- Dear Angelina:
You deserved that Oscar(tm) nomination for the abomination that is Changeling. You delivered the same line or slight variations with so many different emotions. “That isn’t my son. Where is my son? Did you kill my son? That isn’t my Walter. Where’s my son?” You still look a bit like an alien to me, but that’s cool.
She who loves your performance in “Girl, Interrupted” the most
- Dear Clint Eastwood:
Please stop with the black and blue in your films. For instance, the black umbrellas and blue-ish gray lighting in Changeling. … Mystic River, Million Dollar Baby… Stop doing the same thing over and over again. Wait, isn’t insanity doing the same thing over and expecting a different result? Note to self: stop watching Clint Eastwood-directed movies — you don’t like them.
She who is awakened to the obvious
- Dear Brothers and Sisters:
I gave up on you a couple of seasons ago when you got silly and soapy. I came back this year when it seemed you were growing up and being a good show again. Then, you reverted to your soapy, silly behavior. I’m breaking up with you again.
She who knows exs are exs for a reason
- Dear Starbucks,
Thank you for creating the tumbler that looks like a venti cup, complete with green straw. I *heart* you.
Venti sweetened black iced tea addict #4,092,002
- Dear Tiny Older Man at the bar at Starbucks:
Thanks for chuckling listening to dating stories between her and me.
“He asked me to! On our second date,” she said.
“You know, you have to wade through a lot of duds to find the good one,” I said. “Needles in a haystack, my friend. Needles. In. A. Haystack.”
She who loves an audience
- Dear Alex Trebek:
Stop acting like you don’t have the answers right in front of you when a contestant gets one wrong, like you knew and that idiot didn’t.
She who wishes “Shakespeare” was a category every night
- Dear Allergies,
Feck off, eh?
Achoo, sorry, me