This is me being too lazy to send emails to secretspinelesswhine every time I want to rant/complain/bitch (which is pretty often). This is just a tool to preserve what sanity I have left. Read it, judge it, judge me. I really don't care.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Dear Orchestra Director,

You do not know this, but I stayed up all last night so I would not miss this Youth Program concert and the 8:30 AM rehearsal today. I made sure I did not fall asleep last night so that I would not give myself a chance to oversleep. Sleeping is a slippery slope, you see...and, due to certain factors which you already know about, I can sleep for days on end. Do you know how hard it is for me to not sleep? Or, rather, be up this early? It is not my cup of tea. And, speaking of tea, i specifically paid a visit to Professor Java's at the break of dawn this morning to buy a large cup of their strongest, most caffeinated tea (I have finally stopped trying to overcome my general dislike for anything coffee/espresso). And eat some wholesome oatmeal. With whole milk. And freshly cut cantaloupe. So I will remain alive until the end of the day and hopefully not pass out during the tutoring session I have until 5:30 PM today.

You probably think you make a lot more sacrifices than I do, what with worrying about my future and all that jazz you spoke to me about. Well, I just have to say that I did not pull a nuit blanche (my second one this week, I might add) for your Youth Program (which the third-grade audience will love no matter what the orchestra fucks up on stage) and inject myself with an obscene amount of caffeine just so that I can arrive (only a few minutes late, but that was due to morning traffic) and have you tell me I can't play at all in the program because I missed yesterday's rehearsal. Yesterday's rehearsal was 'dress rehearsal,' apparently. Even though the orch is rehearsing right now, as I type, before the Program.

'I can't do this,' you tell me.
'Ok, so I'll---'
'Yes, I'd like you to leave please.' you cut me off.

That was it. The conversation was pretty much over in less than 2 minutes. I drive home and blog.

So you will not know that I left in a hurry not because of your orders, but because I was trying to keep from crying...and failing. You will not know that I bawled the entire way home. You will not know that I tried my best, under the circumstances, and am trying my best. You probably do not think that I try my best anyway. Yes, I understand that if I miss a dress rehearsal in the professional world, I am fired on the spot and probably will be beaten to death with the baton. However, this is high school. And the orchestra consists of people who have been playing their instruments since fourth grade and still cannot play in tune above first position. I am not saying I am superior. I am simply stating that, perhaps, you take this too seriously. I think it would shatter your heart to know that I am actually one of the only people that really care about you, and the orchestra as a whole. That is why, all those years, Jenny never told you what she thought, and that is why you never got along until she left the orchestra and it was no longer in her life. Or maybe you do know that none of the kids that are there (are able to be there) everyday do not really care. They want a way to raise their GPA because you give nothing below the 90s. You are just fooling yourself and pretending that it's the good-ol' days in a professional orchestra. Well, the truth is, you cannot create such a setting with a bunch of high school kids more concerned with texting during your class than the music they are failing to play. And the few of us that really do care about music? Well, I am starting to think that maybe I shouldn't be one of those people anymore.

Anyways, please just know that I am trying my best. Please stop worrying about my future and trying to teach me 'a lesson.' If you are going to worry, please direct it at the present-me. This is me trying, now. And you are missing it.

Yours truly,

Dear Fat Sluts,

Please just admit that you are overweight and stop wearing clothing that are a few sizes too small for you. We all see your fat ass spilling out of those too-tight jeans, and no matter what you think, we see every single one of your rolls of fat, especially that monstrous muffin top that protrudes out underneath your too-short xs-tee. I personally have nothing against fat people, but please, do yourself and the rest of the world a favor and be fat GRACEFULLY. Nobody wants to have to look at those bulging thighs and pray that your seams do not split and show *even more* of your abundant flesh. Nobody wants to be forced to look at every bulge and sag of your inadequate body in all its fatty glory.

You are pretty much the reason that smalls and zeros do not fit me anymore, since stores have begun to generally enlarge their sizes to tailor to your tastes and avoid the too-tight phenomenon. Shirts in sizes that used to be form-fitting on me now sag to my knees and are so wide that they make me look shapeless. Please, stop trying to indulge and fool yourself that you are a small and sacrificing the integrity of the sizing charts. You are making it more and more difficult for us people who can actually put down the fork and go to the gym once in a while. Next time, grab a medium/large and some pants that would hide your butt crack for once.

Yours truly,

Dear Dramatic Scenester,

Please, we all love to hear your problems, especially when they are not real and you fabricate a huge deal out of nothing because drama is the only thing that spices up your non-existent life. We all love the way you complain, bitch, whine about every little thing, blow said little thing to enormously tragic proportions, and repeat the entire process multiple times to whomever will lend a doomed ear. Oh, and I forgot to thank you for delighting us with your moaning about me finding out your terrible 'secret' after you basically told the entire universe yourself. You know, for once I thought that you might have had a *real* problem on your hands, like some of us actually do...and you know what? I was going to actually draw upon my vast reserve of information on this topic to *help* you, putting aside your bitchiness throughout our history and be the bigger person. But, as per usual, there was nothing to worry about in the first place.

I heard that you took health? Must be that you were one of those kids too 'cool' to pay attention to the teacher. But you know, it pays off to know that if there is no semen entered into the vagina, there is no chance of pregnancy. And even if your oh-so-esteemed boyfriend did not finish all up in your snatch he actually needs to pre-cum for anything to even possibly make you pregnant, you idiot. And pre-cum only contains semen left over from, say, masturbation. In other words, semen that is probably dead anyway. Or maybe you knew all of that. And, knowing that he pre-cummed *after* he pulled out, you still called/texted every person on your contact list to freak out over the issue with and squeeze some sympathy out of. You did not know where to get the morning-after pill, you say? Well, if you are too stupid to know that basically every drugstore has some on hand, you could have just Googled it. Oh, and your friend didn't know where to get the plan-B either, so she had to tell more people? That is how you justify the entire world knowing this? Well, then how do your 'friends' all know where to get weed but somehow have no idea how to obtain an effing morning-after pill?

You create the epitome of fake, you know. Its quite admirable the way you continuously pretend that you are the damsel in distress who just want to lead her tragic life in secret and in peace while you make up the tragedy in the first place and then spread the word the best you can. Yes, oh wondrous damsel in distress, we see through your little facade. You feel left out in this depressing world laden with *real* issues, you attention whore; you want people to look at you and not the others who suffer from problems that in no way compare to know, domestic violence, depression, alcoholism, all that jazz. Or, perhaps, you want to feel part of that unfortunate group because there is a slim chance that you might be a pregnant teenager. Slim chance like getting pregnant while using a condom. Yay! Now you can be all Juno and whatnot.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that your boyfriend is the only one who mildly even wants anything to do with you, because the rest of us JUST DON'T CARE and are TIRED of all the drama you pretend is happening in your oh so typical suburban life. And this said boyfriend is well, we all know, too stupid to know the difference.

You are probably so self-centered that you think I am blogging about you. No, this isn't written specifically for your eyes, you wannabe hipster. And stop lurking my blogs. You aren't even subscribed, geez.

Yours truly,