Around Thanksgiving people suddenly start blathering on about what they’re thankful for and telling each other how important it is to express appreciation. So I'm looking around at the San Diego palm trees and the blue waves and my husband heading out with his surfboard in the 72 degree sunshine in November and thinking that compared to any other time during any other year, I really am pretty fucking thankful right now.
And if it hadn't been for all of the douchebags I've known or learned lessons from along the way, maybe I wouldn't be able to fully appreciate all of this good stuff I’m surrounded by today. So this Thanksgiving, I’m not only thankful for the awesomeness, but I’m also thankful for the bullshit. I've been reading Lena Dunham's hilarious book, “Not That Kind of Girl,” and this rant was inspired by her chapter “Emails I Would Send If I Were One Ounce Crazier/Angrier/Braver.”
Dear Mr. Micropenis,
Thank you for emailing me to let me know how many girls you fucked the weekend after I left you. Too bad you were an adult version of a seventh grader who's never experienced a break up before & didn't know you'd be begging me to take you back a week later. News flash: bury your head in a pillow if song lyrics make you cry; don't call your ex who you just emailed bragging about the HPV infested bar hags you just banged. Poor girls probably didn't feel a thing.
Thank you for a wonderful relationship,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mr. Rich Family,
Just because you have a hot face and you know it doesn't mean I want to keep in touch. Thank you for making me pay for everything even though your family's house is enormous. I'm pretty sure you still owe me at least $200. Oh, and if you haven't seen a girl in nearly a decade, "yo grrrrrrllllll hit back atchya boooooooyyy!!!" is not an appropriate message to send to her work email.
Peace Out,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mr. Cocaine,
Thank you for the flattering compliment that I'm just the type of girl you'd like to marry one day. Hearing that on our first date, less than five minutes after you'd told me you were over $200,000 in debt because of cash advances for cocaine and leather sectional couches made me feel like a really special girl. Thanks for leaving me rude voicemails when I texted you that I didn't think we should see each other again after a cop served you with a restraining order when I dropped you off at your grandma's house.
Coldly,
Krisa
**********
Dear Miss Really Good Friend,
Thank you for not caring when I told you the bar was spinning and I thought someone had slipped a roofie in my drink. I hope you had fun dancing with the dicks who probably did it.
Thanks for nothing,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mr. Wannabe Gangster,
If you grew up with your own bathroom, you're not a thug or a hoodlum or a gangster. Thank you for asking me why I couldn't just "dress like a normal person" when I saw your boxers every day we dated because your pants were sagging so far down. Unfortunately I was still fresh off the metal mouth braces train and too caught up in my friends ogling you to dump you. To be honest, when we made out I felt like you were a giant spider or a daddy long legs crawling all over me trying to eat my face. I really appreciated you hitting on all of my friends after breaking up with me on my birthday. Hopefully they weren't as creeped out by the rickety bones underneath those gigantic jeans as I was.
Insincerely yours.
Krisa
P.S. Your friend told my friend about how you waited over three months to dump me so that you could crush me on my birthday. Classy.
**********
Dear Mr. Airplane Pervert,
You smelled like curry mixed with Nag Champa and you were chanting loudly when I sat down next to you. Thank you for teaching me to follow my instincts when I consider asking to switch seats before takeoff. No, it is not appropriate to rub someone's leg while they are sleeping. I also did not believe for a second that you were close friends with Sinead O'Connor. Thank you for the ring you shoved at me when you got off the plane in Galway. I dropped it into a homeless lady's cup in Dublin.
Namaste,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mrs. Bitch Mom,
Thank you for calling me a whore when I was at your house where your 22-year old kid neglected to tell me you lived. I had missed the 12am ferry boat because your loser son was trying to get me to buy his car stereo. I was so irritated that I wanted to wait on the dock until 2am alone, but your son refused to take me back to my car. That bottle of wine you referred to - I never saw it, so thank you for accusing me of being a drunken slut even though I'd been at your house all of 5 minutes when you accosted me in the hallway. Your kid left a ranting voicemail on my grandparents' answering machine when I never called him back after that. I can't really blame him though. He probably learned his manners from you.
Worst Wishes,
Krisa
**********
Dear Terrible Bosses,
OMG I had a fucking urinary tract infection!! Thank you for interrogating me until I finally told you why I'd taken a sick day. TMI. Thank you for thanking me for telling you. I appreciated all of the reminders to pee frequently.
Worst Regards,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mr. Japanese Subway Groper,
Thank you for grabbing my crotch on the train and then running away. I'm just glad I was wearing jeans. You're at least twice my age, a gross human being, and an embarrassment to your country. Your buddy who grabbed my friend's boobs and made a honking noise is a pretty foul waste of space too.
Not Yours,
Krisa
**********
Dear Neighbor,
Thank you for yelling at your cute kids about their rambunctiousness all day every single day of your vacation. I'm sure everyone appreciated you screaming about how their laughter was disturbing the whole campground. Maybe if you played a game with them instead of sleeping in your tent trailer with your dick loser boyfriend all day, they'd have less pent up energy.
Thinking of your kids,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mr. Drunken Douchebag,
Thank you for telling me that your mom said I was ugly and your friend called me fat. Passing along those messages was a real gentlemanly move. I'm sorry I never told you that my mom referred to you as Chinless Paleface and my sister said the sight of you made her throw up in her mouth.
Salida,
Krisa
**********
Dear Mrs. Crazy in the Car,
Thank you for driving an average of 50 mph over the speed limit on treacherous winding roads in the middle of the night with me in the car.
Love,
Krisa
**********
Happy Thanksgiving!