Oh my God, when I see those stupid Proactiv commercials I want to punch someone. Why, why, why does Proactiv insist on having celebrities such as Jennifer Love Hewitt, Avril Lavigne and Katy Perry act as spokespeople? I mean, when you have to ZOOM in to show two little teensy, tiny zits that are barely visible, it just doesn’t come off as genuine. Start using the REAL people, you know, the ones who look like they have volcanoes protruding from their faces.

One hundred percent of the Proactiv commercials should be REAL people, the people for who acne is a REAL issue. I’m sorry Avril, but your two tiny zits aren’t impressive at all. And what the fuck, Katy Perry, could you be any more robotic when discussing your ONE pimple that you had that one time back in 2009????

I consider myself pretty lucky. I never had acne as a teenager. I would average one, giant zit per month – usually on my chin. The size of my monthly zit was the equivalent of about 50,000 of Julianne Hough’s two zits. So if I’m this annoyed, and I wasn’t ever an acne sufferer, what do the REAL acne sufferers think? I mean, seeing Julianne Hough’s adorable, little, clear, pretty face doesn’t make ANYONE feel better, much less someone who is afraid to leave their house because his/her face is one giant pus ball. And let’s be real: Julianne Hough could be covered in boils and she’d still be too cute for words… and no amount of Proactiv will ever make you as cute OR as perky as that chick.

No fair, Proactiv. No fair.

Dear C.:

When I took a chance and walked into your salon back in 2004, you pleasantly surprised me. You were young and hip and you gave me great input regarding which hair colors and cuts would work best with my hair. The chick who cut my hair prior to that did the exact opposite. She even convinced me at one time that a perm would “look great” on me. She also said that if she used tight, small, poodle-like rods for the aforementioned perm, they would loosen up into those beautiful spiral curls that were so popular back then. Instead? I looked like a poodle for about a year. In fact, I looked so much like a poodle that I began to crave rawhide.

After that traumatic experience, I tested out different salons, each one causing the Love-Hate relationship I had with my hair to solely become a Hate relationship. Those were some dark years.

Then, I found you, C.! You were awesome. You had just moved here from Brazil and even though I couldn’t understand anything you said because your accent was so thick, and despite the fact that I couldn’t use any slang or expressions when I spoke to you because I would then have to explain them in-depth – I adored you.

We made my hair funky colors. We tried out various different cuts over the years. And each time, each color, each cut – I was so happy. Then, about a year and a half ago, things changed.

You went from being “the girl that cuts my hair” to buying the entire salon and becoming “the girl that owns the salon, makes a lot of money and makes rash decisions to have plastic surgery every few weeks.” Don’t get me wrong, C. – I’m not against plastic surgery. If it makes you feel better about yourself, then go for it. My only question is: WHY MUST YOU ALWAYS BE OUT RECOVERING FROM PLASTIC SURGERY EVERY TIME I NEED MY EYEBROWS AND LIP WAXED???

Listen, I am one-half Portuguese. Do you understand what that means? IT MEANS ONCE YOU START WAXING, YOU CAN’T STOP OR YOU WILL BE MISTAKEN FOR A DUDE. Of all people, I thought that YOU would understand. You’re from Brazil. We talked about this at great length. And still, when it’s time for me to come in for an eyebrow and lip wax, I get the same response: “Ohhhh, C. is out recovering from ____ [insert Lipo, Breast reduction, Tummy Tuck, nose job here] ______.” Last night, J. mistook me for John Waters. And honestly, it’s only a few short days before I look like this.

So please stop with all of the plastic surgery, C. Or at the very least, schedule it around my waxing needs.

Love,
Sherri

There are probably 50 million reasons why I’m glad I’m not a teenager. Some of those reasons are Hot Topic, acronyms like FML and cyber-bullying. Oh wait. Hold up. I’m totally being cyber-bullied. By a girl [I just realized it's a dude!] who is old enough to have a kid, although her his poor spelling would indicate that she he is about 10 years old.

It all began a few days ago. Like most narcissistic bloggers, I have a stats tracker. I can see who is reading my blog, which sites referred them, IP addresses and what age they lost their virginity. [Just kidding, but I bet that will be a real thing in 2012.] So I saw two hits coming to my blog from Yelp.com. More specifically, from this user’s profile. So, I moseyed [I'm old, that's how I walk. I mosey. Although, walking wasn't involved. Link-clicking was. Sorry.] over to view the profile and SHAZZAM, mystery solved. This person had [she he has since changed it] my domain posted as his website.

Now, here’s the problem with a domain titled blogsareforlosers.com: People try to be funny, cute, or retarded and use it as a way of saying, “I would never have a blog because blogs are for losers who need to voice their opinions and thoughts, but I have no problem with writing stupid reviews of dentists and Mexican restaurants so people can know my opinions and thoughts!”

So I sent him a genuine, curious message via Yelp, asking why he had my blog listed as his own or if he was just being facetious. Truth be told, I was perfectly fine with it since he brought me two extra readers. In response, I received a super nasty, ridiculous comment.  Well, at least I think it was. I got an F in RetardSpeak so I’m not 100% sure. It seemed nasty and ridiculous though. But whatevs, I wasn’t going to go all Charlie Sheen and pull a knife out on anyone. It’s the fucking Internet. Who cares? So I let it go with a little laugh, a shake of my head [SMH for all of you teens reading!] and that was that.

Until this morning. I woke up to this comment awaiting moderation:

Author : diggity dog (IP: 173.58.94.224 , pool-173-58-94-224.lsanca.fios.verizon.net)
E-mail : diggitydog@yelp.com
URL :
Whois : http://ws.arin.net/cgi-bin/whois.pl?queryinput=173.58.94.224
Comment:
your a bitch and I hope you die slowly from your disease…

Instead of feeling upset, or even saddened by such a remarkably vicious comment, all I could focus on was that this person wrote “your” instead of “you’re” and THAT my friends, called for action. And listen, we all make mistakes. I’m notorious for sending emails and typing shit without spellchecking. BUT, if you’re [YOU ARE] going to take the time to come to my bloggity blog and send me a really awful comment, at least get YOUR shit right.

And so I did what any rational grown woman would do. I responded to this person that I would much rather die a slow painful death from any illness than have to live my entire life as an illiterate fuck.

I mean, I’m not the smartest person in the world. And sure, I don’t visit the fancy places that my cyber-bully Diggity D does – like, Taco Town and Hot Wok. But even I know you never visit a blog and leave a super rude comment with grammatical errors and improper ellipses usage. That’s “big people” talk. I’d better dumb this down so I’ll say this in terms that my Yelp-using cyber-bully might understand: DIGGITY D, YOU GET NO STARS.

Dear ASPCA,

You must have read the letter I wrote to “Charities” in general. I see that you have determined to be just like those other charities and try to guilt me into a donation by sending me a “free gift” of address labels.

Well, guess what ASPCA?
You have them all addressed to my DOG.

You know, that four-legged creature who had diarrhea all over the backseat of my car* yesterday? If she can’t control her shit, do you really expect her to be able to write letters?

Sure, she receives credit card applications every so often. I just rip those up and throw them away. And yeah, the four times she received free tampon samples in the mail, I laughed and then put them to use. But this is just retarded. Unless my Bulldogger has somehow found the means to find a dogger penpal, we won’t have much use for these. This means that your effort to guilt me into donating has been thwarted.**

Love,
Winnie G.’s Mom

* The Great Diarrhea On The Backseat Of The Car Incident of 2010 seriously requires its own post. And once I’m no longer disgusted to the point of dry-heaving, I’ll write one.

** Oh, who am I kidding? You know you’ll get a donation anyway. In fact, I’ll make you a deal. Take that fucking tearjerker Sarah McLachlan commerical off of the air and I’ll send you an even bigger donation. I know they’re supposed to make people aware and draw donations but I just instantly start crying and change the channel.

Sometimes I don’t know why I do the things that I do. And this is one of those times. You see, through the magic that is Facebook, I’ve decided to meet up tomorrow night with a bunch of people I haven’t seen in eons and pretend that we were friends in High School over a few drinks.

Why? WHY? Why would I do this?

Out of all of the people attending this “event” there are two people I want to see. And out of those two people, there’s only one of which I have any interest in holding a conversation with. And the only reason I even want to do that is because we were BFFs long before “BFF” was even an acronym. [speaking of which, why isn't it BFsF? You're not "Best Friend Forevers"]. And so, RRC and I have been feverishly emailing, messaging and texting each other in preparation of this event. The following is our correspondence from today:

RRC: Oh, did you see that KR is going to be there? At least we were kinda friends with her.

Me: We weren’t friends with her. Isn’t she the girl that you spit on?

RRC: OH SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THAT! What if she wants to fight me?

Me: I doubt she’ll want to fight you. But maybe you should let her spit on you so there won’t be any awkwardness.

RRC: Well, LMB is going too and I think she really didn’t get along with KR so maybe KR will forget about any beef she has with me…?

Me: LMB and KR are friends now. They made up over Facebook.

RRC: Fuck. Well, maybe I should make up with KR today on FB so it won’t be so bad tomorrow. I don’t want to be spit on or beat up or anything.

Me: Why are we doing this? Why are we going to meet these people? Remind me.

RRC: I dunno. Maybe we shouldn’t go?

Me: This seriously feels like high school all over again. All I need now is a giant pimple on my chin and to get my period without realizing it until it’s too late and my jeans are soaked in blood.

RRC: At least it will give us all something to talk about.