To My Old Boss

I was so proud of myself for landing a job helping you out with excess press coverage. With all of my credentials, schooling and internship experience, I was more than prepared for the tasks that awaited me. Or so I thought. Turns out you thought you hired a robot and not a girl who just got her Bachelors in journalism. You micromanaged the hell out of me and never even gave me a chair to sit on. I said the couch was a fine location for the first day (we worked out of your apartment in the city), but I didn't know I was agreeing to day after day of total discomfort. Who buys couches with extremely low backs anymore? Come on. Each day one of two things would happen: You would ask me to do something completely out of my realm of knowledge (and yours too) and then get gripey on my ass with an overbearing parental tone of utter disappointment; You would ask me to do something that I completed like a baller, and then you would slyly disregard my efforts only to later come up with the exact same ideas disguised as your own. After two weeks of evident disapproval on your end and dozens of drinks on mine (and a day where I showed up for work and you asked "what are you doing here?") you "fired" me. You sell feminine independence and girl power, but you never actually gave me the satisfaction of being fired. Like a bad date you just blew me off until I realized I wasn't going to ever get another paycheck from you. The employee before me lasted two hours, and I lasted two weeks. Doesn't that deserve a termination notice? A kick to the curb? An egotistical blow? If you see this, PLEASE FIRE ME. Also, don't put so much cheese in your pasta.

To the Lady Who Lost Her Sweater

You called me at work the other day after you had come and gone. You asked if I had seen your brown sweater, and after I made a quick sweep of the store and told you that we did not in fact have your sweater, you tried to convince me that I had your sweater. I'm not a fuckin sweater hoarder lady. If I say I don't have your sweater, I don't have it. You told me that you had been in the store only two hours before like that somehow magically meant I had your sweater. You then hung up (finally) and called back 5 minutes later only to tell me that our store's other location doesn't have your sweater either. Uh, cool? I still don't have your sweater. Oh, OH, THAT SWEATER?? OH! Now that you call back and tell me ONCE AGAIN that you lost your sweater, I all of the sudden have it. If you see this, stop being a jackass.

To the Guy Who Challenged Me to Ms.PacMan at a Bar

I was at a bar in Park Slope with my friend. We were getting drankz, and I was dominating the local Ms.PacMan game. We were getting low on quarters and you and your friend, after assumedly noticing my screams on the verge of defeat, approached us and challenged me to a game. Being two older, financially secure and slightly married men, you put a round of beers at stake. Seeing my jaw drop- me being a younger, financially fledgling single gal- the stakes were lowered to loser buys winner a beer. Here's the deal, we should have decided how to determine who wins because I clearly beat yo ass in the number of levels, but your points were double mine. Why should I be punished for wanting to get out of each level as QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE? Whoever instantaneously decided the winner was determined by points can kiss my ass because I didn't want to buy you a beer!? And then you told everyone that you tried to buy ME one, NOT TRUE dude. Hope you enjoyed your fuggin tasty beer on the house...the house of poors. If you see this, move out of Bayridge, no one lives there, and stop preying on the pockets of girls who happen to be BALLER at Ms. PacMan.

You Were Being Inappropriate on a Plane

I was flying home and your shennanigans caused the captain to come over the speaker system and say something that involved the phrases, "not on my plane", "I will have federal authorities arrest you," and "turn it off!" I don't know what you looked like, but if I had to guess, I'd say a big fat creep who looks at porn on airplanes that have ballin wifi technology. If you see this, what the hell were you doing?? Did you get arrested? If so, what does prison food taste like?