself, drooping, looking watery. What should I do? She is a gonner. I am a murderer. I cannot stop myself. But it is not on purpose. It’s not even neglect. It is just routine now. For the love of God, I need help. Someone, please help me!

The green leafy guys are my buddies. You guys know what’s up. You wilt, I water you, you perk up, we move on together. You communicate your needs and I respond with, well, mainly water. We are together and seem to understand each other well. I am thankful for you guys. You are the reason I keep trying. You should tell your tropical and desert cousins to try to work on their communication. Not that I am blaming them. It really was all me.

I may have never had a green thumb,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Wind

Dear Wind,

I only like you in the summer and sometimes in the fall. Other than that, you freeze me to Death. Stop getting through my improperly insulated windows. I blame you, in part, for my $250 gas bill (I blame the other part on all the frozen pizza I eat). Anyway, you tangle up my gloriously long, shiny, beautiful hair. Asshole.

Damn the uneven heating of the earth,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Snow

Dear Snow,

I really like you! You make me so happy because you are beautiful! There is never a time that you are snowing down that it isn't so pretty outside! You make winter really super!

In fact, if you are falling outside, then I know that it is not too cold out there. When it is too cold you stay up inside of your mother; a cloud. It must be weird and smooshie in there but I suppose all mothers are weird and smooshie, so whatever.

After you stop snowing down I am not so happy anymore. Maybe I will be happy for the rest of the day or night, but then no more. I do not like to watch all of your snow on the ground dying and getting crappy with foot-prints and gray stuff. It makes my face frown the whole time.

Sometimes, after I get new lenses in my glasses, one of your flakes will get on my glove or sleeve or something. Then I look at you and try to classify you as: amazing, beautiful, really cool or brokenie. This is a fun time for me. They say that no two of your flakes is alike. I used to believe that, but now I do not anymore. I think that it is highly improbable that in the history of the Earth (a million years or something) that every snowstorm that has happened (a thousand or more) that no two snowflakes were the same. That sounds crazy. I will bet that at least two have been alike. Yeah, I really think that I am right about this one.

Anyway, I hope a blizzard happens to me soon so that I can tell people I meet in the future that I "Remember the Blizzard of '09, and what a Blizzard that was." I really think that would be awesome to say to people. Plus people love hearing about weather incidents, that’s why people love the Weather Channel so much.

Cotton, popcorn, out my window...

Emily Illinois

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Open Letter: To Improperly Lifting Things

Dear Improperly Lifting Things,

So, I improperly lifted something about a week ago. I have no idea what I lifted, but I am one-hundred percent sure that it was improperly lifted. I am sure, because of the pain. The pain tells me something was improper. And as you know, pain is almost always associated with 'improperness'. Whether mental or physical, something improper caused it.

One day I am a fine, buxom, robust, sturdy, hardy, durable, brawny maiden and the next I am a decrepit, weak, complaining, brittle, hindered hag. I suppose that is how one gets old. Running around one day without a care in the world, and the next hobbled over with a hand on the back. All I know is that my upper-butt/lower back was rife, RIFE, with some kinds of pain. For the most part it has subsided, but I have learned a valuable lesson: improperly lifting things may be easy, fun, and look cool, but it is really not worth it.

Bending the knees so I can back that ass up,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Being Serious or Sarcastic

Dear Being Serious or Sarcastic,

I can't even tell anymore.

Is that bad?

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Getting Eight Hours of Sleep

Dear Getting Eight Hours of Sleep,

I just wanted to let you know a couple of things. The first one is that you are a lie, an overrated lie. The second thing is that you make me sick, literally.

People say that if you do not get Eight Hours of Sleep then you are missing out. They say that your life is messed-up, you have no schedule, that you are not taking proper care of yourself. That is bullshit. How did you weasel your way into my thinking? I used to believe in you, get Eight Hours of Sleep or more, just to prove how beneficial you were. I do not believe in you anymore though, Eight Hours of Sleep. I even read somewhere that people who get Eight Hours of Sleep or more have a higher mortality rate. I do not know why, and I do not know where I read that, but I believe it with all my heart and soul.*

Lately I have not been taking advantage of you, Eight Hours of Sleep. Frequently I get only Four to Six Hours of Sleep. Sometimes I would wake up, move around a little, go to work or do whatever it is that I do when I am not sleeping, then I would think, 'Jeeze Louise, I wish I could have had Eight Hours of Sleep.' Now I am refusing to let myself think that ever again. And that is because of what happened today, today you ruined it for yourself.

If you had not been such a Fuck-o, I would have probably kept thinking that Eight Hours of Sleep was a good thing. But, today I got Eight Hours of Sleep and now I feel sick. Not like I have a cold or the flu or the diarrhea or anything like that, no, I feel like I slept too much for too long. I am dizzy, tireder, and feel like I have the spins (and at least if I had the real spins it would be from a night of fun [if you know what I mean {and I think you do}]). No, all I did was lie in my bed and sleep for too long (that’s what I think now [Eight Hours of Sleep is too much]), I did not even have a sick dream to be proud of. Anyway, I just wanted you to know how done with you I am.

Setting my alarm for a robust Six Hours of Sleep now,

Emily Illinois

*Use of the word 'soul' is purely for reasons of persuading and of no merit in a religious sense.

Open Letter: To Kris Kross

Dear Kris Kross,

Thanks for making me 'jump jump' at work today. Every time that I hear your song "Jump Jump" I have to 'jump jump'. It is a lot of fun. But I have a question: which one of you is the Daddy Mac and which one is the Mac Dad? I am always confused because you have on backwards overalls (does that signify a hatred for farmers?), and I cannot tell who people are if their clothes are on backwards and their names are similar (like 'Kris' and 'Kross'). Please get back(wards) to me soon!

Some of them try to rhyme, but they can't rhyme like this:

Emily Bemily (Illinois)

Open Letter: To Doing the Laundry

Dear Doing The Laundry,

I think you know what this is about. It is about the leaving the apartment, the driving to the Laundromat, the washing, the drying, the folding, the hanging, the carrying back to the car, and the putting away of clothes (not to mention the spending of perfectly good money). I am all about the doing of things, but the doing of the laundry is not one of them. Why are you so labor intensive? You take at least a couple of hours, even if I am rushing around. I have given up trying to wash things on delicate and tumble dry on low just to save some freaking time.

Honestly though, if I had my own washer and dryer located somewhere in my apartment, I would not be writing this to you today. Mainly because I would have gained some perspective on what is annoying about doing you and what is not; Annoying: having to leave my apartment and carry shit, Not Annoying: watching my T.V. while a washer is spinning my clothes in my apartment.

Plus the Laundromat sucks. When I go there I have to sit on plastic chairs. Fuck that. Not that I am against plastic chairs usually, but they always suck at Laundromats and then I am sliding all over the place (not in a good way). And sometimes there is a crazy person who tries to talk to me. In the last town I lived in, the attendant was always staring and smiling at me, then one time there was this guy who told me his life story but I could not understand him except that he was from Louisiana and I think he was a criminal. Then once this Russian man tried to make me a communist, (but that did not work because I am such a fascist), or maybe he was just talking about something else, I could not understand a word he was saying anyway, but I made sure that I looked properly horrified at his communist proposals. The last thing that happened was that this drunk lady was running around the place yelling at people and almost falling everywhere. I could not stop staring at her (it was like looking at my future self: fascinating) but, I think she was three minutes from kicking my ass, so then I just had to stare at the floor really hard (which I hate [looking at the floor]). It is just a matter of time before something terrible happens to me there.

So, today I have to go do you. I am not excited about this. There is this delicious Chinese takeout place right next door to the Laundromat. But I cannot spend money on vegetable lo-mien, so this sucks. Really sucks. Plus I have to go it alone today (which I hate [the doing of you alone]). Taking one for the team sucks. And on top of all of that it really scandalizes me to bring my unmentionables out in public. I mean (since I am mentioning them now...) if my unders fall on the floor then everyone will see the lame monkey underwear that my mom buys for me. What is she thinking anyway? Beggars can't be choosers (that’s what they say anyway). Scandal.

Anyway, see you soon, Annoying Task,

Emily Illinois

Monday, August 17, 2009

Open Letter: To My Smoke Alarm

Dear My Smoke Alarm,

Thanks for going off at 11.30 at night a few minutes ago. One millimeter of the edge of my delicious pizza was burned. You were unnecessary because the pizza was out of the oven already. If my landlord has anything to say to me about this, you are going to have Hell to pay. At least I know you still work, I had my doubts.

You are a dick,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Milk

Dear Milk,

You upset my stomach when I drink you. I wish you did not do this, but I am also kind of glad that this happens. I used to drink a glass of chocolate milk then want to barf. This had nothing to do with the chocolate syrup/Ovaltine that I would mix into you. I know this because I have had them both independent of you and nothing happened; even though I am sure that you would have had it differently. Anyway, plain, you just kind of suck anyway.

Really, what are you? Lactation from a bovine. Gross. Mammary glandular secretions. That makes me want to crap a book on how to barf. I think I just did. I would not drink dog milk, why would I drink cow milk? There are no easy answers here.

My old roommate used to say that he would rather drink human breast milk than cow’s milk. That used to make my stomach turn and I would feel kind of homophobic (for obvious reasons). I thought he was a total perv, but he was not, he was just being logical, I guess. I still do not want to drink ladies'-boobie-milk though.

I eat cheese all the time (against my better judgment [what with the hormones and all]). Whatever. Life without pizza is not a life worth living. I am going to put that on a bumper sticker. In fact, I would go so far as to say, 'Never trust a person who does not like pizza.' But even just cheese is delicious. Cheese curds, sliced cheese, cubed cheese, feta cheese, macaroni and cheese, nacho cheese and various other cheese foods. You get my drift. I am totally into cheese, unless its parmesan (overrated) or blue (Grossie McGrosserson). Or if it makes your mouth taste like you just licked a sheep’s nipple then ate a farm, I hate that kind of cheese.

Back to milk though. It has been about 7 years since I just drank a glass of you plain, even a small one. I blame this on you for not 1.Tasting better and 2.Being so lactosie. Your fault. I still use you sometimes for cooking though, so do not feel too bad, even though I use soy milk more. Sorry, but plant nipples are way hot.

Lactaid is too expensive and you are not worth it,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Wisconsin

Dear Wisconsin,

Word up Wisconsin! I have always wanted to ask you, what is it like to be so north of a State as awesome as Illinois? Sorry to be so confrontational, but I do not get much of a chance to ask what it is like to be north of Illinois.

I guess that you know that I rip on you a lot. I refer to residents of your State as, 'Butter Eaters', though I am sure that you know why. Me and my friend Catherine say to each other, 'Nothing good ever came from Wisconsin!' After we say this to each other I usually say that your cheese is good though. Mainly your cheese curds. Usually when I go into you I eat some cheese curds. Once I got some cheese curds from a restaurant. They kind of grossed me out. They were breaded and I think I thought about them too much when I ate them. When I think about cheese curds I get kind of grossed out. I do not understand the process of how they are made (I am sure it is gross because processes usually are). Then I think about it while I am eating them and my stomach feels kind of barfey and I have to stop eating them. I am sure you understand this, it cannot be the first time you have heard of this happening.

I am always up in your grill. I do not know why I resent the fact that most of my vacations have happened in you. Lake Geneva is beautiful and the boat tour was really nice. And the Dells were a lot of fun too. Though the Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum left much to be desired, you should work on that. I also think that your Indian Mounds are cool. I do not understand Indian Mounds at all, but they are cool anyway. One time I saw a bald eagle with a fish in its talons flying around. No lie, it is a true fact. It was beautiful and made me feel like a real American from North America. I am sure that anyone would have felt that way though.

Do you like to be filled up with farms? It is not your fault; I know that you had no control over it. Do you feel like the farmers are raping you? I know that if I was you I would feel like the farmers were raping me. You probably say, 'Just because I have fertile soil, does not mean that I am asking for it! Fuck you farmers! Get off of me!' If you do not think that though then I think you are a ho, not a hoe, just a ho.

One time I was on a vacation in you and I saw the most beautiful stars that I have ever seen and I ate the best pizza ever and bought the coolest magnets that I ever owned. That was a time for Evers. And it happened in you. Not in a perverted way though. I wonder at times why I have such an Illinois stick up my ass about you...

My feelings for you really hardened when my Dad and Step-Mother, moved into you. That is when I was like; 'What the Fuck? Wisconsin!' That’s when I knew I hated you and your cheap land and asshole ways. I hate you for luring them with your trees, lakes and low-cost-of-living. They were your perfect victims. When they get feeble, how am I, my sister, step-brothers and step-sister supposed to care for them? You do not have an answer. Do not even try. It takes me five hours to drive there, or three, I cannot remember right now, but it takes too long. They have some time, Wisconsin, but I still think you are a total douche-bag.

Why couldn't the California wildfires happen to you?,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To the Four Shots of Espresso That I Drank This Morning

Dear The Four Shots of Espresso That I Drank This Morning,

Why are you trying to kill me?

That’s not cool,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Ideas and Concepts

Dear Ideas and Concepts,

I am torn about how I feel about you. I only like you when you are good. When you are bad, or even just being unclear, then I am forced to hate you. I think that I am also not fond of you two when someone else has a good Idea or Concept. That makes me jealous that I did not come up with you first. Sometimes, Ideas, I can understand you, even if you are a little muddy, but Concepts? No. I rarely get you.

In fact, I believe that when I have to do some problem-solving, Concepts are usually involved. My attempts at what I am trying to do are almost always foiled by you Concepts. Why do you always have to be like that? (Getting all up in my grill and shit?)

Sometimes I wish that I had a slab of clay. Then I would carry it around, form Ideas and Concepts out of it, then smash it all up. Just to show you.

Get away from me,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Guy Who Tried to Hit on Me While Driving

Dear Guy Who Tried to Hit on Me While Driving,

Bad way to pick up girls. Really. I mean, I was driving, what was I supposed to do? I really do not even know what you were thinking. When you said, "Oh, your cigarette almost burned me!" I was at first confused, then like "What the fuck is going on here?" You were holding up traffic and people were honking!

Let’s really go over this for a minute here. Okay, was I supposed to shout my phone number to you? I would not have, but does this tactic usually work for you? I do not know how it possibly could. And what were you thinking? You are most likely 43 and I am 26. You do not know this about me, but I am a total ageist, so that would not have worked for me at all! Plus, I have a boyfriend! Did you even ask? NO!

Why were you trying to talk to me today? I look like a total 'scummer' a bottom feeder, a real dirty (not in a good way) stink-bag. I just got off work, hair looks like the Crypt-Keepers', I was blinking in the harsh afternoon sun...a real wreck, up since 4 a.m., the list really does go on! And I know that your car was not that sweet or anything, (and even though I am having a love affair with my own car) my car will not impress anyone (I love you 2000 Toyota Corolla). Plus it’s covered in bird poo. So, what is your deal, Guy Who Tried to Hit on Me While Driving?

I am at the bottom of the Everyman’s Everygirl list. Do you know what I am trying to say? I have now judged you on how you judged me! Ha! I have turned the tables on you! If you think that you want this, looking like this, then I think that you like sick looking, dirty females and would not touch you ever! Who knows what you have been with...YUCK! Thanks for the compliment though, I guess.

You Keep on Knocking, But You Can't Come In,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Phone Calls

Dear Phone Calls That I Have to Make Today,

I really am not looking forward to making you today. In fact, I have been avoiding you. I am sure that you think, "Oh, who cares? At least you do not have to go driving around and get lost in a ghetto. You can make Your Calls from the comfort of your own home!" Yeah, I know that already. Thanks for telling me the one thing I already know.

I even made one of these Phone Calls before I even started writing to you, did you know that? You probably did. I was annoyed because I had tried to make this particular Phone Call THREE other times but no one was answering. It was not Bad News for once, your indifference spites me, so do not try to pretend like you care.

I have at least five other Phone Calls to make today, FIVE. Not even counting the one that I made when I immediately walked in the door here. I am so sick of you, Phone Calls! I just want to live my life, spend time with T.V., and pretend like I am doing something around here. I actually have to turn T.V. off, OFF, when I make you! Can you imagine how that makes me feel? NOT GOOD. The silence really gets to me sometimes.

And even though you are thinking, "Well, chat it up with the people you are Calling then!" I refuse. I do not talk to strangers in a friendly way, usually. And especially not ever on the phone. Hey, do not sit there and be like, "You could have finished at least two Phone Calls in the time it took you to write this!" Get bent Phone Calls, my time is MY time. I do what I want. Anyway, Phone Calls, you are going to be finished today, FINISHED!

Calling you out,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To People Walking on the Sidewalk

Dear People Walking on the Sidewalk,

Why are you always walking around? I do not like to always be seeing you and hearing you. I wonder all of the time where your car is. Well, where is it? I see a bazillion cars parked on the road. One of them is mine. The rest belong to people who I never see. The only thing I see is you walking around. Can you drive already? Sometimes I need to park my car and go inside. You just park your car and walk around with absolutely no purpose. Why not just sell your car if you love to walk so much? I wish that I could sell my walk so I could use my car more. Nah, I am just kidding, I love my ability to walk, but I also love to drive and I do not like to see people always walking around.

Also, you should know that I do not trust you, not even for one minute. Not even to ask the time. Not even to tell you that you smell good (when I smelled you when I walked by you). No, I do not trust you at all. You probably wonder why, right? Well, it is because of this little thing called 'Stranger Danger'. Duh. I am sure that you have heard of that before, so I am not going to get into that right now.

I guess that I am not wary of all of you. I am not wary of; women (in general), people walking nice dogs, people with kids/pushing strollers, people dressed nice/cool, people carrying lots of stuff, men and women walking together and that’s it. Every other one of you I do not even want to see. This includes; guy who creeped around when I was outside last week, other guy who walks by me slow and stares at me when I am smoking, thugs, poor people, hobos and groups of men who might be rapists (how am I supposed to tell who is a group of rapists and who is not?) There are many others, but, I am tired of typing this list.

So, people who are always walking on the sidewalk; why can't you be more friendly? Maybe I would like you more if you said in a friendlyish voice, "Hello, lovely day, eh kid?" or something of that nature. But, instead you look angry or distant or like a rapist or something. Get a friendly countenance, jeeze. You could get a smile on your face for a second and stop stomping around the city. But, maybe you forgot where you parked your car and are pissed off? If that is the case then I completely understand, that having happened to me at least once a day for the past two months.

You should also be aware that I am eavesdropping on you when you walk by. I am not going to ask you to be quiet because I like to try to figure out what you guys are talking about when you are walking around. Yesterday you talked about the power being out, and a few days before that, you got yelled at by a crazy landlord across the street. You told him, 'Hey, shut-up, you are crazy!' I agreed with you for once about that. Sometimes you speak in Spanish and I cannot understand you at all, unless you use the word 'tener' in its various forms, or say something about 'bueno' or just a couple of other things. Some words are similar, so, sometimes I can figure out what you are talking about, but I am never one-hundred percent sure.

I am getting pretty tired of writing this to you. I can hear you outside doing your walking thing. I might peek out of my window at you later after I turn off my lights. I need to keep an eye on whatever it is that you are doing out there. Make sure that you are not 1. raping somebody or 2. getting raped, or other things like murder (which I consider worse than rape but less likely to happen).

Hope you find your car or wear out your shoes,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Music

Hey Music!

What’s new with you? I am asking because I really do not keep up with you in any way. When it comes to you, well, I feel kind of left out.

You know, I used to keep up with you a little more around the Millennium. I had a lot of time on my hands back then. We were a little closer, wouldn't you agree? Anyway, I am not trying to make you feel bad. No, not at all. Actually all of the problems that we have are actually MY problems. I just can't understand you. It's that simple. Back in the day I would spend hours memorizing liner notes, looking up lyrics on the internet or asking my friends to clarify what was being said. I now realize the problem is that audio is like a learning disability for me. Who knew?

For example, in that song Glamorous by Fergie, I thought she was saying 'flopsie, flopsie' and that does not make any sense, I was really confused until some co-workers clarified that she was actually saying 'flossie, flossie'. See? This is just one example. You can tell when I am trying to understand your words because I will squint my eyes really hard. You will usually find me doing this in my car because I figure that no one can see me in there anyway. It is funny that I squint my eyes because it would make more sense if I squinted my ears, right? Really, that’s impossible though.

I guess that the only time that I feel really good about you is when I take drugs like Marijuana. But since I have not done that stuff in years, we have grown even farther apart. Maybe I should make Marijuana a priority again? What do you say? I do not know if that is the answer for us, but I am sure that it is an answer for something. I will think on that.

I like to blame others for me not being so into you anymore. I do that because I think that it makes me seem cooler. But it probably does not. We did have some fun though, didn't we? Maybe we should bring it back. I've got about 150 old CDs stashed--I could find some Marijuana somewhere, get a bottle of wine? What do you say? Let me know, okay?

Squinting forward to hear our past,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Garnier Fructis Fortifying 2-in-1 Anti-Dandruff Shampoo Bottle

Dear Garnier Fructis Fortifying 2-in-1 Anti-Dandruff Shampoo Bottle,

I think that you are a swell product. I even spend the extra dollar or two on you and it is not because of the commercials. But I have a serious problem with you; your stupid cap.

Every time that I take a shower I have to open your cap. That’s not the problem (the opening of you) but the cap part is. You have a sharp cap-flip-up-thing. I always almost cut myself. I really have no idea how you passed the testing part of production. If I was a teacher and you were a student, I would give you an F- on design. Having a good design is not that hard. Even my crappy 99 cent Suave shampoo has a better design than you.

In the shower, everyday, I think to myself, 'Should I risk my thumb trying to get that thing open?' I would use you more if I could get you open. I would have less potential dandruff, and I would spend more money buying more of you. We both lose out, but I really cannot tell who loses more.

Do you know how crappy it is to be naked, soaking wet, have no glasses on and look at your pruny fingers, trying to see if you have cut yourself? You do not know, because you are a bottle and have no fingers or anything, but it really sucks.

Someday I might put your shampoo-center into a new bottle. How would you like that? To have your shampoo existing in a 99 cent Suave bottle? Does that irk you? Are you T'd off? I hope you are. You violent plastic piece of potential punctures. Did you like that alliteration? I did.

See you next shower asshole,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To T.V.

Dear T.V.

I know that I do not tell you very often just how much I love you. But, I do. You have always been there for me in one way or another, especially when I need you. I do not even have to ask you, you are always available to me, even during the worst times. You want nothing from me in return, your selflessness is noble.

Sometimes you are sweet and make me cry. And sometimes you are violent and scare me. But, it’s what I want. You always know just what I want. Sometimes you are naz-tay, but that’s just between you and me...You take care of me when I am sick and stay off to the side when I just want things in the background. You even help me to stay sane when I am scared and alone, you chatter for me, just to remind me that the world still exists out there.

I think about how many times a day I turn you on. It makes me smile. To know that someone like me can have that effect on you, by barely even moving my hand...what can I say? You do the same for me. I sometimes stare at you all day--you are fascinating. Not only do you teach me new things, but you entertain me at the same time. You can do things for me that no one else does, that they do not want to do. When I have no one, I have you.

Day or night, you are there. I think about you all day when I am away from home. I cannot wait to get back to you. Is it wrong, what we do together? The amount of time we spend together? Some people might say so. They might say that I take advantage of you, that there are other things out there for me. But, are there really? How could I end what we have? How could I ever look back and not think about you? Some of my earliest memories involve you, making me laugh, sneaking around to see you, fighting over you with my sister--well, I am sure you remember all of that, was it ugly? Or did you love it? I am sure you loved it; sometimes you are such a perv.

I have sat here with you all day today. I have talked to no one. But you have made me laugh. Today you have come through for me once again. What can I do for you? Tell me, and I will do it, anything. If we could have this every day, forever...I guess though that if wishes were nickels, I would be a rich girl.

Thank you, T.V., for raising me, entertaining me, teaching me, saving me and for all of those other things that you do for me on a daily basis. You are appreciated and loved.

I know that when I turn you off, I can turn you on again,

Emily Illinois

Open Letter: To Shrimp

Dear Shrimp,

To start off, I would like to say that I am sorry and disgusted that I used to eat you guys. What was I thinking? I mean, really, you are freaks. Besides the way you smell (like fish), just the way you look is revolting. I am telling you that if one of you got on me and started crawling around, I would scream like there was no tomorrow. I am telling you this because it is the truth. I love the truth, and I hate you.

Are you clear or orange? When I see you on the Discovery Channel and/or Animal Planet, you seem to be clear, but in the restaurant (on a dinner plate) you are orange. What’s up with that? I do not understand this color-change thing.

I cannot stand your grodie bug eyes. I cannot stand your crawling crawler legs. And I do not take any truck with your feelers/antennas (whatever you call them). You are a spider/bug and have no business living underwater like how you do. But, if you lived on land I would hate you even more. So stay in your stupid ocean.

I call you (shrimp) and your cousins (lobster, crab) Spiders of the Sea. That is what you are. Freakin' water spiders. I mean, look at yourself, you have an exoskeleton. What the shit? Sometimes I feel like I am the only person who notices these things about you. But that does not matter anymore. I have washed my hands of you (sometimes literally) for some time now.
I do not know what your insides are made of. I do not know what you eat. I do not know why you have a Jell-o like consistency. I remember when I used to eat you--too slippery and slimy in my mouth. Gross. It is like; get a new consistency already. You needed breading just for a crunch. Loser.

Anyway, I was thinking about you last night. I was thinking about how sick I think you are. Not 'sick' in a good way, I mean it in a bad way, like 'gross' or 'barfey'. I suppose that you do not know that I live in Chicago now? Well, I do. And this leads me to think about the Sears Tower sometimes. I hear that it is a really big building. I thought last night, 'I wonder if you could fit all of the shrimp in all of the oceans into the Sears Tower?' I do not think that you could. Plus who would want to? You would all have to be dead and would be stinking to high Hell. Chicago does not need a bunch of shrimps stinking up the city. I guess that someone could put the Sears Tower on the bottom of the ocean. But that is not the point.

I do understand that you are a vital part of the food chain. I am not debating that. But, you just stay in the ocean and do your things there. I will stay here on land, away from you, and do my things and not eat you. Sometimes I am really glad that I was not born a mermaid.

I refuse to catch you later,

Emily Illinois