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An Open Letter To You

Dear You:

You know who you are and you know why I’m posting this here on my blog. You know that had we both been able to be adults, that we both might have found a fair solution that would have kept me from doing this. But as you always have to be you, that was not a possible pathway to take.

First I want to address the incident that happened at the make-up counter in Nordstroms. You have always known from the day you met me that I do not take kindly to being dragged to those places, let alone being forced to be an arm-tester for mascara. I do not care if “stripes of mascara on my arm look like Indian markings,” they make me uncomfortable and unhappy. You should have been aware of this fact before you forced me into that chair with Beatrice at the helm. For this, I am still angry.

Secondly, I want to talk about your lack of communication. I have always told you that communication is the key to a successful relationship and you agreed. Yet up until recently you continued to use that old pneumatic tube thing that you bought off eBay that is supposedly from a Cold War era Russian sub. Whether or not they used it in an old Russian sub and the “history is amazing,” I do not like how it looks in the location you have placed it, nor does my visiting family. It’s a little impersonal to receive a note whooshing through a pneumatic tube that, whenst I open it, the message reads, “It’s time for dinner.” Call me or get me. But stop it with the pneumatic tube.

Thirdly, I have to address the most frustrating issue that has come about in the last six months. It has to do with your constant use of the phrase “six of one, half a dozen of another.” I understand that you are trying to say that six of one is like half a dozen of another and that this thing and that thing are really two of the same, but it is both confusing and an out-dated reference that nobody gets. When you say it (the next time you do) look around at people’s expressions on their faces! They don’t get it! And they won’t say a thing to your face but when I’m out and about without you they continue to make jokes about it. You make me look silly because no one gets your 1920’s catch-phrases.

Finally, and I know you’re going to say this, but I don’t think that by airing our dirty laundry on this blog that it makes you look silly. People do not know who you are, they have no idea whereabouts in Los Angeles you work (nobody even knows where the Pacific Design Center is), they have no idea who you are or even the weblog you currently have up on typepad or that it all centers around your work in the film industry, and even if they did find out who you were, they would never contact you. So, you can’t throw this back in my face.

Ok.

I hope this constructive communication opens up the lines of communication so our communication can further grow and develop.

From, ME.

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