Fitness Centers and Grievance Letters

I don't talk about it a lot, but I ... exercise. I feel safe in admitting to being one of those people because I've been doing it since last September, and I'm fairly entrenched in the habit, considering that I'm old and The Fear has definitely set in. If you don't know what that is, you've never been fat and/or you're like, under 25, so just get off my fucking lawn.

Most of the time, except for all the crying, my visits to the fitness center are uneventful. Sometimes I'm alone, sometimes I have company - but this one day, I had a visitation.  This dude walked in, turned on the television full fricking blast and got on the treadmill. I tried not to stare, but he had an inch of salt and pepper roots, juxtaposed against medium brown hair, which appeared to be styled via bitch slap. Even before he started running, he looked like an escaped mental patient - but once he got started, it was clear this man was an innovator. He'd invented free-form jazz running, built around the whole "walk without rhythm" rule while on a planet with sandworms (yes, I squoze a Dune reference in there). Anyway, I don't have a really great end to this story, so let's just pretend I found $10 on the way home.

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I'm really here to share with you a grievance letter I wrote quite awhile ago. Now, I know I say they're only funny if you really send them, but this was written on behalf of a friend, who had a change of heart once she saw how truly evil I can be to a person.  But, someone needs to see this, even if it's not the intended victim. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and the jerky.


Lori -

I'm not going to call you Odessa.  There's not enough time in the day to address that particular delusion, so I'll just skip it and get straight to why I'm here.

It's not every day that I run across a monument to self-absorption quite as stunning as yourself.  I have to admit, your complete inability to demonstrate awareness - let alone concern - for anything not firmly planted up your own ass has left me nearly speechless. And that's just in the last week.

I don't want to blow your mind or anything, but outside of your own little life, there's an entire world that not only exists, but also somehow manages to march forward even when confronted with adversity, without expecting the rest of the world stop with them while they cry.  It's what reasonable adults do.

What reasonable adults don't do, for example, is have outrageous and impossible expectations of their friends - especially when they're not willing or even able to offer as much as they're expecting to get.  You can't shove a turd in a toaster oven and expect it to produce a pizza when the timer dings.  That would be crazy.  But you're doing exactly that, and then following it up by displaying the unmitigated big balls to reprimand the toaster for disappointing YOU. 

In case it's not clear, this is about Rory.  I know you have no personal frame of reference when it comes to pregnancy, giving birth and becoming a parent - but honestly, that's just no excuse for your behavior.  A lot of people haven't experienced children of their own, yet are still able to utilize the sense god gave them to not even consider pissing and moaning about their personal problems to someone who is literally in the process of giving birth.  I'd almost be forced to admire the audacious rancor apparent in you doing it IN PUBLIC ...that is, if I had any respect for you whatsoever.  Fortunately, I don't carry that particular burden.

Even before Rory became a mother, her life was not about you - but now that she is, her life is so far beyond 'not about you' that the shining, glorious light from 'not about you' wouldn't manage to reach her in your lifetime.

Right about now, you may be wondering if I know about how you've continued to complain to Rory about your personal problems, even while she's still in the hospital.  Obviously ... yes.  I also know that you lectured her about how she should be more considerate of YOU. 

And right about now, I'M wondering if you have any self-control whatsoever.   

You have a choice to make at this point.  One option - the best, I think - is to stop being so unrepentantly ate up with yourself for long enough to understand that Rory's life has changed in ways you don't relate to, and now might be a good time to quietly go your separate ways - without being a god damned drama queen about it.  From what I've seen just in the past few weeks, you didn't deserve most of the friendship she gave you, so be grateful for what you did get, and try to be graceful about letting her get on with her life.  That means not sending her any passive-aggressive, woe-is-Lori e-mails, texts or voice messages.

That's actually just good advice in general for your life, since that kind of happy horseshit is for teenagers, not grown women in their 30s.

One last bit of advice: If you're thinking about getting all frothed up into a self-righteous frenzy and bitching to Rory about how this is none of my business and how I've been so very undeservedly mean to poor, poor Lori, you are most definitely wasting your time. 

You don't realize this now, and you may never be able accept it, but I'm actually being the best friend you could have right now.  You needed to hear this.     

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So, there you have it. I am a big meanie.

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Grievance Letter

I used to write a lot of grievance letters in my 20s. I was one cranky bitch back then - I mean, seriously if you think I'm bad now, you should have worked with me when I was a secretary. My co-workers used to send my best friend as a sacrifice to my desk to see what sort of mood I was in. I'm downright fluffy now in comparison.

That said, I am sick to death of people. Fuck 'em. For anyone who's been reading regularly, you know that I hate my possibly retarded and definitely incandescently inconsiderate upstairs neighbors - that's not news. Meanwhile, I've noticed a rising trend in the amount of douchcanoe-ery being perpetrated at my apartment complex's workout room. I finally reached a point where if I didn't say something, I'd shit bricks from my eyeballs. Before you ask, yes, this is exactly the e-mail I sent to our apartment manager. It's only funny if you actually send it.

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Hey, Cecil -

I'm not sure what your policy is with people using the weight room to not actually work out, but rather plop down on the machines and watch tv, but for me, it's an uncomfortable experience to try to exercise with guys (because yes, it's always a dude - or two) just hanging out. A quarter of the time I'm in there, some dude without a key stands at the door staring at me to let him in, rather than going to the office to ask to be let in. Which leads me to believe that I am either a door man and didn't know it, or they don't actually belong there.

My other issue is - and I know you'll be shocked to hear this - my upstairs neighbor's dog barking over my bedroom. It doesn't always sound like they are necessarily on the balcony (although they definitely spend time there because our patio is yet AGAIN filled with dog hair, dog food and various trash) but they are definitely just barking enough to murder sleep. I'm woken up early about five days a week, while they just let the dog bark and bark and bark. Now, I hate the play the "I have a disability card" but I have a disability, and if I don't get enough sleep, I can not be a functioning member of society - when you add to that the fact that our rent just went up by more than $100 a month, I can't afford my medication anymore. So, to paint you a picture, if I'm in pain AND sleep deprived, I turn into one of those moms who just lays around on the couch, throwing Goldfish crackers at her kids to feed them and sending them out to the patio to catch the water that the dogs spill every day. Think of the children!

Thanks in advance!

Nico

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Ugh.

So, I've been dreading this post and clearly putting it off.

Something is up with my laptop - I can't play Sims for more than like, 15-20 minutes before it starts flashing black repeatedly and refusing to stop without me task managering the damned game off. If I let it go too long without shutting off the game, it will just shut the whole computer down. Yes, I have updated the driver for my graphics card, yes I use a cooling fan, religiously. No, you can not have a cookie. It will ruin your dinner.

Basically, unless my brain grows three sizes, or I suddenly become willing to give up my computer for god knows how long to insist Asus fixes it, the story may be done, indefinitely. I'm sorry about that. I do have a few more things to try, but it's become a bit harder to find time to dick around with irritating chores when much of my day is an irritating chore that I'm performing on about five hours of sleep, backwards, in heels.

I haven't completely given up on the Sims story, I just thought I needed to give a heads up rather than just fucking off and not producing a post a week like some of you might have grown accustomed. 

Which brings me to the next thing - I'll level with you - I'm a little burnt out. I don't want this to come off like a "beg me to keep writing?" post, but I am stretched a bit thin right now to be able to do the type of writing I was doing in the past, especially when it feels like fewer people are even reading this crap.

I don't think I'll stop writing completely, I need to write. I'm just ... unmotivated right now. Is there any way to do a post like this that doesn't sound like seeking attention? I promise that's not the goal here. I probably just need to adjust to how my schedule has changed.

Have I already posted this? It's weird as fuck.

Another Letter to a Stranger

Hey. I wrote another. Weeee.

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