trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Men,

Like many women, I work a job in which customer service is integral. Specifically, I’m a barista at a coffee shop, but the details aren’t important for the purposes of this letter. I could work in a restaurant or in a grocery store or on an airplane, and everything I’m about to say would still be relevant, so take note:

Don’t tell me I look nice. Don’t tell me I have a great smile. I’m not at work looking for compliments. I’m not at work looking for your attention. I’m interacting with you because you’re a customer. I don’t need you to tell me I have a nice smile. I’ve seen pictures of myself. I know I have a nice smile. I’m smiling at you because you’re a customer. Smiling at you is my job. I don’t need you to say anything about it. I just need you to tell me what you want to buy from me. That’s also my job.

If I were guy, you wouldn’t say anything about it. If I were a guy, it wouldn’t even occur to you to say anything about it. But if I were a guy, I would still be smiling at you, because smiling at you and pretending you’re not creepy as hell would still be my job.

On a related note, I’m not your “darling” or your “sweetheart”. I’m the person handing you your overpriced latte. No, it isn’t cute or endearing or nice when you call me that. It’s patronizing. If I were a guy, you’d call me “sir” or nothing. I’m not asking you to call me “ma’am”. I’m fine with nothing. I’m not fine with terms of endearment you haven’t earned the right to call me.

I don’t need you to validate me with unnecessary compliments on my personal appearance and inappropriate pet names just because you’re a man and I’m a woman. I actually know exactly where I fall on the scale of attractiveness. I know which of my features are working for me and which aren’t. I don’t want your stamp of approval, and I certainly don’t need it. I didn’t have braces for eighteen months for you. I had braces because crooked teeth bother me. I didn’t do my hair this morning for you. I did my hair this morning because I felt like it. I don’t know you. I don’t care what you think.

So please, stop with the creepy compliments to female cashiers. Stop with the “darling”s and the “sweetheart”s to your waitresses. We don’t want it. We’re just doing our jobs. We’re just hoping that if we grin and bear your patronizing creeper act, you’ll remember to tip. Stop being arrogant enough to assume it’s because you’re validating us. You’re not. Not even a little.

Thank you. Have a nice day. Now take your patronizing, arrogant, creepy bullshit, and shove it up your ass. Who knows, those smiles you apparently like so much might even become genuine once you do.
trinsy: (hug)
When I was little, you sang me lullabies.  You took me shopping, and you didn't care about the price.  You took me out for milkshakes, and you bought me stuffed animals just because.  When I was sick, you got me juice and ginger ale.  You taught me to play cards without making me overly competitive.  You drove me to school and choir and the dentist.  You bought me pizza or chinese if I expressed a craving.  You listened to me and laughed with me and loved me unconditionally.  You are the only person in my life who never let me down, and even though I learned early not to trust people, I always trusted you and you always proved yourself worthy.

It's Mother's Day, and even though you aren't technically my mother, you are so deserving of that title.

I've never been big on writing cards, and I know you don't want them anymore anyway.  But if you did, this is what I would write in yours.

Happy Mother's Day, Grandma.  I will always be grateful for the seventeen years we had together, and I will never stop missing you.

All my love always,
trinsy: (are you my mummy?)
Dear Pixar,

First of all, well done with Toy Story 3. It was fantastic, especially for a threequel, so well done. It was totally unnecessary to have it in 3D (seriously, what is up with the obsession with 3D? It's such a turn-off! You have to wear those stupid glasses that are made to fit everyone and as a result fit absolutely no one, which is super distracting, and your eyes hurt afterward. What about this is cool?), but still.

That said, remember when you used to make kids' movies that dealt with subject matter that was actually appropriate for and relatable to, you know, kids? Good times.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Look, Professor of my Fantasy Lit class,

If I think your questions about Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - a book that is not only my favorite in the Harry Potter series, but also one of my Top 5 Favorite Books of All Time, and is probably my second most reread book, outstripped only by The Horse and His Boy (which I once read over a dozen times in a year) - if I think your questions about it are too hard, THEY ARE TOO HARD!

- Collect as much information as you can on hippogriffs and write a summary of their representation in classic literature.
- What is the importance of names of people in Harry Potter. What do they signify? Make a list of names and meanings.
- Make a list of all the magical objects/creature(s) found and what they do.

To clarify: this is a lower division, general education course. These questions are in lieu of the daily quizzes this kind of course usually has to ensure students are reading. A quiz would not require outside research! Even fifteen-year-old me would be pissed off by these questions, and fifteen-year-old me lived and breathed Harry Potter.

Thank god for mugglenet and the lexicon (and thank god fifteen-year-old me was a Harry Potter nerd so that I know about mugglenet and the lexicon), that's all I'm saying.
trinsy: (I can see that)
Dear Muse,

While I appreciate you showing up again after your six month sabbatical, it actually would have been nice if you'd waited until after midterms to come back.

I really don't have time to focus on character development and sibling dynamics, much as I wish I did. I have seven papers and two midterms to write, plzkthnxbye. Yes, I kind of want to kill myself, but you are not helping!

Love and frustration,
trinsy: (don't be so daft)
Dear Professors,

If I can say it in fifteen words, why do you insist I use fifty? You're only making me sound longwinded and giving yourself more to read.

Please consider this.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Guys Across the Alley,

Die in a fire.

(Obviously please don't actually die in a fire, because I will feel terrible, but maybe use your guitars and bongo drums as kindling next time you have a beach bonfire or something? Also, dudes, you cannot sing! Please spare the world and give up now.

Also, any time after 11PM is NOT an appropriate time to play guitar and wailsing with your patio door/windows open, regardless of whether or not you possess any actual talent. Yes, I will continue to call Public Safety on you until you stop, and no, I don't care if you think I'm a bitch.)
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear "James",

I am not going to go to graduate school for literature. In fact, I am probably not going to go to graduate school at all. I am therefore not interested in simulating it in the "microcosm" of your undergraduate course.

Also, I still don't want to call you by your first name. It's weird.

Please look into this,


In other news, I successfully solidified my standing as a total nerd in my Medieval class today by accidentally showing that yes, I get passionate about gender issues, but if you really want to get me excited, tie our reading back to Harry Potter. Apparently this will cause me to grin at you for five minutes like a very, very creepy moron. Er, sorry about that, classmates.

Also, I'm pretty sure my Women Writers professor is like, "WTF, what happened to you?" at me, because last semester I was super quiet in her class and when I did speak I was a total moron (I was, I never had a clue what was going on, I winged [wung?] that whole class), and now I'm all passionate and all, "Mr. Rochester is a jerk, and Jane needs to either go for it or get over it, and I don't feel bad for people with that much self-loathing, so there." I mean, I think she likes it, but I'm pretty sure she also thinks I must have changed dramatically over the summer. Which I didn't, really. I just actually care about her class now, that's all.
trinsy: (I can see that)
 Dear People Who Sit Next To Me And Whisper Random Comments,

75% of the time, I have absolutely no idea what you just said to me.  I'm only nodding and laughing because 95% of the time, that's the response you're looking for.

Please either enunciate and speak louder, or shut up.  Your choice.
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Guys Across the Alley,

I think it's awesome that you all like to hang out together. I think it's awesome that you're musically inclined. I think it's awesome that you all play instruments.

However, just because I think it's awesome, it doesn't mean I want to listen to you play and sing the same five songs over and over again for five and a half fucking hours! Especially when your apartment band includes a tambourine and cowbell but no people who can, you know, actually sing on key for any significant amount of time. I mean, I actually like Matt Nathanson's 'Come On Get Higher' and Jason Mraz's 'I'm Yours' and Lifehouse's 'You and Me' and Maroon 5's 'This Love' and The Killers' 'Mr. Brightside' ... when they're the ones singing. You guys singing those songs ... not so much.

Also, five and a half straight hours. That's like, sixty-six minutes per song. Seriously, this is what you guys do for fun?

Please look into getting a television and Wii like normal college students.

Your very annoyed and unfortunately not deaf neighbor
trinsy: (physics)
Dear Professors,

I have already completed fifteen years of school.  Three of those were at university.

Pretty sure I don't need you to read me the syllabus.

Thanks for wasting the class time at least,
trinsy: (grin)

I am currently freezing.

That makes you my favorite place in the entire world right now.

*sigh* It's good to be home.
trinsy: (are you my mummy?)
Dear World,

Why does unpacking suck so much?
trinsy: (bovvered)
 Dear IT department of my university,

Thanks for finally fixing the internet in my apartment, you know, over three months after I moved out.  That's very helpful of you.

Still amazed by your incompetence,
trinsy: (bovvered)
Dear Step-Dad,

PUT ON A DAMN SHIRT! There has seriously been way too much 'DO NOT WANT!' going on in this house over the past 36 hours, and I for one am thoroughly sick of it.


P.S. Maybe if we set the thermostat lower, we all could wear some more clothes. Just saying.
trinsy: (I came back)
Dear Dad,

I’m turning twenty in two weeks, and it’s putting a lot of things in perspective for me. I know we haven’t spoken in five-and-a-half years, and I know you never had a clue who I was even when we were talking, so I thought I’d tell you a little about myself and who I’ve become over the last twenty years.

I’m graduating from college next May. I’m actually genuinely terrified, which is strange. I’m not really one of those people who was meant to sit in a classroom –– my imagination is too active –– but it’s been the only constant in my life for the past fifteen years, so to have that all end is a pretty terrifying prospect, especially since it’ll mean I’ll pretty “officially” be an adult. This is who the almost adult me is:

I like to think you’d be happy to know I am and always have been a genuinely good kid. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I don’t have sex, I don’t cut, and I don’t have an eating disorder. I pay for all my own groceries at school, and I’ve never gotten below a B in any of my classes. Mom thinks I spend too much time on my computer, but if that’s the worst thing she can say about me, I think I’m doing pretty good.

I’ve never had a boyfriend, and my whole life my friends have always been prettier than I am. I’ve gotten to a point in my life where I can accept that, though. I’m never going to be gorgeous, but I’m not ugly either, and it’s not like it’s my ambition to be a model or something, so I’m not beating myself up about it. Beauty isn’t just physical anyway, which is one of those dumb things everyone says, but I actually get it now. As for being single, it’s awesome more often than it sucks. Sometimes I get jealous of what my friends have with their boyfriends, but it’s not very often. I have amazing friends, so it’s not like I’m lonely, and my sense of self isn’t wrapped up in another person. I’m happy I’m an independent individual.

Mom told me once that she hoped one day I’d talk to you again, just briefly, to say thank you. I blew her off then, because I couldn’t imagine what I would want to thank you for, but I do want to thank you for something now. I know it wasn’t your intention and you might not like being thanked for it, but you did it and I am genuinely grateful you did, so here goes:

Thank you for never being there for me. Thank you for never protecting me. Thank you for never supporting me. Thank you for never teaching me to do anything. Thank you for never telling me I was beautiful. Thank you for never telling me I was smart. Thank you for never telling me you were proud of me. Thank you for leaving me to fend for myself. Thank you for never being a part of my life. Thank you for not being a real dad.

You are not the reason I am as strong as I am. I am the reason I am as strong as I am. They told me I’d be messed up without a father figure, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. I had no father figure and I am awesome. I am a strong, independent woman with a healthy self-image and no self-destructive vices, and you didn’t contribute in a positive way to any of that. No man did. That is all because of me and the amazing women in my life. So thank you. You are the reason I will never believe the lies that I need a man in my life. You are the reason I know I am worth more than what any man thinks of me.

I used to think I missed out by not having you in my life, but I know better now. I didn’t miss out. You did. I am an amazing person, but you’ll never know that and you’ll never be able to claim credit for it. I’ve had and still have an incredible life, and the only person who lost by your absence in it was you.

You are not the reason I’m an amazing person, but you are the reason I know the truth of why I am, and you are the reason no one will ever convince me to believe the lies.

Thanks from,
The daughter you couldn’t be bothered to know
trinsy: (bovvered)
 Dear Female Population of My University,

To clarify, as you seem confused, a "beach cover-up" over your bikini does not equal clothing.



That said, I just passed a girl wearing jeans and a hoodie.  It is ninety degrees out, woman!  Do you want to die of heatstroke?
trinsy: (grin)
 Dear Self,

Congratulations on making it through the week and accomplishing everything you needed to accomplish.

Now you may read your new Torchwood book.

You should listen to me more often,
Your better judgment
trinsy: (don't be so daft)
 Dear Self,

Between now and Friday afternoon you must complete the following:

1 Test
1 Group project
1 Analysis
1 Set of quizzes to be graded
1 Gift exchange
2 Papers
4-5 Quizzes


Your better judgment



P.P.P.S. Well maybe just one chapter ...

June 2013

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