An Open Letter: I swear I don't normally keep feminine hygiene products under there...

Dear Mr Delivery Guy,

I know our encounter today was awkward for us both, but I just wanted to assure you that things like this don't normally happen.  I swear, I had no idea that was under my old washing machine.

But it's just something that happens when you have a cat.  You'll grab anything to use as a cat toy.  Old balls of wool, socks, screwed up balls of tinfoil, and yes, the odd tampon.  Please don't judge me too harshly!  Tampons are exactly the right size and weight for cats to bat around, an when you've got one nipping at your ankles while you're putting your makeup on you'll throw anything at them you can get your hands on in the hopes they'll go after it instead of you.

And okay, so maybe Gypsy the Feline Dictator did bat one or two ... or six of them under the old machine.  And maybe I did spill some water when I was unhooking it.  And maybe they did expand and get stuck under there so that rather than roll out, they came away with the machine only to be revealed when you picked it up to take it away.

But really, it wasn't what it looked like!

Okay, fuck it!  I know you probably ran off the minute you left my place and told everybody the story about the strange woman who had tampons under her washing machine.  I guess I can live with that.

But can I just request that if we should ever see each other again, we'll both pretend it never happened?

Good, I'm glad we agree.

Yours sincerely

Kellie.

An open letter: kittens are surprisingly uninterested in fashion trends, so you probably shouldn't pierce them...

Dear Pennsylvania animal groomer,

There's a reason that adorable kitten videos are the most watched things on Youtube.  Why?  Because most people out there like kittens.  We think they're cute, especially if they're batting around something shiny or chasing their own tails.  We especially like them if they're lying on their backs and freeze every time someone points at them, it seems.

So surely you must have realised there was going to be quite the uproar when people found out you took a bunch of kittens and pierced their ears, necks and tails with a 14 gauge needle, and then hung heavy barbell jewellery from them.  Did it even occur to you that some of us might find your vision of a "gothic kitten" a bit disgusting?

How the hell were you even able to do it?  I can barely stand to make Gypsy hold still long enough to brush snarls out of her fur because it always seems to hurt her so much!  Usually I just hack them out as best I can with a pair of scissors and get a groomer to do a proper job every few months.  How could you stand to hurt them like that?

Was it because you wanted a pet that reflected your sense of individuality and unique style?  Cause if it is then I've got to say I think you're overestimating just how much of a unique little snowflake you really are.  But if that was your motivation, why couldn't you have just dressed them in weird costumes and posted pictures of them on Instagram like the rest of us?

I don't claim to be a perfect pet owner.  God knows I let Gypsy eat things she shouldn't and I probably should do something about her borderline psychotic obsession with my knitting wool, but I'd never be able to do anything to hurt her.  I just can't understand how you could.

So on behalf of both myself and Gypsy the Feline Dictator, I'd like to wish you a very long, boring and humiliating six months of house arrest.

Yours sincerely,

Kellie & Gypsy

An open letter: a helmet and a pair of bike pants do NOT make you indestructible...

Dear bicyclist who was on the road this morning,

I'm trying very hard to remain calm here.  I don't want to lash out at you in anger, that's not going to get us anywhere, but you're really not making it easy for me.  I'm just having a hard time understanding why you insist on going out there on the road every day and wilfully putting your life (and my sanity) on the line!

I get it, I really do.  Being a cyclist is difficult.  You ride around on a small tin machine with only a fibre glass helmet and a terrifyingly tight pair of bike pants to protect you.  It must be awfully stressful, navigating roads filled with roaring metal contraptions that seem to want to run you down.

So I would have expected that you'd take more care with your personal safety, not less.  I know the traffic this morning was going slower than usual, but that doesn't give you leave to overtake me in a narrow lane, swerve in front of me, then look over your shoulder and start yelling at me!  I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but what you did was against the road rules, and if you insist on riding on the roads with the rest of us, then we're going to have to insist that you follow them!

Your action were irresponsible and dangerous, you could have gotten yourself hurt, and trying to blame me for them just because you were scared and feeling guilty isn't going to help anyone!  If you want to ride your bike on the road I won't object, but I refuse to support you if you're just going to use it as an excuse to pirouette around me, trying to get yourself turned into a little greasy spot on the bitumen!

I'm sorry, I don't mean to shout.  I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed.  I don't want to see you hurt, and god knows I don't want to be the one that hurts you.

So here's the deal ... I'll accept half of the responsibility for  your safety, if you'll accept the other half.  Come on, it's a fair deal.  Up until now I've been doing all the heavy lifting in this relationship, making sure I know where you are at all times while you duck and weave through traffic like a five year old on pixie sticks.  All I'm asking for is a little care for your own well being on your part ... and perhaps brushing up on the road rules wouldn't be a bad idea either.

Love Kellie.

P.S. Don't take my jibe about the tight bike pants to heart, you've got a rather nice rear so they're really quite fetching.

An open letter: for the love of god, enough with the break up songs already...

Dear female singer who shall remain nameless,

Hi honey, how are you?  Everything going fine?  Good.  I know you're probably wondering why you're getting a letter from me, after all I don't exactly fit into the 14-21 age range that makes up most of your demographic.  But I just heard the song you released a couple of months ago and, I have to say, I'm starting to get a bit worried.

I'm not going to name you, you know who you are *coughtaylorswiftcough* but I couldn't in good conscience let it go without saying something.  Sweetie, this has to stop!

I know you're probably still feeling a bit raw about the latest break up, and god knows we all know the dirty details thanks to that song, but I just wanted to make a suggestion.  How many ex's do you have now?  Nine?  Ten?  And you're what, twenty two?  And every time you break up with one of them, you write a song or two about what a bastard they are.

Now I'm not saying you shouldn't vent your spleen lyrically, I'm just suggesting that there might be a bit of a trend developing here.

Look, we've all been there.  A boy breaks up with you, you get angry, you bitch him out to your friends, your friends get you wasted off your face on daiquiris.  Maybe you drunk dial him.  But writing chart topping songs about all your dirty laundry?  Well, that's just drawing attention to the fact that yet again you've had some guy leave you in less than amicable circumstances.

I hate to say it sweetie, but I think it's time for some tough love.  There's only one common factor in all of this, you.  Perhaps you need to write fewer songs about how your ex boyfriends are all bastards and take a long, hard look at your choices.  Cause I have to say, I'm not sure how many more of those angry/depressed break up songs the public can take before they start to wonder if maybe you're the problem.

Just putting it out there.

Love Kellie

An open letter to my neighbours...

Dear douchebags,

I’ve always been one to follow the tenets of love thy neighbour and live and let live, but I’m seriously considering indulging in some vigilante justice right now.

I’ve always been pleased to live in this neighbourhood.  I picked it specifically for the number of trees it has despite the fact that it’s only five minutes from the city centre.  It’s a beautiful, green oasis and I love the fact that I can look out the window and see so much greenery around me.  I love the way the trees are so tall that they loom over my house, and they look so much like they’re straight out of an Enid Blyton story that a tribe of frick’n pixies might be living in their roots.  I’m always ecstatic if I’m home on the day they lose their leaves for the winter, so I can sit out on the back veranda for that magical hour as they swirl around in the air, dancing on the breeze. 

Those trees have been there for a very long time, much longer than either you or I have been alive.  They’re gorgeous things, so tall and gnarled and they provide the perfect privacy cover for both myself and the people who live over the back fence.  So, while I understand you were probably upset about them shading your vegetable patch or dropping leaves on your lawn or something equally inane, this in no way gave you the right to SNEAK INTO MY BACKYARD AND RING BARK SAID TREES JUST BECAUSE MY LANDLADY REFUSED TO HAVE THEM CUT DOWN!!!

I don’t know which of you is the perpetrator, although I have my suspicions.  There’s no way of working it out given that you snuck into the backyard in the middle of the night to do it like the cowards that you are, so I’m having to write this as an open letter. 

Yes, I know she received a couple of requests from various people, and I also know that after talking to both myself and the family who live in the other duplex she decided not to do it.  She offered to have the branches pruned that were affecting people, but whoever you are, Mr or Ms Midnight Tree Murderer, that obviously wasn’t enough for you.  You were so enraged by the fact that she didn’t do what you asked that you crept into my backyard, tied a wire around the trees, and essentially ended their lives.  They won’t die right away, but from this point on they’re living on borrowed time.  I’m sure your thought was that my landlady would find out, be outraged but unable to prove anything, and be forced to call someone out to have it removed.  But it will take a while for the trees to die, perhaps even up to a year.  Those trees are staying right where they are up until there’s no other option. 

You may have got what you wanted, but you’re going to have to wait for it!  We’re not giving in a second before we have to.

Yours angrily

Kellie.

P.S. To those neighbours who had nothing to do with the ring barking, please disregard the above.  I love you all from the bottom of my heart and will forever be grateful for your preferences for going to bed early rather than throwing rowdy parties that last until 3am ... although some of you could stand to work on your parking skills.

Dear me...

Being a teenager in the early 90’s sometimes makes me feel like I’m part of the in between generation. 

I was born towards the end of the Generation X period, which means I was too young to have been a teenager in the cool 70’s or 80’s with their disco and glam rock, but too old to be counted as part of the Generation Y internet brood.  My generation got early era hip hop and parachute pants … not really a fair and equitable division of generational traits.

I may be far beyond my teenage years now, but I still remember what it was like to be sixteen years old.  I remember how big everything seemed, how important.  I took everything so seriously back then. 

I was reading a book the other day, “Dear Me: A Letter To My Sixteen-Year-Old Self”.  It’s full of letters written by celebrities to themselves at sixteen, telling them things they wish they’d known back then.  Quite a clever concept.

Thinking about it, I decided these are the things I’d like to tell my sixteen year old self if I ever got the chance.

-  Moisturiser is your friend.  I know it feels funky and greasy, but trust me it’ll make your skin better in the long term.  Buy a cheap jar of it and enjoy how inexpensive it is … because soon enough you’ll be thinking of taking out a loan to afford the 150ml bottle of stuff you skin has evolved into needing.

-  Pay more attention in school, study more, but not because of the “Bad Grade Boogieman”.  Grades are important, and yours are good, but they’re not life or death the way everyone would have you believe.  Study more because, as you’re going to learn in the next few years, you really do like to learn.  I know it sucks that the curriculum isn’t set up well for learning for learning’s sake, but once you start your university degree you’ll see just how rewarding learning can be.  Focus on that, don’t let other people convince you the world will end if you don’t get a high mark, and you’ll be fine.

-  The friends you have now are going to be around for a very long time.  Not all of them of course, but about half a dozen of them will still be here twenty or so years later.  Treat them well.  Trust them … I know it’s a hard thing to do but you can.  They’ll prove themselves, I promise.  And when people keep telling you how you’ll make new friends and how your high school friends won’t be around after you graduate, ignore them.  They mean well, but they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about.

-  Don’t worry so much about not knowing what you want to do when you leave school.  Something we’ve learned is that only a small percentage of people end up doing what they decide when they’re sixteen.  The rest of us go with the flow, let ourselves grow up into the people we’re going to be, and see where life takes us.  We turn out okay, and we have a great job. 

-  You’re a lot funnier and cooler than you realise.  I know that it’s not fashionable to like the things you like right now, but pretty soon there’s going to be a revolution and everything you’re into will suddenly be popular.  Keep an eye out for something called “The Internet”, it’ll change everything.

What about you guys, what would you tell yourself if you could?