Open Letters Love Amy

Because the Internet is easier than buying stamps and I will just lose your zip code anyway.

Month: March, 2012

An Open Letter To Uncle Jerry

Dear Jerry,

This morning I went to King’s Road and continued reading Why We Broke Up, from where I left off last night. At one point, Min describes two girls at a part like this:

“Two girls had a stuffed greyhound, a hulking gray toy like a spoiling uncle would give…”

Somewhere in my mom’s garage I am certain there is still a shelf on the near life size stuffed Lassie dog sits, which I think you sent me for my first day of first grade, or maybe for a birthday, or maybe just because, because you have always been my spoiling uncle.

When, in fourth or fifth grade, I found out that you would no longer be working at Cartoon Network a wave of panic washed over me. If you weren’t working there how would I get all that sweet Powerpuff Girl swag? It was almost too much for my nine-year-old self to handle.

Little did I know, the spoiling hadn’t yet even begun. It would be another 13 or so years before it really kicked in. First, you spoiled me (and my dear sweet Emily sister) by staying with us the week that Dad died. You drove me to the hospital at ungodly hours of the morning (for me at least, you just love that time of day) and then to Target for some still-in-shock-and-not-sure-how-to-handle-this nail polish purchases.

THEN, it continued. In August of 2010 you moved to Blackburn because of me and let me live with you and gave me a bed and a roof and salmon dinners and coffee and advice and lots of laughs. Then almost exactly a year ago, you let me come back and live in your living room and take over the house and sleep on your couch. You made a life in Los Angeles possible and encouraged me to write.

Obviously this could go on for thousands of more words, but I’ve said it all to you in person (or at least I hope I have; I’ve certainly thought it all). The book, Why We Broke Up, is only the most recent way you’ve spoiled me. I can’t wait for you to read the version I write, which I am almost certain was the reason you gave me the book in the first place. Both to encourage me to write and to encourage me to get all of that particular story down on paper, instead of babbling about it to you. Your patience on that front is a million different kinds of impressive.

Happy birthday.

Love, Amy

P.S. I am still in the process of training my iPhone to stop switching “Jerry” to “Kerry.” It’s a slow learner, but I refuse to give up.


An Open Letter To Tiny Kitten Out For A Walk

Dear Tiny Kitten Out For A Walk,

Someone already tried to find you using the internet, which brought you to my attention. I am very interested in you and your wellbeing. I hope that you are staying safe on the streets, looking both ways before you cross, not talking to strangers, etc. No tiny kitten should ever be in danger. That would just break my heart.

Maybe you are out on this walk with your owner and he or she has you on a little kitten leash. My mother does this with her cat, Samson, though he is the exact opposite of tiny. I won’t embarrass him by revealing his weight, but let’s just say he’s a big boy.

If you are out in the streets alone, I want you to know that you can always come to my door if you need a snack or a cuddle. I am very tiny kitten friendly. As an added bonus, there are tons of alley cats near my house so maybe you could make some friends!

It’s also possible that you are out on a mission. Walking with a purpose and specific goal. If that’s the case then I wish you well and hope you make it. Godspeed, tiny kitten. Enjoy your walk.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To Pete Holmes

Dear Pete Holmes,

Last weekend I had a dream about a really cool comedy show. It took place in the Cornelius 9 Cinema (9 for 9 screens), a small, independent movie theater in Cornelius, Oregon, the town over from Hillsboro, Oregon, where I grew up. It is (or was) also the meth capital of Oregon.

At this comedy show held in a movie theater, you and eight other comics (one being Michael Ian Black, which will become important later), were each assigned one of the theaters but instead of showing something on the screen you each just did a set that was written entirely about the positive and negative aspects of two different kinds of candy. I think you each got to pick the candy, but I’m not sure. All the candy was laid out on these giant tables in the lobby, where the popcorn should have been. Dream Amy thought to herself “oh, cool, Pete Holmes, I’ll go to his show.” So I got your candies and went and sat down in the theater. A couple minutes in, I realized that your candies were: gummies shaped like flip-flops (the base was yellow and the strap was a pinkish purple color) and ping-pong balls. Not candy ping-pong balls – just regular ones. (Side note: your show was titled “Thongs and Pong”) I was rightfully disappointed and snuck out, heading back to the lobby to give someone else a try.

Dream Amy struck up a conversation with the guy in charge of candy distribution, who said not to worry – he was a friend of the guy running this whole show and would hook me up with which ever candies I wanted. I asked who the guy was, and he pointed upwards. Sitting on top of one of the ceiling beams was Dennis Rodman. I didn’t have time to dwell on this, though, because during the entire conversation I had been snacking on M&M’s, picking out all the red ones. Turned out this was one of Michael Ian Black’s candies and I was ruining everything and he had me thrown out.

At some point I think the movie theater turned into The Grove because I definitely remember my cousin being there, serving food at what would be the equivalent of The Farm, which is where he works in real life.

I am not sure I want to know what any of this means. Especially the Dennis Rodman part. Also, as Awake Amy, I would like to assure you that I would never walk out on one of your shows because you are hilarious. I cannot apologize enough for Dream Amy’s rudeness.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To Ralph Lauren Crew Neck Sweatshirts

Dear Ralph Lauren Crew Neck Sweatshirts,

I bet you feel special. You feel like you are just absolutely fantastic because you cost $90 while the same sweatshirt goes for all of $4.99 at Target. Same, aside from the brand name and maybe a little thickness.

But let’s be really honest with each other, you and me. No one should spend over $5 on a crew neck, hoodless sweatshirt. Those things shouldn’t be worn out of the house. They are for lounging around in the house watching a full day of Mad Men to get ready for the season five premiere. They are what people wear when they are drinking a $75 bottle of wine their roommate may or may not have brought home from work. They are for eating an entire package of Oreos in two sittings (not a record by any means, but still requiring a Target wardrobe).

There are times that crew neck sweatshirts can be fun. For instance this one. Also, I will allow an L.L. Bean sweatshirt, despite the $40 price tag, both because I had kid slippers from there growing up (AND a very fashionable pink raincoat) and because they make a lot of cozy warm, no-nonsense outerwear for outdoorsy individuals. I was an environmental studies major, you know.

You’re the one I have a problem with. Ralph Lauren should not be spending his time making you. He should be spending his time making his dresses a little bit cuter.

The people who are suckered in to purchasing you should know: either get the Target version and spring for a red Sharpie with which to add the little polo guy and fool everyone, get the Jason Wu embellished crew neck to make a real fashion statement, or find a more flattering top to wear out in public.

Love, Amy

An Open Letter To This Girl In The Coffee Shop

Dear Girl,

Be quiet.

Dogs wearing human shoes is not worth this much “awww”-ing. Save it for two kittens cuddling.

If you want to have incredibly high volume reactions to television commercials, do it in the comfort of your own home.

Love, Amy