Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Feelin' Tangy? Grab A Pickle!!

Unless you've been in some sort of blogging exile, you've probably heard of Pickleope.  And if you haven't, I shall remedy that for you today.  You can thank me in the form of gift cards and/or dirty jokes. 

I basically begged them to do a guest post for me.  In my line of work I grovel daily so it's nothing new to me but I think Pickleope was more than slightly embarrassed for me, which worked in my favor since they agreed to do it.

If you're not already, do yourself a favor and follow this blog.  I'm constantly impressed, stunned, appalled, disgusted, horrified and more often than not, jealous of what is continuously spewed forth from this pickled mind.  And if nothing else, you'll learn a new word or two.  Anthrophobic.  Go ahead, use it in a sentence.  It's fun!  Maybe I need a hobby.  Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this twisted little pickle as much as I do.


Hi, remember me? I’m Pickleope. The weird-o who drew that weird picture of the proprietress of this blog as a pickle fighting an oven (because that makes sense to tell people). 

First I want to thank Dawn, the Vapid Vixen, the Ginja Ninja, the Dread Red, Scarlet Harlot, or whatever other wrestler/pirate names she has come up with for herself, for allowing me the opportunity to infect her blog with my brain scabies (a little cream, that's all it takes to get rid of it).
Readers of the antics splayed out on this blog recently saw that she got into a war-of-the-words with a business she frequented. Well, I felt her pain and tried to help. And I would like to help the rest of you who were similarly done wrong by a company or service by offering my services as a professional angry letter writer to all in need. I'll call my business “Let Me Be Angry For You Letters" or maybe, "I got 99 Problems and This Bitch IS One.” If you’re angry enough at someone to write a letter, hire me, and I’ll write it for you. Here are some common samples.

Landlord problems:
(This version is written in Viking but we also offer Olde English, Teen Girl, Submissive Furry, and Schizophrenic Co-Op Proprietor)

Hark Mine Slumlord (you can use your own name here),

I hath moved in a fortnight past and informed thee of the low water pressure and lack of hot water (you can insert your own issue here). Though you haven’t the grit to conquer said issue, I shall dominate your pipes for you! Equipped with but a rudimentary knowledge of plumbing, a wrench I borrowed from the receptionist at work that has a flower-pattern handle, and a gullet filled with Odin’s nectar, beer, I shall venture into the bowels of our building and fix the heater and pressure for all the valiant cold-shower-taking denizens of this building! Fear not, I require no assistance from you, frail land lover. This is only a courtesy so that when I do eventually salvage this slum and return it to glory not seen since the ground was broken in 1957, thou can take credit and we shall cheer as comrades of the pipe! Rejoice my inept pilferer of paychecks, for you need no longer live under the cloud of shame of not being able to provide basic human services.

We'll talk about the laundry room after the building and I revel in my victory. Mead and hot showers for all!

Fair thee well,

Serf Jones

If that doesn't get him off his butt to hire a real plumber to avoid whatever damage you would cause by tinkering down there, then it may be a lost cause in which I recommend taking a different tact and subtly sabotage everything so you can slowly cost him/them more money than it would have taken to fulfill the original request.

Bank/Credit Union issues:
(This one I’ll print out the letter and drop a couple of water marks on it to make it seem like you were crying.)

Dear Loan Shark, (of course you would substitute the person's actual name, unless the person is actually named "Loan Shark" in which case, tell that person to get into Rollerderby.)

Per account #_____. With full understanding that you need to make money off my money so you can loan more money to other people and earn money off that money, there is little excuse for how I was treated at your branch when I inquired about the fee. I am now so afraid to come into any of your outlets and you have made me agoraphobic and anthrophobic. I can barely write this note without taking fist-fulls of Xanax or whatever anti-anxiety pills I have handy or sometimes Gummi Bears. All because iron-fists dipped in gold and encrusted with diamonds slapped me in the face in the form of your corporate customer relations.

Should you see it in your heart to refund these fees I may be able to leave the confines of my bathroom (it's so cold and ceramic in here, let me be free!). The $50 is not much to you, but on my road to recovery it would restore my faith in humanity and prevent my skin from grafting to the toilet seat.

More porridge please,

Tiny Tim


But I don't do JUST reactionary letters, oh no, I specialize in preemptive letters: These are good when you want something but can't really afford it so you complain ahead of time in the hope that the business will send you free stuff to shut you up. It's true, try it.

Dear Mickey Mouse (do a little research and you can find the name of the manager of your local theme park),

My family visited your park-of-doom-and-harassment on November 29 (choose a date about two weeks in the past). It has taken me this long to recover from the trauma dealt by your park and employees. Let's move past the fact I was subjected to uncorralled children! I mean, they were walking around FREE, outside of their cages and unleashed, with all their greasy, disease-ridden hands…ew. May as well have forced me to make out with leprosy patients. But worse evils were perpetrated upon my personage. What happened!?! WHAT HAPPENED!?! You want me to relive the THE DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL that I had to endure and continue to endure as I shuffle upon this earth!?! Outrage!

Don't make me turn to Six Flags, or risk my life at a carnival.

Parent of A Baker’s Dozen Children from Cambodia to Siberia to Wisconsin


There’s also expensive restaurants none of us can afford:

Dear Ratatouille,

Neither your waiter nor your chef apologized for the black, curly hair I found in my soup. Lucky for you I work for the military and we were looking for more humane ways to torture prisoners post-waterboarding, and sneaking dark curly hairs into the food we’re already peeing in. No torture is worse than finding a foreign hair in your food, especially one that looks like it once nestled in the thicket beneath the waistline.
I don’t know how you can make it up to me.

Blessed Oral Herpes,

Ms. Yelp Citysearch (Professional complaint letter writing tip: Name recognition like a motherf***er!)

If you require our skills, if you have someone you’re thinking about firing off a sternly-worded missive to, contact me first and for a tiny fee based upon your mental state, I will craft a letter for you, because you’re too good to waste your own words on jackasses (hey, that’s a good tag line). I’m like an indirect A-Team.

Thank you again to the Vapid Vixen for her general awesomeness and offering me this opportunity.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Eighteen Months Later....A Post About E1.

About a year and a half ago, I mentioned I was on which is how I met E1.  Not to be confused with E2.  They're both named Erik.  They both drive Tacoma's.  They both work from home doing creative, computery type stuff.  But that's where the similarities end.  I started dating E1 first, which is why he's E1.  He e-mailed me on Match.  I e-mailed back.  He asked me out.  (Like, that night, right then.  Seriously?  It was that obvious that I had no life?) I declined and then google stalked him.  No mention of arrests, pending murder investigations or cult affiliations.  I set my sights high.

We continued to e-mail and I inevitably, inadvertently insulted him. (My phenomenal people skills coming into play, yet again)  I don't recall what I said but he misinterpreted it as a slight.  He re-read it, realized what I had meant and asked me out again, stating it was the only fair way to make it up to him.  

Uh huh.  Clearly. 

I agreed to meet him at my favorite bar Piper Down.  I knew a couple of people who worked there.  I was feeling a little sketchy about meeting someone off the internet.  Isn't this how people end up in random trunks trying to kick out the tail lights while flying down the interstate to their demise?  Obvi.

Is it weird that I even remember what I was wearing?  Jeans, a racer-back tank top and flip flops.  I hadn't cared enough to put in the effort of heels and cuteness.  I remember looking at my nails and thinking how horribly chipped and gross they looked and not caring. 

I arrived first.  He texted letting me know he'd be late.  A trend I would see a lot of in the future.  I plopped down at the bar and ordered a drink.  Dave, the owner of the bar, (who, by the way, is a stellar guy and has the best staff in the entire valley) sat down next to me and kept me company until E1 showed up.  I let Dave know what I was doing there, that I didn't plan on drinking much, so if he saw me being led/dragged off with this dude, to please, for the love, stop him as it meant my ass had been roofied and I was on my way to getting myself raped and/or murdered.  Since I couldn't remember if I had put on clean underwear, I couldn't let that happen.  The embarrassment would have been too much.

Just as Dave has agreed to keep his eye out for me, in walks E1.  He comes over, says "Hey Dave, hows it going?" and they shake hands.  They already know each other and I've just insinuated that he's going to turn out to be this creeper rapist.  People skills.  In spades.

We head to the back patio where we talk and I pick at my nails.  He invites me back to his place.  (I'm so sure!)  I politely decline.  We talk until it's closing time.  He walks me to my car, we hug goodnight and that was the beginning of my infatuation with E1.
He was 6'3, gorgeous eyes, and one of the sexiest men I've ever dated.  Every so often you meet someone you have that ridiculous, irrational, unexplainable chemistry with.  This was E1.  He was exciting, spontaneous, hilarious.  He  would grab his guitar and perform an impromptu song about an American Eagle fighting a Canadian maple leaf.  We played in a scrap metal junk yard.  We sat on a chair lift at a ski resort in the summer and had a picnic.  It was fun.  And it was exactly what I needed after my heartbreak with Steele. 

But.  With the spontaneity came the impulsiveness.  With the excitement came the utter lack of dependability.  With the hilarity came copious amounts of alcohol.  We would make plans, he would forget about them.  I would be waiting at his doorstep for him to answer only for him to apologize, via text, that he's not there and ask to push it back for just an hour.  I let this go on far longer than any self respecting gal should, but dammit!  He was sexy.  And so much fun.  And did I mention how sexy he was?  Cause he was really sexy! 

Needless to say, I had to give him up.  We still talk every so often and I filled him in on my recent communications with dick douche dustin, (his name doesn't deserve capitalization) the owner of my former gym.

I texted E1about the friend I have at the Salt Lake Fire Department who has agreed to pay the gym a visit regarding a complaint concerning faulty wiring and possible fire hazards.

His response:
"Oh my god.  You are going to get killed and when the police show up at your poorly carpeted space they will see you strung up by climbing rope with cliff bars in your mouth and a crampon for a tampon."

Show me a girl who can say no to this kind of dark and twisty and I'll show you a girl with no sense of adventure.  Or at least one with a better sense of self-preservation.  Tomato, Tomah-toe. 

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

My Belated Thanksgiving Post

I defected to Canada for Thanksgiving this year.  And it was awesome.  My sister moved to Nova Scotia with her little family and I hadn't seen her since I was up there last January for my Gram's funeral.  Not the happiest of trips, needless to say. 

Even though Canada celebrated Thanksgiving in October, she had decided to make me the usual Thanksgiving fare.  However, we both spaced taking the turkey out of the freezer so we went with the traditional Thanksgiving pizza instead, followed by using a rubber spatula to scrape the ice off the windshield of the mini van to take the kids to Dairy Queen for ice cream.  Cause that's what you do when it has just snowed and it's sub zero out and you ignored E2 when he suggested you pack some sensible shoes. 

It felt like one of the shortest weeks of my life.  Even though I missed E2, I loved getting to spend so much time with my Sis and the kids.  They were so proud of their disgusting, lice infested chickens.  Okay, they didn't really have lice but they're still disgusting.  Jesse insisted I help him with his daily chore of collecting the eggs.  And by help I mean I stood there and watched him do it.  There was no way I was getting in that coop.  I detest birds.  I made it clear to both Jesse and Sienna that while I was proud of them for being so brave and holding the revolting creatures, I had no intention of naming them, petting them, or*shudder* picking them up.  After getting a couple of pictures of them with their beloved pets, they decided it was time to corner me, each of them holding a chicken, and sandwich me in between them, forcing me to touch the nasty things.  They thought they were hil-ra-ri-ous.

They weren't.  

Jesse wanted a picture with his rooster, King Awesome, but it kept flapping him in his face.
So vile.  Kids are gross.
And speaking of gross kids...I finally got to meet my niece Erin and Jeff named after me.  Brynlee Dawn!  I'm pretty sure I spent the entire week smelling like spit up...and I didn't even care!

I love her!!!!

There's just something about fat little baby cheeks that brings out the cannibal in me.  
The week flew by and all of a sudden I was tucking the kids in and saying goodbye since I would be gone by the time they got up the next morning.  Apparently I was making too much noise trying to drag my 700 pound bags up the stairs.  Jesse woke up, got Sienna up, and they both came upstairs for one last goodbye.  It was 5:30 in the morning and they were SO tired.

Bwaaiiiiiins......We want bwaaaiiiiins!!!!
I love these little maggots. 

My family waited until I got back to have a family Thanksgiving dinner.  They invited E2.  I offhandedly let him know about the invitation half hoping he would be busy going to the gym...or something.  He accepted and I prayed my family would at least attempt a facade of normalcy.  They almost pulled it off.

My parents, youngest sister, brother, brother-in-law, two nephews, niece, E2 and I are seated at our places.  My Father, knowing full well that E2 is an Atheist, pipes up with, "Erik, would you like to offer the blessing on the food?"

My head snaps up and I stare at my Dad with eyes rounded in horror.  Luckily E2 doesn't skip a beat with his response of "Gesundheit".

Just one more reason why I adore him.