Tag Archives: humor

Dear Pumpkin Spice Latte

Dear Pumpkin Spice Latte,

Most everyone I know loves you with an insane passion.  They associate you with the coming autumn months, as well as the lovely weather and pre-holiday fun that those months bring. (What we all did to tell the passing of the seasons before Easter candy, Christmas cookies, popsicles and you, I will never know.)  I have been determined to like you as others have.  I even spent an entire trip to Michigan two years ago trying to track down the perfect Pumpkin Spice Latte. (Panera’s is the best, at least in my experience.)

But, if I am truly honest with myself and you, I have to admit, I don’t actually like you.

At all.

I like pumpkin pie spice, mainly because the spices that make it up are similar to those used to make wassail.  Wassail, as you may not know (in fact, being that you are an inanimate food product, you most definitely do not know), is a mulled cider drink that tastes of apples and cloves and fluffy scarves and angel wings and butterflies and all things warm and good and comforting.

Despite using the same spices, you are a far cry from wassail. You, Pumpkin Pie Spice Latte, taste like warm, sugary milk that someone accidentally knocked a container of spices into.  Most of the time, I can’t even taste the coffee that is allegedly one of your ingredients because you are so weighed down with tooth-achingly sweet syrups and milk.

You’re gross, PSL.

There. I said it.

You don’t taste like falling leaves or crisp, cool air, or firewood burning and crackling.  You taste like a creation made on Bring Your Toddler to Work, Oh, and Also Let Them Create a Signature Drink That We Can Market For Millions Day.

As someone who has considered herself a bit of an autumn enthusiast since childhood, this was a disappointing discovery.  However, I am glad that I can finally admit just how much I dislike you.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

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Dear Concourse A

Dear Concourse A in the El Paso International Airport,

My plane takes off from Concourse B, but I have a three-hour layover here and there are only a handful of eateries and shops in the immediate area.  After an hour and a half of looking longingly at overpriced M&Ms bags and puzzling over a variety of nick-nacks, such as the following:

exploring Concourse A seemed like a really good idea.  After all, this is an international airport.  Surely Concourse A, which houses American Airlines, would be far more awesome than the store selling the Chihuahua in a taco and $7 bags of gummy worms.

You were shrouded in mystery, Concourse A, the kind of mystery that lifts the hopes of weary and bored travelers.  What could you possibly contain? Eateries of better quality than Pizza Hut and Quiznos? A sandwich that costs less than $11?  Peanut Butter M&Ms? I didn’t know, but I wanted to find out.

So, I walked the short distance across the airport to find you, hoping that you would at least host an interesting book store or people worth watching.

Imagine my disappointment when I reached the end of the hall, having passed only a lame sports bar and a newsstand along the way, and found gates and seats and no excitement.  You failed, Concourse A.  Your contents are as vapid and empty as anything Carson Daly is involved in.  There is nothing here that is remotely entertaining.

I mean, at least the shop in Concourse B had a Chihuahua wearing lipstick and false eyelashes.

Why can’t you be more like your little brother, Concourse A?

Sincerely,

Chelsea


Dear People Who Want to Know How I Lose Weight

Dear People Who Want to Know How I Lose Weight,

I have a secret: the weight you’ve noticed me losing over and over again for the past year is, in fact, the same five pounds.

Yes, that’s right.  I simply lose and gain the same five pounds repeatedly, and yet, every time you notice that I’ve lost weight, you think I’m getting skinnier. Today, when one of you asked me what my secret was, I played it off like I didn’t know what you were talking about, but I did know.  I waffled on disclosing my secret to losing and gaining the same five pounds over and over again because it is incredibly complex and took years for me to master.  However, I have decided that I will reveal the time-tested methods I have developed that will ensure that you, too, can have people tell you that you look skinnier every four months or so without actually dipping below whatever weight plateau you are currently on.

First, there a few simple rules to my plan:

1. Drink a smoothie containing at least three different varieties of vegetation every morning for breakfast.

2. Never weigh yourself, except for maybe when you’re at the gym (and you’ll see how often that happens later).

3. Make sure that your wardrobe contains no less than two but no more than six different sizes of clothing.  You’ll see why this is important later.

4. Make baking your hobby so that, no matter what part of the plan you’re on, you’ll always have a steady supply of cookies and cupcakes.

5. Buy only organic fruits and vegetables.  Eat a lot of those, but don’t let your consumption of them get in the way of the rest of the plan.

All right, now that those rules are out of the way, here is my life plan:

Month One

For at least a week, eat chips, with or without dip, for four to seven meals.  For your other meals, eat large quantities of the same vegetable, i.e. an entire head of cauliflower, an entire bunch of kale or a large sweet potato.  Supplement any missing calories with baby carrots, peanut butter on apple slices, molten lava cakes eaten at midnight and/or spoonfuls of ice cream.  Watch a movie that contains ballet and briefly dream about a life as a dancer.  Decide that potatoes and bread are evil for some reason and stop eating them.  Give up the dancer dream when your realize how much more work and how much less cookie eating you would have to do.

Pizza is your friend.

Month Two

Eat so much meat in a three day period that you feel queasy at the mere thought of eating beef ever again.  Become increasingly fixated on a particular spice or condiment (my latest obsession was sriracha) and find ways to eat it with everything.  Mix it into mayonnaise and fabricate reasons to dip vegetables in the concoction, sprinkle it on your baked sweet potatoes for some reason, douse chicken in it.  Whatever gets that goodness in you.

Stand and walk throughout your six-foot work space at your job.

Pizza is your friend.

Month Three

Start to feel like you’re on the upper end of your weight fluctuation.  Wear slightly baggier clothing because it’s more comfortable or because you like the look this month.  Whatever the reason, just be sure your clothing is baggier than usual.

Join the gym/pick up some sort of activity.  Go to the gym multiple times a week for two to three weeks.  Forget you have membership.  Lose membership card.  Lose track of whether the gym is still charging you for your membership.

In the meantime, eat lots of vegetables and fruit throughout the day, with random comfort foods dispersed throughout the week.  A sample day might contain your obligatory breakfast smoothie, a salad and a heaping serving of baked or sauteed veggies for lunch and chicken nuggets and fries for dinner.  Potatoes and bread are now akin to manna from Heaven.  Realize that your previous condiment fixation was kind of weird.  Go back to using normal spices.

Pizza is your friend.

Month Four

As a result of stress or busyness or just life happenings, change your eating patterns drastically.  It doesn’t really matter if you’re eating less or more; just shake things up for a week or so in one direction and then switch to the other direction the next week! This confuses your metabolism and tells your body that it should probably take over from here because you don’t know what you’re doing!

Take vitamins for the first time in three months.

Pizza is still your friend, but doesn’t play as large of a part in your life as it once did.  Start craving soup inexplicably instead, but only eat it from Panera, in a bread bowl.

Instead of all of that drab standing and walking at work, begin getting around by shoving yourself across the room on your wheelie office chair.

Start wearing clothing that is less baggy.  Have someone at work comment on weight loss that you’re pretty sure is imaginary.  With their friendly comment in mind, go home and eat cookies or ice cream for dinner.

And that’s it! If you repeat this entire process, you can literally gain and lose the same five pounds repeatedly (which is, arguably, a part of normal weight fluctuation), but reap the constant rewards of people from work who you barely know commenting on your appearance!  It’s grand! Plus, you get to eat cookies for dinner at least three times a year!  What is there to lose?

I hope this letter has been enlightening to you about how I manage to do what I do.

I’m going to go eat cookies for dinner now.

Sincerely,

Chelsea


Dear People Who Review Products on Websites

Dear People Who Review Products on Websites,

I’m not sure what part of the phrase “Product Review” is confusing, but clearly there is some clarification that is needed.

When you write a product review, you are supposed to review the product.  When you write a recipe review, you are supposed to review the recipe.  You are not supposed to write a review of the packaging used, the shipping time, or of your own culinary incompetence.  In the past, I felt this was self-evident, but apparently it is not.

For instance, if you purchase a book on Amazon.com and wish to write a review, you are supposed read the book, consider the contents, decide if you liked or disliked it, and write about your like or dislike of the book.  You are not supposed to write a review praising or denouncing the time the item took to ship.  You are not supposed to write a review praising or denouncing the cover art of the book.  You are not supposed to write a review praising or denouncing the author’s other works or a review that simply states how excited you are to read the book before you are actually able to read it.  All of these things serve to give the book in question an inaccurate star rating, which is incredibly unhelpful to the general public.

In the same vein, if you visit AllRecipes.com and wish to review a recipe, you should make the recipe, taste it and decide if you liked or disliked the meal produced from the recipe.  You should not write a review of the recipe if you changed half of the ingredients.  You should not write a review if your own incompetence or ignorance as a cook caused severe problems with the recipe.  You should not write a review if you once tasted a recipe similar that your Great Aunt Miffy made ten years ago and you hated it, like, really, really hated it and no one wanted to eat it and it ruined Christmas.  Once again, these types of reviews only serve to muddy the waters of quality reviews.

If you have genuinely experienced the book, product or recipe that you wish to write about, by all means, review it.  The public has a right to know about the products they are considering devoting money, time and energy to.  However, if you are reviewing anything other than the book, product or recipe at hand, save your comments for a personal blog, your diary or conversation among friends, where they can be properly dissected and not affect the star/spoon/whatever rating that is supposed to indicate the quality of the product.

Thank you for your time.  Please reform your habits.

Sincerely,

Chelsea


Dear Eczema

Dear Eczema,

You started out as a wee little patch of skin on my eyelid.  This was a long time ago, back before I can remember.  You then disappeared for a good long while before migrating to the back of my neck.  In the fifteen years since the back-of-the-neck patch of  you, you have moved to my throat and have settled in quite nicely.  You’ve now held your residence there for literal years, and while you’ve been a consistent tenant, I must ask you to leave.

I understand that we’ve fallen into a bit of a comfortable pattern and that you feel you are more than welcome to stay.  I also understand that the newest patches of you were probably just sent to my left shoulder this afternoon because it felt left out of all of the itchy fun that the rest of my skin was getting to participate in.  This was very considerate of you.  However, I need you to go and quickly.

I’m in agony, Eczema.  Our lifelong relationship has been full of ups and downs, shouts of, “My eczema is clearing up!” to cries of, “I don’t know why my skin is freaking out, but this is terrible!”  I don’t know what you want or how to make you go away, but I promise to do whatever it is.

Seriously.

Please leave.

Forever.

Sincerely,

Chelsea


Dear Kris Kringle

Dear Kris Kringle on the 1970 Christmas Classic Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town,

You, sir, are a complete jerk.

I know, I know: you have probably never heard that before.  I’ll give you a moment to absorb that phrase before I continue.

Moment’s up.

You really are awful.  Yes, at the beginning of the TV special, you offer to take toys over the mountain to the children of Sombertown, but that is where your selfless generosity ends.

When you learn that Mayor Burgermeister Meisterburger has made the possession of toys illegal and punishable by imprisonment of entire households, you don’t take measures to ensure that Burgermeister will be thrown out of power, nor do you help the people of Sombertown.  Instead, you sneak toys to them, toys which will have entire families thrown in prison.

I don’t really understand your motive in all of this, honestly.  You don’t make the toys; your decrepit adoptive family does that.  You were never a toy maker to the king, so you won’t get any feeling that justice has been served from your endeavors.  Your forcing illegal objects on poor, monochromatic children is baffling.

Also, the way in which you talk to people is rude.  I understand that you were raised by elves who all share the same voice actor, and you may find the depth and variety in your own voice a bit shocking, but you need to tone down the obnoxious jerkitude when speaking to children…and Jessica…and when monologuing.

Really, you should only speak that way to Burgermeister.  He deserves it.

I wish you the best and I hope you can overcome your own pompous, obnoxious ego long enough to not get small children thrown in prison.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

P.S. Not jerky, but creepy: When you insist that children you don’t know at all sit on your lap and pay the “price” of a kiss on the cheek in exchange for a toy, it’s just a little weird.  Stop that.


Dear Vending Machine in the Math and Science Building

Dear Vending Machine in the Math and Science Building,

You fiend.

After months of hard, back-breaking, tongue-searing work, I have finally instilled a Pavlovian response in myself that causes me to crave sour candy every time I begin my trek from the Modern Languages building to the Math and Science building.  This has been difficult, as I have had to eat Sour Patch Kids or Sour Jacks in nearly every Statistics class period in order to achieve this outcome.  Had I not been so dedicated to this cause, I certainly wouldn’t have had a true Pavlovian response (minus the drooling).  My dedication has truly been inspiring to my peers and sour candy eaters everywhere.

But you, you conniving, horrible villain…You have ruined me.  Basically, as soon as I had developed this response, you stopped carrying sour candy.  Gone are your plastic-encased, citric-acid-coated wonders.  Gone are my dreams of  a headshot in the Pavlovian Hall of Fame.  My hopes and cravings for delicious, chewy Sour Patch Kids (and delicious, chewy success) are disappointed day after day.  My Pavlovian response weakens every time you fail to have the proper candy, keeping me from reaching my goals.

I just hope you realize the magnitude of what you have done.  I will not be speaking with you until you rectify the situation.

Sincerely,

Chelsea

P.S. No, Swedish Fish are not an acceptable replacement.