we are the goon squad and we're coming to town

Dear Grown Men and Women Who Wear Denim Shirts (or Any Article of Clothing, Really) Adorned with Embroidered "Looney Tunes" Characters:

Um, could you not?

Thank you,
Curly McDimple

looking back

Happy New Year... almost! I'm going to close out 2006 the same way I did last year with a month-by-month recap of posts.

Suffer.

JANUARY

Re: The Muppets
Here began what turned out to be a 13-part series. It chronicles first love and my process of coming out. Independently, those can both be brutal experiences. When you combine the two, it's completely overwhelming. I almost didn't survive it but hot damn, I made it through. Go me.

I haven't really gone back and read this all the way through after posting it. Occasionally, I'll catch a glimpse of paragraph or passage and honestly, I don't even remember writing it. It just sort of flowed out in a way that I can't explain.

I was scared to poke around in old memories and really hesitant to bare my soul like that to the world but something inside just told me to go for it. And I'm so glad I did. I feel like I finally put that part of my life to rest.

An added bonus to sharing my story was the response I got from people all over the world -- gay, straight, confused, male, female, transgendered, Christian, Jewish, Muslim and everyone in between. Some were too shy to comment and instead, sent highly personal emails to me sharing bits of their own lives and thanking me for sharing mine. It struck a chord I never could have anticipated and inspired a few people to write their own stories. I can't even properly articulate how much that means to me.

Thanks again to everyone who read the story and cheered me on as I labored through the tough parts.

Okay, enough mush. Next!

FEBRUARY

Cottonmouth Au Jus
Here is yet another of the many gems uttered by my beloved niece.

An Open Letter to the Building Facilities Person(s) in Charge of Ordering Paper Goods for the Bathroom at My Job
The custodial staff at my office building feels the business end of a complaint letter composed by yours truly.

Judge Not
Who knew Peter Cetera could set off such a firestorm of controversy?! (Psst! Read the comments on that post.)

MARCH

Erin-Go-A-Cup Bragh
A retelling of the acquisition of my first bra and an unfortunate nickname.

Courtney & Tina: A Theory
Were Kurt's widow and Jennifer Keaton one and the same?

APRIL

The Terrible Twos
My blog became toddler this past year. In case you're wondering, the whole potty training thing is still a work in progress. Don't rush me!

A Not-So-Good Friday
Another tale of Catholic hi jinx.

MAY

An Announcement
Fans of off-key oversinging everywhere rejoiced at the birth of American Midol, the smart-assed brainchild of Mejack, The Lovely Jess and myself. The new season starts soon so stay tuned for more shameless plugs!

In the Criminal Justice System
A footnote (pun totally intended) to the tale of my tortured tootsies.

On Why the Newspaper Guy Must Think I'm a Complete Asshole
This one got a Gawker link, bitches!

JUNE

What's Grosser Than Gross?
Ham & Cheese on Wry goes interactive! Here are the results of a poll on the most disgusting television commercials currently on the air. Caution: the term "nail bed" is used.

Duh, Baryshnikov
Mejack and I discuss plot holes in the Soviet-era film White Nights. You know, typical conversation...

My Way Gay Tale of Even Gayer Gayness
Here's the piece I read at my first-ever public appearance as Curly McDimple. Not only did my story garner a few laughs, I also didn't shit my pants. Success!

JULY

They Feel the Need, The Need for Speed[os]
Photos of Brighton Beach's finest on parade.

He Will 'Rize' Again
The Lovely Jess and I make suggestions to improve the Catholic Mass. Oddly enough, the Church didn't heed our advice. Fools.

Oh man, I'm going to have to say a good Act of Contrition for that.

AUGUST

Rule Of Thumb... And Pinky, Middle, Index & Ring
The results of a manicure given by my six-year-old niece.

Are You There God? It's Me, Curly
An appeal to a higher authority for my menstrual cycle to fuck off.

SEPTEMBER

Rod 'The Bod' and God Side-by-Side on the R Train
Screw The Naked Cowboy. This woman has the hottest act in all of NYC.

My 'Porchret'
The niece takes up portrait drawing as a hobby. Behold the birth of an artiste!

OCTOBER

Toreador, Don't Spit on the Floor
I got all fancy and went to my first opera with The Hot Russian. And it totally didn't suck and stuff.

On Altruism and Inadvertent Anti-Piracy Measures
Another Gawker link! They just love to showcase when I make an ass out of myself.

NOVEMBER

Our Version of Rate-a-Record
The Lovely Jess and I go toe-to-toe on the appeal of Faith No More and the Dave Matthews Band. Caution: The term "mushy peas" is mentioned.

DECEMBER

Acting? Thank You!
Save your pennies for some Broadway tickets and set your TiVos to record the next Tony Awards. 2006 is the year I became an actor!

They Do Know... They Just Don't Care
Band Aid was a noble effort. Really it was but dear God, those lyrics! Here I take Sir Bob down a notch... or twelve.

they do know... they just don't care

In addition to brilliant writing, The Sheila Variations also boasts a band of regular commenters who excel at providing hilarious commentary. The tangents that often ensue are delightful. In fact, I was inspired to compose the following letter thanks to a wonderfully off-topic comment thread that began with talk of a deflated Santa and ended with a lyrical analysis of Band Aid's earnest yet erroneous "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

Please read the post and comments to see how that transpired. In the meantime, here's the byproduct of my hijacking. Enjoy.

Dear Messrs. Geldof and Ure:

Thank you for your noble famine relief efforts. On behalf of the African people, I would like to convey our appreciation for your selfless dedication and desire to "feed the world." Although, truthfully, as non-Christians we could do without the accompanying relentless proselytizing about Christmas but still, we are nevertheless indebted to your tireless humanitarian pursuits.

However, I do believe it is incumbent upon me to clear up some misconceptions you seem to hold towards our beautiful continent. Firstly, I dare say the agricultural industry would beg to differ with your statement that "nothing ever grows" in Africa. In fact, my garden alone sprouts enough weeds to choke an elephant.

Secondly, the good people of Ethiopia, Kenya, and Somalia who were recently displaced by flooding would most certainly disagree with the notion that "no rain or rivers flow." That, kind sirs, is sloppy and irresponsible reporting on your part.

And, lastly, I think you do our bell makers a great disservice by describing the melodic and resonant tones of their craftsmanship as "clanging chimes of doom." While not one of our bread-and-butter industries, our bells and percussion instruments in general are no better nor worse than your own continent's. Frankly, we feel this is yet another case of xenophobia rearing its ugly -- and obviously tone-deaf -- head.

Again, we are grateful for the money you helped raise and we are most thankful for the prayers you solicited on our behalf. But, to reiterate, we really don't need reminders that "it's Christmastime again" as we don't really celebrate it. At this point, it has become nothing more than intolerant badgering and we are weighing our legal options.

But, in deference to your season of good will as well as our desire to not contribute to your alarming paranoia about living in "a world of dread and fear," we would like to avoid litigation if possible. Perhaps you can pen a follow-up single to retract some of the falsehoods about our climate and topography as well as your cruel and slanderous claims against African bells, of all things. I'm certain the members of Bananarama, Ultravox and Spandau Ballet, in particular, would jump at the chance to help right these wrongs.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

Nala Simba Mufasa
President, African Board of Tourism

Watch the video here.

are you there god? it's me, curly

M E M O R A N D U M

To: Mother Nature

CC: God (The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit), Allah, Buddha, Shiva, George Burns

From: Curly McDimple

Date: 08.25.2006

Re: Optional Menstruation
_____________________________________________________________

As a female who is opting not to have children through vaginal birth or caesarian section, I would like to formally lodge a complaint against the presence of my menstrual cycle. It is a frivolous and needless monthly exercise and I urge you to reconsider its inclusion in my anatomy. Oh, and cellulite too as it's not doing me any favors either.

As I explained to "my friend" in an earlier bit of correspondence, I do think that under the right circumstances, menses is a noble process in that it paves the way for babies to reside in the uterus. However, I do not believe it should be a "factory-installed" feature.

Consider this: If I were buying a stove, I can opt not to purchase a model with the self-cleaning mechanism. If the likes of Best Buy can offer me freedom of choice, certainly you can too, Mother Nature.

As it stands, your current policy makes the assumption that all women want to reproduce. Now, I don't mean to lecture you, Mother Nature, but you know what happens when you assume, don't you? In this particular case, it creates a legion of cramped, bloated and irritable (childless) females hell-bent on making you pay for their misery, in addition to the whole making asses out of you and me business.

While males historically have been responsible for destroying some of your more well-received handiwork, i.e. the fouling of pristine Alaskan coastline in the Exxon-Valdez oil spill, I dare say the man behind this tragic error was drinking on the job in part to eradicate the pain from the blow to the head he received the night before from his rolling pin-toting, PMS-stricken spouse. That's just conjecture on my part but still, I think it's worthy of your consideration.

While I have the floor, here are some other bodily systems/functions I think you should consider making optional and/or on-demand:

:: Body hair
:: Ear wax
:: Phlegm
:: Flatulence
:: Diarrhea

Since humans spend millions in pharmacies each year on products to control/reduce/rid ourselves of these often-embarrassing extras, perhaps you should consider this a unanimous rejection of them. I, for one, do not rely on armpit hair for an additional layer of protection against the cold so why bother regrowing it after I shave it off for the umpteenth time? Save yourself the trouble (and me the expense of Gillette Venus Divine blades. They're pricey!)

I realize this request is a tall order but I propose speeding up the process of natural selection as a work-around until the Menstrual On/Off Switch™ is developed, tested and introduced into the species. Another interim possibility is a massive uterus donation drive. I'll gladly sign mine over to a barren woman. Seriously, take my healthy ovaries, please.

Thank you for your time.

an open letter to the building facilities person(s) in charge of ordering paper goods for the bathroom at my job

Dear Building Facilities Person(s) in Charge of Ordering Paper Goods for the Bathroom at My Job:

While I don't expect my tush to be treated to the gentle and forgiving cotton of Quilted Northern here at work, I was just a bit chagrined to discover a new brand of parchment-like T.P. occupying the stalls today.

If I wanted to roll out some phyllo dough or draft a new version of the Declaration of Independence, this would be suitable paper stock. It is less than ideal, however, for wiping one's backside.

Lest you think I'm being a prima-donna, I assure you I have the greater good in mind when lodging this complaint. I dare say that scratchy toilet paper cannot be good for long-term company morale. It's simple math, really: A sore ass = a disgruntled employee.

And think of the potential absenteeism! And the cost of all the hemorrhoid doughnuts that will no doubt appear on numerous employee expense reports!

Please take this under advisement when placing your next order. If not, kindly plant a big wet one on my chapped, irritated ass. No, really, please kiss it as it might help soothe the burn.

Sincerely,

Curly McDimple

oh mandy

Dear Mandy Patinkin,

Does the pharmaceutical industry own your ass or something? The reason I ask is because every time I turn on my telly, there you are, informing me how one little pill will lower my cholesterol or ease the side effects of chemo.

It's honest work I guess but I'm just baffled is all. I mean, you're the man who tore Evita a new one! You hammed your way through Chicago Hope with aplomb! Um, I would cite your work in Yentyl as an example but I bailed on that movie after five minutes so I can't speak authoritatively on the subject.

BUT! You had the best line in one of my most favorite movies ever -- The Princess Bride. Say it with me now... "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" And now you're reduced to saying things like "Side effects of Crestor may include diarrhea, nausea and vomiting...." That's sad.

Also, nothing on your recent resume seems to be suitable for people with liver problems, pregnant women or those who are nursing. While I don't have your official demographics handy, it seems to me that you're severely alienating your base.

So in summary, Mandy, kindly cease and desist with the pushing of pills with gruesome side effects. While your howling yelp may add some punch to even the most pedestrian Andrew Lloyd Webber tune, it doesn't quite wash in the commercial realm. I can't really explain it but something about the pitch and timbre of your voice makes diarrhea and edema seem even more vile than they already are.

Why don't you give old Steve Sondheim a call? I'm sure he can put your intense schmacting to better use.

Thank you in advance,

Curly McDimple

one split pea and hold the harassment, please

Dear Dude Who Slings My Soup:
When you first started working at my soup shop of choice, I have to say that I found your enthusiasm and attentiveness most pleasant. The way you'd chat me up while discussing my soup selection was extremely charming.

I thought you were a real sweet kid and it was a nice change of pace from the usual grunting sour pusses I often encounter in the food industry.

Over time, I sensed that maybe you had a wee crush on me. You'd light up when I walked in and elbow past your coworkers to wait on me. In fact, as I recall, your glowing testimonial of the Spinach and Asparagus Bisque was laced with flirtatious patter and a bit of mild innuendo. But it was rather innocent and you were right -- the soup was delish -- so no harm, no foul.

But lately your behavior has veered in the direction of... well, FUCKING CREEPY. For example, the impassioned "Mmm! Mmm! MMMMMM!" you showered me with the other day was rather unsettling. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if you didn't have a cold, steely look in your eyes and weren't sucking on your teeth as you said it.

Frankly, it sent shivers down my spine and I couldn't help but envision a ball gag, duct tape and a chalk outline surrounding my battered, lifeless body.

I just wanted some soup, dude.

Now, a different person might have marched up to your manager and complained but well... I like my soup without spit in it. If you were to be fired or disciplined, I would imagine my photo hanging in the kitchen like a wanted poster inspiring all your ladle-bearing brethren to hock loogies and worse into entire batches of the Broccoli-Cheddar-Mashed Potato I love so much.

I can't have that. And gross bodily fluids and city-wide outbreaks of food poisoning aside, I just don't like telling on people.

So just give me my soup, dude. And don't forget the crackers. However, you can forget about getting with this cracker, if you will.

Best,
Curly McDimple

unsubscribe

Dear Christian Debt Relief:
Hi guys! How's it hanging? Quick question for you... I've noticed an inordinate amount of emails from you lately promising to hook me up with guaranteed loans and overnight cash advances. While the offer is tempting, I'd be remiss if I didn't ask about the fine print.

Namely, I have to wonder if these offers, made in the name of Christian charity, will be rescinded once you discover that not only do I lick beaver, I also enjoy it. Very much so, in fact. Oh and I plan to do it again! Sooner than later, with any luck!

So, like, if I were to use one of your loans to buy me, say... a strap-on at Toys in Babeland or a subscription to On Our Backs magazine, you guys would be cool with that? Or does my penchant for poking around in another girl's No-No Place disqualify me? If not... where do I sign?!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go troll the Christian Singles Dating site. They're also showing a lot of interest in my business lately. If their policy is as liberal as yours, well, I think I may have just hit paydirt! You see, I have it all worked out -- I'll take the dough you provide to book a trip to P-town where I'll use my newly acquired stash o' toys from Babeland to pleasure one (or several) of the hot, repressed ladies I meet on that site. Don't you just love synchronicity?

God bless you,
Curly McDimple

the tesh experiment

One day Jess and I got to talking about John Tesh and how we're both simultaneously intrigued and horrified by his fame. During our conversation, memories of the Tesh Cam came flooding back and I excitedly informed Jess of this virtual playground. A former coworker had tipped me off to it several years ago and many a day was spent in her office staring at The Tesh as he composed love songs to God and his beloved Connie Selleca. You know, for years I watched Entertainment Tonight completely oblivious to the fact that he was a holy roller.

But that's neither here nor there. So, I scrounged around Google and found us the Tesh Cam. Jess and I were hoping to see that freakishly-tall towhead tickling the ivories in real time. We were SO ready to be all snarky and judgmental. However, much to our dismay, the camera was fixed on an empty mailroom. Where was The Tesh? How come we couldn't see him writing his patented brand of bland instrumental cheese?

We checked back several times that week and the same disappointing visual awaited. While annoyed, there was a shared concern about the disturbing lack of activity in his mailroom's in-box. Where was the love from his rabid fan base? I didn't admit it outright but I felt kinda bad for The Tesh.

So for the next couple of weeks Jess and I took turns checking in and reporting on the disheartening lack of camera movement. And then we grew bored and found something else to obsess over. The Tesh was soon forgotten.

Fast forward several months later to me looking for a site I had bookmarked. During my search, the words "John Tesh Website - Tesh Cam" leapt out of my Favorites menu just screaming to be clicked. So I obliged... and saw that fucking mailroom again. What the hell?!? What kind of user experience is this?

No longer content to just sit and stew over the static camera placement, I took action this time! Okay, so I assumed a new identity and used a disposable Gmail account created just special for the occassion but it was action nonetheless. Behold!

The Tesh Experiment (Day 1)

--------------------

From: onthewingsoflove@gmail.com
To: jtesh@teshmedia.com
Date: Thu, 20 Jan 2005 15:23:23 -0500
Subject: Tesh Cam

DEAR MR. TESH,

FIRST OF ALL, I HAVE TO START BY SAYING THAT I'M A BIG FAN. YOU'RE MUSIC IS AMONG THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MUSIC I'VE EVER HEARD IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. YOU HAVE SUCH A GIFT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SECONDLY, I WISH ONLY THE BEST FOR YOU AND YOUR BEAUTIFUL WIFE, CONNIE. ALTHOUGH, I DO HAVE TO ADMIT THAT I'M JEALOUS. SHE'S A VERY LUCK WOMAN! LOL!!! :-)

I DO HAVE ONE ITTY BITTY COMPLAINT THOUGH. I'M GO TO YOUR SITE LIKE EVERY DAY AND EVERY TIME I LOOK AT TESH CAM (MY FAVORITE PART OF YOUR WEBPAGE BY THE WAY), IT'S ALWAYS SHOWING THE MAIL ROOM!! IF I WANTED TO LOOK AT BUBBLE WRAP AND TAPE GUNS, I WOULD JUST TURN MY HEAD (I'M A SHIPPING/RECEIVING CLERK IN A MAIL ROOM). I WANT TO SEE YOU COMPOSING YOUR BEAUTIFUL MUSIC BECAUSE IT INSPIRES ME. I ONCE LISTENED TO YOUR A DEEPER FAITH II CD IN THE CAR ON MY WAY TO MY BOWLING LEAGUE AND I GOT 3 STRIKES AND A SPARE IN THE FIRST FRAME!! I HOPE YOU UPDATE THIS SOON! AND PLEASE, KEEP MAKING YOUR WONDERFUL MUSIC! GOD BLESS AND KEEP YOU.

YOUR FRIEND,
HARRIET MCNAMARA @<----

--------------------

The Tesh Experiment (Day 22)

Findings:
Still no response from subject

Theories:
Subject is either much busier or much smarter than anticipated

Optional Next Steps:
1. If still no response by Day 30, send follow-up email expressing disappointment in the lack of acknowledgement. Subsequent mailings will reflect the following states (in this order): agitation; depression; despondency; resignation; and finally, violent rage.

2. Send collage via postal mail. Materials needed: poster board; X-acto knife, spray adhesive; glitter; sequins; mini pom-poms; puffy paint; Bedazzler or similar ornamental beading device.

Updates will be posted as/if they become available.

Further Reading: The New-Age Cheese Diet
The Tesh Experiment: An Update

a letter to my menstrual cycle

Dear Ms. Menses,

Do you mind if I call you Flo? I hope you don't find it too presumptuous but we have, after all, been together for about 18 years now so I don't think it's entirely inappropriate for us to be on a first-name basis. If you'd prefer to keep it formal, I admit that you have just cause.

I realize I may have made you feel unwelcome in the past what with the damning you to hell business and the research on hysterectomies I performed from time to time. That was rather rash and I apologize for any hurt feelings.

And please don't take it too personally that at the first sign of you, I always slipped into a week-long-Advil-fueled coma. I hope that this behavior didn't come off as standoffish or anti-social as it was not my intent.

I appreciate that when your colleagues pay their monthly visits, some women fall to their knees thanking a higher power. I myself have never had a pregnancy scare and well, since an exposed penis hasn't been in my vicinity in quite some time (save for the occasional bit of porn or Vincent Gallo film), it's safe to say that no baby will be occupying any womb of mine.

In other words, there's no upside for me.

With that said, I see no reason to continue your employment within my body. As you know, I'm gay and won't be having children so the very thorough monthly clean-out you perform is just a waste of your time and my energy.

I wouldn't mind keeping you on as part of a contingency plan but, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, you really don't make for very good company. The bloating, swelling, frequent urination, headaches, joint paint and fatigue are most unwelcome attributes. Furthermore, you're extremely messy and you constantly fiddle with my internal thermostat. Not cool, Flo.

Frankly, I'm not too keen on the crying and emotional upheaval you cause. It makes me look very undignified. But in your defense, I appreciate the accompanying bout of grumpiness you bring to the table. I tend to be a very laid-back, non-confrontational person three out of the four weeks in a month so that one week of crabbiness keeps friends, family and coworkers on their toes. We mustn't let people become too complacent, you see.

In summary, the work you do is very admirable despite your off-putting side effects. If circumstances were different, I would be forced to keep you on board. But we must face certain truths and well, there's just no valid reason for me to make my uterus hospitable for anyone or anything. I mean, I guess I could use the extra storage but, no, I'm standing firm in my decision.

Thank you for your dedication and valiant efforts, Flo. In your time with me, your attendance has been near perfect. And after a few erratic arrival dates, you really buckled down and improved your punctuality 100 percent. Naturally, I will enthusiastically vouch for your consistency and reliability should you require a reference.

I am confident your conscientious work ethic and plumbing skills will be put to good use in a more deserving host. Now kindly leave the premises.

Sincerely,

Curly McDimple

when people STOP being polite...

Dear MTV Casting Department,

While I'm always sad to say goodbye to the end of a good weekend, the cruel re-entry into the work week is cushioned ever so slightly by your network's airings of Road Rules and the Real World on Mondays and Tuesdays. I had a long day at work and a rain-drenched commute home tonight but I trudged through the puddles content in the knowledge that I would soon curl up on the couch with a Hefeweizen and the latest installment of Real World: Philadelphia.

And I'm not ashamed in the least. I adore this program. Actually, I'm not all that invested in the current season yet because it's only like the third episode but I'll be pigeon-holing the insecure chicks who seek validation through sex, the resident racist/homophobe, the male slut, etc. soon enough. But for now, I'll reserve judgment and commentary until about the fourth or fifth show.

During tonight's episode, I saw a commercial for Real World/Road Rules Challenge: Battle of the Sexes 2 and my heart actually fluttered. However, my euphoria was sadly short-lived. I was mid-clap when I saw it... the visages of Coral and The Miz. And then like a bad dream, Eric Nies and Mark-whose-other-claim-to-fame-was-the-occasional-painful-appearance-on-the-ill-fated-
Donnie & Marie-talk-show were there too. You guys obviously didn't get my earlier memo so I'll break it down for you... KEEP THESE ASSWIPES AT HOME! Seriously, at this point, I'm embarrassed for them.

Don't they have anything better to do? Why don't they step aside and make way for the likes of Dominic and Aaron from the Los Angeles cast? Oh wait that's right, Dom and Aaron won't participate because they engage in age-appropriate activities and have actual careers. How silly of me!

But if you'll continue to indulge me for a sec while I play this game of pretend casting director, I wouldn't mind seeing that spunky Julie from the original New York outing make a return. I'm so sick of the current crop that I'd even settle for, God help me, bland Melissa with the rotten attitude and that skateboarding Marge Gunderson sound-alike both from the really crappy Miami season.

MTV powers-that-be, look what you're reducing me to! Have a heart! I beseech thee to take the following list of people I'd like to see LESS of under advisement:

:: Mike, Coral, Eric and Mark, natch

:: Buck-Toothed Melissa

:: Crazy Mormon Julie Who Also Has Buck Teeth

:: Not-the-Lesbian Beth from L.A.

:: The Lesbian Beth from L.A.

:: Holly with the Chronic Greasy Face

:: Slutty Veronica

:: Shane the Gay Dude Who Kisses Too Many Women for My Liking

:: Diarrhea-of-the-Mouth Theo

:: Tonya with the Kidney Stones and Fake Boobs

:: Chain-Smoking Foul-Mouthed Ever-Put-Upon Rally-Killer Katie

:: Trishelle the Train Wreck Whose Appeal I Really Don't Get and I'm a Dyke, for Fuck's Sake

I mean, I'll still watch and stuff but just know that if you continue casting in this fashion, I'll be forced to shake my fist and bark at the television... and then write angsty borderline-insane overly-hyphenated blog entries about it. And you'll be accountable.

Cordially... but not for long,
Curly McDimple

a letter to the guy in charge of inventory at my key food

Dear Kind Sir/Madam:

First of all, let me say, job well done on restocking the milk chocolate/vanilla Häagen-Daz ice cream bars. I was pleased to see that you replenished the freezer with options that don't have strawberry ice cream on the inside and weird crunchy shit on the outside. Plaudits for reading my mind. It's like you knew I mentally cursed you and the fruit of your loins on my last jaunt to the supermarket. Impressive.

I am pleased with the new arrival of oat bran pita and whole wheat flat bread. This ensures that I will forever remain Toufayan's bitch. Wakim can have his/her/its way with me too as his/her/its Hummus with Roasted Garlic, in particular, is positively delightful. I have to say that I find it a wee bit odd that such fabulous Middle Eastern fare comes from Bristol, PA, of all places. But who am I to question these things? That shit is good.

You also carry a dizzying array of croutons for which I'm grateful. The ever-present bags of 50-cent pasta in Aisle 3 have gotten me through many a lean financial spell. Your cookie and cereal offerings are quite stellar especially considering the pokey size of the establishment. Again, a round of applause for anticipating and catering to what my finicky palate enjoys.

But I do have a complaint. Based on the overflowing refrigerator case, clearly your patrons are not big fans of the Coors Brewing Company, Anheuser-Busch and that ilk. And judging by the ubiquitous weekly specials, I dare say we don't really care much for the Magic Hat or Sierra Nevada either. Furthermore, Corona sits untouched on the shelf like the homely girl at the school dance and Michelob is that girl's even dumpier friend.

My point is, we don't dig those beers. It would behoove you and your bottom line to heed our buying patterns going forward. Occasionally, some pathetic soul will come in and break up a six-pack by buying one -- and only one -- bottle or can of Budweiser or Coors Light. But don't mistake those rather random, desperate purchases for brand loyalty. [Ed note: I wish crabs upon people who ruin a perfectly good six pack of my beer by removing one!!! I don't want a blended family of beers! I hate to see an orphaned beer in a cardboard container not its own. It's tragic.]

Haven't you noticed that all of the Smutty Nose disappears rather quickly? Same goes for the various beverages created by the venerable Brooklyn Brewery. Guinness and Harp are always popular and none of us would turn our noses up at a Killian's or Stella either. I have noticed an increase in the amount of Pabst Blue Ribbon lately which I find troublesome. However, I do realize you have to cater to the needs of everyone... even if they are fucktard hipsters.

My primary concern is your haphazard ordering of Hoegaarden. [pause for orgasm] Some days it's there and others, not a trace. This leads me to believe that I'm not the only one in the neighborhood who enjoys a good tug on this fine Belgian beer. The paltry five 6-packs you order are clearly not satisfying the demand. Sometimes you supply us with the inferior Leffe which I'll drink out of desperation but it's not my first choice. If you think limited Häagen-Daz raises my ire, just you wait and see when I go without my beer for a few days.

Now I'm not threatening you or anything but let's just say that it's in everyone's best interest if you kindly up the Hoegaarden numbers when talking to your supplier. While you have him or her on the phone, you might want to rethink the amount of malt liquor on that order form. If I have to move one more six-pack of Smirnoff Ice to get to my beer, I'm going to go off. Seriously, dude, exercise some restraint. But other than that, good show!

Warmest regards,
Curly McDimple

a love letter

Dear Christina Ricci,

Congratulations! You're my new crush. This is a high honor as I'm as picky as the day is long. What brought this on, you ask? Well, I watched you in Monster today and even though your character was an accessory to murder, I found myself getting that wee tingle any time you were on screen. As soon as the film ended, I performed the ultimate "I have a crush" ritual -- I looked you up on IMDB.com. Given the lesbian slant of this film and your Sapphic turn in The Laramie Project not to mention your outspoken abortion-rights activism, I thought you were a shoo-in for the Sisterhood.

I thought wrong. I hungrily read each of the bullet points in your various online biographies and my heart broke a tiny bit when I read, "Used to live with Matthew Frauman." But hey, I had several beards, er, I mean, boyfriends in my past so I thought there was still a chance. And then I read a quote attributed to you where you pretty much stated that you wanted to jump Josh Hartnett's bones. Again, I've made bold statements like that in the past to throw people off. However, hope started to wane but I sallied forth. Then I thumbed through an online picture gallery and there you were holding hands with your boyfriend on the red carpet at the Golden Globes. OUCH. Reality hit and it was a cruel bitch slap. Adam Goldberg, Christina?!?! Aw, come on!! Talented actor, yes, but he's second only to Christopher Walken in terms of creepiness. I find him unsettling.

I'm so disappointed. The good news is you're in impressive company -- Michelle Pfeiffer, Carrie Ann Moss, Maria Bello and scores of other frustratingly hetero actresses have issued the same devastating blow to me throughout the years. I survived those traumas and I'll trudge through this one. But seriously, when you wake up and realize that your boyfriend is scary, you just give me a jingle, k?

Love always... or until I develop a new dead-end crush,
Curly McDimple

we want a pitcher, not a belly itcher

Dear Mike Mussina,

Kindly stop sucking.

Thank you,
Curly McDimple