Dear Nancy Bea

Dear Nancy Bea Hefley - Organist for the Los Angeles Dodgers,

So I took a tour of the stadium yesterday.  It was pretty spectacular.  We went up to the press box. 

Here's my view if the Times wants to give me a job as a sports writer.

We went to the luxury suites and choked when our tour guide told us they cost $4000-$6000 per game.  Incidentally, our tour guide had the most obnoxious laugh.  Camille and I like to play a game called "The Most Obnoxious Laugh" where we try to top each other with fake laughs.  It's hysterical fun.  Seriously, try it, you'll be in a fit within 30 seconds.  Our tour guide would win in a landslide.

Anyway, back to the tour.  We walked the halls and saw all sorts of cool memorabilia - including some World Series trophies.

There's me in the dug out.  Yep, the one where the players hang out. 

This picture makes me think of the first time I was at Dodger Stadium.  It was a day game and I was 7 or 8 and all I can remember from it is green grass and blue skies and sunshine and palm trees.  Heaven.

We also sat in the fancy club seats where Tommy Lasorda sits (also Frank McCourt.  Had I been chewing on gum I would have left it on his seat.)  And walked along the warning track.  We couldn't walk on the grass (no worries, I've done it before) but we could take all the pictures we wanted.

Here's a fun one. 

It's me sitting at your organ!  Dream come true!  When we started the tour I just wanted to do two things - go to the dug out and sit at your organ.  Check and check!  I didn't know we couldn't sit on the bench nor did I know we couldn't touch the organ, both of which I did.  I hope you don't mind. I was very respectful.  I'm showing you this picture because I want to let you know I'm gunning for your job.  My qualifications are:  10+ years as an organist at church and my unwavering love of baseball and the Dodgers.  Also, I can knit, which I was told you do to pass the time when you're not playing.  So, work as long as you want.  Retire when you're 80.  But just know that when you're out, I'm in.  

With love from a fellow organist,

Rachel

P.S. I've always wanted your job but finding out that one of the perks is all you can eat nachos and Dodger Dogs makes me wish you would retire tomorrow.

Dear People of America,

My sisters, B & McNelch, are road-tripping across this great nation.  If you see them, ask them to sing "Oklahoma" for you. 

Hugs & Kisses,
Rachel

Put down that Twinkie!

Dear Friends,

Today at the Pod I saw the most vivid example of why we should all avoid diabetes:  a freshly amputated toe!  EGADS! 

Hoping you eat your veggies,
Rachel

Even the dogs are a little embarrassed by what you're wearing

Dear Ladies Who Show Dogs at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show,

Floral print wide-legged jumpsuits went out of style in 1993.  The world hasn't accepted enormous hair bows or scrunchies since 1989.  Tapestry vests, broomstick skirts, the color mauve - all hit their prime 20 years ago.  And unless you're 6 feet tall and have knitting needles for legs orthopedic pumps with sheer black stockings and a fitted skirt that hits below the knee is going to make you look like Mrs. Stumpy McStumperson.  The deck is already stacked against you - you run around a carpeted ring with a fancy dog - and I know that function is probably your primary goal, but have some dignity.  Your on national TV and that whippet you're running along side isn't the only thing people are looking at.  I telling you this because I care.  Consider it my Valentine's gift to you. 

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel

Cocoa and...

I was reading something wherein George Clooney answers questions about malaria, which he had recently, and I was struck by something:  he needs a punctuation lesson.  And who better to teach him than I?  

Dear George Clooney,

First, let me say that you have fantastic hair.  And you're a fine actor, even in the Facts of Life.  And I think the work you do to shed light on important issues such as the situation in Darfur and the enormous problem of malaria around the world is honorable.  And also, I think you're handsome.  And if you were to ask me to, oh, say, have a cup of hot cocoa with you, I would not turn you down. 

That being said, I'm going to have to cite you for Inappropriate Use of the Ellipsis.  It's a minor infraction but one that is a pet peeve of mine.  I break out in hives when people write like this...without any proper punctuation...they just keep typing and never end a sentence...because they keep (incorrectly) adding pauses...or unsaid words...or implying all sorts of thing.  Because that is what an ellipsis is.  It indicates a pause or something unsaid or implied.  It has a few other uses, none of which are as a stand-in for other punctuation, which is what you were doing.  Your response was littered with them, and all in places where a perfectly acceptable punctuation like a period or a semi-colon or even a dash would have sufficed.  When you throw in ellipses at the end of every thought it reads like you're hiding something or being coy or that you're at a loss for words.  Or worse, that you're having some sort of fit and can't remember what you were talking about or who you are and your stalling for time until it passes.  You're a national treasure, George!  Don't let the world fear for your mental health.

I'm not saying you shouldn't use the ellipsis.  It's a pretty powerful tool.  What would you think if you saw the following inside of Us Weekly:  "George and Rachel enjoyed a cup of cocoa and...."  Wink-wink, right?  See, I'm all for the ellipsis.  Even if, in this case, it just means a firm handshake.  Because who doesn't love a firm handshake? 

But we all must respect the rules, no matter how famous or nicely quaffed we are.

Hugs and Kisses and...a Firm Handshake,

Rachel

Is it too much to ask for someone else to fold my clothes?

Dear Wealthy Benefactor,

When you finally show up could you please bring along with you someone who will do my laundry?  Because, oh the drudgery of it all.  I won't go into the details of how I currently have to lug my laundry across the parking lot to the laundry room and pay a dollar a load both for washing and drying.  This will be a non-issue, as the house you get for me will be equipped with a very nice laundry room.  But someone is still going to have to put away all those clothes.  Someone is going to have to fold and iron and hang.  And I'd prefer it if that someone wasn't me.  I just can't bare it.  I don't mind other household chores.  I like to wash dishes.  I don't mind dusting.  I think vacuuming is kind of fun.  Cleaning the bathroom isn't my favorite but even that gives me some sort of satisfaction.  Not so with laundry.  There's something so tedious about an enormous stack of clothes that have to be put away.  The likes of which I am currently facing.  I trick myself into putting clothes away by dumping the entire load onto my bed so I can't get in and hide from it.  It's very effective in that it gets the job done but it also makes me want to cry a little.  So, let's remedy this.  Please put down Personal Laundress after Slurpee Machine on your list of immediate purchases.

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel

Nun chucking detective

One of the glorious things about being a well-known book lover is that occasionally people send me books. Just for the fun of it.

(Dear People of the World: I also love peanut M&Ms and Slurpee machines! Hugs and Kisses, Rachel)

Is there anything better than finding an unexpected package on your doorstep addressed to you and inside are books? There isn't!

So you can imagine my joy when I barely heard a knock on the door (Day 6 of the Great Ear Clog of '010. DAY SIX!!!!!!!!!! I'm officially dying.) and I opened it to find a package addressed to me and inside were two books from my dear and wonderful and lovely and beautiful friend Amanda.

So I called her up to thank her and, as our conversations normally go, we ended up masterminding elaborate schemes. This time it is the scheme of me becoming a nun-chucking detective. Brilliant, right? Because I already have the nun chucks and I am pretty well practiced at spying on my neighbor who lives behind my apartment complex. When I sit at my desk I have a direct view down into his yard and he comes out almost every day to trim the hedges behind his house. I've started wondering that maybe he's wrapped up in some sort of espionage because who needs to trim the hedges every single day?

Admit it, you're just a little bit sad that the Cold War has ended. Spy work was so much more glamorous when it was against the Russians.

My New BFF

Dear Clinton Kelly,

It is no surprise that 1.) given my love for beauty pageants and 2.) given my love for you, I would watch the Miss America: Behind the Curtain special you hosted the other night. It lived up to my expectations in more ways then just giving away secrets tips of pageant contestants, like spraying hair spray on your face to keep your make-up from running. You never know when this information will come in handy.

But aside from that I found a couple of other things fascinating:

1.) During the segment when you went through the interview process with the judges you were asked to tell your guilty pleasure. You said, “I like to make a whole box of Craft Macaroni and Cheese and watch a marathon of America’s Next Top Model.”

2.) During the talent portion you mentioned to your co-host that if a girl is going to shimmy she needs to shimmy all the way, and then you demonstrated.

Um, are you trying to tell me something? Could it possibly be that we should be best friends? Because I agree! I already love you on What Not to Wear. I think you give great advice in a sassy but kind way. You have that Tim Gunn quality that makes me think that I would never make another poor choice ever again if we were friends.

So let’s give it a shot. Thanks to my current state of Elegant Leisure I have discovered that reruns of ANTM are on nearly round the clock. You can come over to my place and I’ll make us some mac and cheese and we can laugh at the crazy antics of Tyra for hours and hours. We can practice our shimmying during the commercial breaks.

Hugs and Kisses from Your New BFF,

Rachel

PS. As your new BFF I think it’s only right for me to tell you that you might want to rethink the beard. I know that it’s the new hip accessory for men, and few women love a good beard more than I, but the pattern of grey in yours makes it look like you grew it to fit in with some Appalachian cousins or something.

To My Sinus Infection

Dear Sinus Infection,

I totally see you sneaking up on me so I'm going to tell you this right now: back it up.

I am Very Busy this weekend. I have back to back to back parties tomorrow that I'm really looking forward to and can't miss because I'm heading up two of them and the third is the Knecht Family Christmas Spectacular, wherein I will be performing a key role in the annual Knecht Girls Musical Number/Dance Party. It has already been choreographed and costumes and props have been selected. There are no understudies.

Additionally, Chiquita has decided that we need to be all moved out of the office by Christmas, even though the lease isn't up until the end of the month. I already hate packing and moving and unpacking enough as it is. I really don't think I can do it if I feel like I have tube socks lodged up my nostrils.

Let's keep this civil.

Rachel

I Don't Tweet

Long ago I opened a Twitter account that I have never used. I went on to check out what it was all about and it took me 30 seconds to discover that it's basically a place to let people know what you ate for lunch. And I already have this blog to bore you with information like that. And I can do it in however many letters I want. And, I'm going to be honest here, I don't actually care what you had for lunch. Unless it was amazingly delicious and you're going to share the recipe. Or invite me over the next time you make it. Incidentally, why didn't you invite me over? I'm hurt.

So I've never posted anything on Twitter. And yet every so often I'll get an email from the good people over there saying that someone is following me. A few of them are friends who no doubt are holding their breath waiting for me to say something witty (Keep holding, my friends.) But the rest of them are complete strangers.

Which leads me to:

Dear Strangers Who are Following Me on Twitter,

Why? There isn't a single tweet up there. There's no picture. No profile. Zero information that would give you an idea of what you're signing up for. For all you know I could be some crazed lunatic who suddenly start posting about her Hello Kitty collection, or putting links up to pictures of rare fungal conditions, or a Britney Spears fan. Do you really want to follow a Britney Spears fan? I think you don't.

What I'm saying is that you maybe you could be a little more selective.

Best,

Rachel

The Importance of Capitalization

Dear People Looking for Work:

Use capital letters. And proper punctuation. And correct spelling. I don't think I can emphasize this enough. Which is RIDICULOUS! Because you're a grown up and I'm assuming you have made it beyond Kindergarten and know the difference between a big letter and a small letter and when the appropriate time to use them is.

When I get your resume and it's entirely in lower case I throw it away. If you don't spell your previous job titles correctly, I throw it away. If you use the phrase, "I seen," I throw it away. When I give you a typing test and you tell me that the reason why you only scored 20 wpm is because you forgot to use capitalization I don't even bother looking through your application. I throw it away.

When you don't use capitalization I imagine you're a 14 year old girl stuck in a remedial English class texting me a resume your boyfriend helped you prepare. It's okay that if at one point you were 14 and stuck in remedial English, I would never hold that against you. But if you're over 18 you should know by now that your name needs to be capitalized.
If I get one more email that reads, "i seen your ad heres my resume call me," I'm going to spit. And I hate spitting.

Regards,

Rachel

I got a note from my hair

Dear Rachel,

I hate you.

Love,
Your Hair

My Weekend Plans

Dear Wealthy Benefactor,

This is Urgent! I must make it up to Anchorage, AK tonight so I can be at the World Beard and Moustache Championship tomorrow. I'll pack while you charter the jet.

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel

I should be the next judge on ANTM

Dear Tyra Banks,

So, I hear you fired Paulina Porizkova from America's Next Top Model. That is a real shame because I thought she was leaps and bounds better than Twiggy. And she always gave really good critique to the girls without being all Wise Woman of the Forest, like someone we know (psst, I'm talking about you). I can see how this would be intimidating to you. But whatever. It's a new day, right? Onwards and upwards and what-not.

I gather this means that you'll be on the hunt for a new judge. And, to make it easier on you, because I know how busy you must be with ANTM and the Tyra Show and wrangling your enormous weave, I would like to recommend someone.

Me.


Now, I realize that I don't have any real experience in the fashion industry and I'm not exactly the model type (I weigh more than 92 pounds and my legs are approximately 2 inches long) but I do have a few qualifications that I think make me the best bet to sit next to Miss J at the judges panel.

1.) I've seen every episode of the show so I know exactly what my role would be. At judges panel I would be expected to sit and smile and occasionally say a sassy comment, maybe contradict Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel Barker, but never you.

2.) I'm funny. I think the show could use more laughs.

3.) I'm short. And this would be an advantage since you're picking only shorties for the next cycle.

4.) My funny/short combo makes me the ideal side kick. Every successful show has one. Velma on Scooby-doo, Suki on Gilmore Girls, Rhoda on Mary Tyler Moore. I could be your Rhoda!

5.) You can ask Katie to verify but I am REALLY GOOD at guessing who will be the first picture chosen and who will be in the bottom two and who will be going home. Like 99% really good. This shows that I have a good eye. Or maybe I've seen the show enough times (refer to #1) to know that when a girl says at the beginning of the show, "There is no way I'm going home this week," she is totally going home.

6.) I make really good cookies. We will always have excellent snacks.

7.) I will not try to compete with you. I know that you like the spot light - you can totally have it. Believe me when I say that if we were ever in a competition to see who would look the fiercest in a cinched dress, you would win every time.

8.) I know how to smile with my eyes.

Pretty impressive list right? I hope to hear from you soon. I'll get the cookies in the oven in preparation.

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel

My arms are tingling

I'm feeling weird today. Not sick, just weird. Kind of jittery and sleepy at the same time. And my arms are tingling. Does this mean I'm dying?

Possible reasons for this are:

1.) I donated blood on Saturday and it always takes me a while to get over it.
2.) I had a pretty bad headache all day yesterday that has dulled but is still hanging around like that last person at a party you're throwing who won't leave, even after everyone else has gone home and you're doing the dishes and yawning and mentioning how tired you are and you just can't wait to get into bed. Dear Headache, It is time to go home. Love, Rachel.
3.) I got approximately 2 minutes of sleep last night.
4.) I didn't work out this morning and my body knows that it's suppose to work out on Monday morning and is now all, "I'll make you feel weird until you get up and move." Dear Body, Back off! I got 2 minutes of sleep, alright? Love, Rachel.
5.) I went cold turkey on my Easter candy and now my body is all, "But I need the chocolate. Gimme, gimme!"
6.) It's hot today. And it was hot yesterday. And spring was just so nice and pleasant and now we've entered into 6 months of summer and I'm just not prepared for it.
7.) Zac Efron.

I've put a poll up. Let me know if I'm dying or not.

I didn't brush my teeth. I'm sorry.

Dear World,

I forgot to brush my teeth this morning. And not just once, but twice. I forgot before I went to the gym. And then I forgot before leaving for the day. I am so sorry. I don't know what my problem is.

Well, actually I do. When I leave for the gym it is still the middle of the night. A girl cannot be expected to remember to brush 100% of the time when she should still be in her jim-jams but is instead trying to stay awake long enough to tie her shoes. The ladies at the gym are already accustomed to seeming my puffy, blotchy pillow face and hear my morning-man-voice. I'm sure that they just expect my breath to stink too. So, forgetting to brush my teeth before going to the gym is not such a big deal. And, I'll admit, it has happened before. But I never forget to brush my teeth before going to work. It's part of my routine. And that's where the problem is. I did things out of order this morning. My order is gym, breakfast, shower, scriptures, hair/make-up/brush teeth. But this morning I did gym, shower, scriptures, hair/make-up, breakfast with the intention of brushing my teeth after I ate, only I was late to the breakfast part and had to turn my peanut butter and jam on toast into a toasted peanut butter and jam sandwich and rush out the door. Without brushing my teeth. Drat.

Can we still be friends?

Hugs and Kisses, Rachel

PS. I generally don't talk to people when I'm working out (I would like to call it "intense focus" but really it's just "intense early morning brain not being able to form sentences") but this morning the Cat Woman and I were the only ones in the weight room and we started chatting and it came out that she was an elementary school teacher. Gasp! She always struck me as a Woman of Elegant Leisure. Only a WofEL would own that much leopard print. And now I'm trying to visualize her in the classroom and all I can see are 30 terrified 9 year olds, their eyes fixed on her over-collagened lips and spidery eyelashes and her insta-facelift from her bun being pulled back so tightly as she talks about their upcoming field trip to the San Gabriel Mission.

What do you mean I have to get my own sample?

Dear New Owners of the Yogurt Affaire in Upland,

It's tough out there for a little yogurt shop. I get it. Business can't be all that easy when you're tucked in the back corner of a shopping center and your neighbor on the right has shut down and the one on the left is a pub, which the only time I've ever seen anyone standing outside of was last night, on St. Patrick's Day. And none of those kids had yogurts in their hands.

So I can see why you maybe need a gimmick. But I'm not very happy about it.

I went in last night and saw the flier for your big idea of going self-serve. Boo! And Why?! And How Could You?! I'm opposed to self-serve yogurt shops on many levels. Let me list them for you:

1.) There are already too many self-serve yogurt places in Upland. So already your gimmick is lame.

2.) The cups at the self-serve places are too big. Seriously, how much yogurt do you think I need? Anytime I've seen one I hear Camille's voice in my head saying, "This cup is a fat joke."

3.) And because it's too big I instantly think you're trying to snatch all of my hard earned fun money away from me. Because we all know that when you self-serve you end up paying way more. It's a GIANT CUP and you feel slightly cheated out of yogurt when you only fill it halfway up. But you still only fill it halfway and skip on the toppings because you refuse to fall for that trick again but then they weigh it and you have to check if they have a payment plan.

4.) The quality of the yogurt at self-serve places is disappointing. It's always icy.

5.) Not only do I have serve my own yogurt but I have to get my own samples. And that's tricky. I would rather a trained professional, or at the very least, a high schooler with a name tag get it for me.

6.) It's too much stress for me. I don't want to have to worry about paying too much for icy yogurt with no toppings. I just want someone to serve it for me. Is that too much to ask?

So I made my complaints to your manager. I don't know his name but he looked like a Roger. Maybe a Carl. He has a mustache. You know him. Anyway, I told Roger and he completely understood. He said that most of the regulars were unhappy about this and that he was pretty sure it would be the downfall of the place. It's not that I go there very often. Maybe once a month. And, let's be honest here, if I really wanted a delicious frozen treat I would go to Bert and Rocky's. But you're so convenient. And your peanut butter yogurt is always nice and creamy. Please don't make me have to drive out to Golden Spoon if I'm craving yogurt!

I don't want to get Roger in trouble, so I won't tell you that he told me that if I come in and he's there I can ask him to fill the cup up for me and he'll charge me the regular price I've always paid. Just like old times.

And if you're looking for a way to stand out, you could always spell affair correctly. Every shop in America thinks is charming and witty to spell things with extra e's. Which makes me want to get my hands on a monthly newsletter for the United Shoppe Owners of America so I can practice my editing skills.

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel

Don't Yell at your Mom

Dear Wal-Mart,

You did it again. I don't know when I'm going to learn the lesson that every time I go there I'm going to get shoved to the ground and kicked by you.

I just spent 2 hours in your store. Two. Two hours. As in 1 hour plus 1 hour equals 2 hours of my life spent with people who like to yell at each other. Well, actually, two hours and 10 minutes. So more than two hours. TWO HOURS, WAL-MART!

What happened was this: I needed to get my oil changed. Generally I would just ask my dad to do it but I kept forgetting and I'm driving out to Palm Springs tomorrow and I wanted to make sure my car had enough of all the essential fluids in her and I have a 90 minute lunch break on Friday and you're just right down the street from the office so at least I can shop for mascara while I wait, right? So I went.

They told me it would be awhile but I wasn't too concerned because you're a big store. There's plenty of things to do. I looked at mascara and picked out colors I would paint my apartment if it were allowed. I tried on two very unflattering tops and talked myself out of a pair of shoes. But the time kept ticking by and I was hungry for my lunch. And then I started noticing the same thing I always notice at your store - that people who are suppose to love each other don't really act like they do. Because everywhere I turned there were families yelling at each other. Since when did it become okay to yell at your mom?

Even the workers were snipping at each other. There were the two in the electronics department who were arguing over their hours. And the ones next to the shoes who were complaining about their boss. And then the supervisor who chewed out an employee, in the middle of the store, for not stocking the towels right. It was so depressing. So I went out to the garden center and stared at the California Poppies for a while. Is there anything cheerier than a loose cluster of poppies?

But I eventually had to go back in so I just sat in the little waiting room (why is it that every lube place has chairs that feel like they've been coated in engine dust?) and waited for them to call my name. And while I waited I was treated to a customer using the most appalling language on one of the workers because he had to wait an extra 15 minutes for his car to be finished. I left feeling like I had been kicked in the gut.

I don't know what you can do about this. Maybe you could put signs up that say things like "Hug. Don't hit," or "Say kind things," or "Don't yell at your mom." Or maybe you can pipe in James Taylor through your speakers. I know that whenever I'm feeling a little cranky I just put in James and suddenly I feel a lot better. I bet free ice cream would help too.

Regards,

Rachel

I will not be silenced!

It's very slow here today. I've finished all my work and Chiquita took the afternoon off. So what do I do when I'm bored at work? I turn into a Very Concerned Consumer.

The following companies/people received letters from me today.

1.) CVS Pharmacy. I bought their brand of lotion with SPF 15 to give my cancer prone skin a little extra protection during the day and it ended up being sunscreen in a lotion pump bottle. It actually smells, feels, and goes on like sunscreen. Which means I smell like sunscreen and my arms are greasy without the benefit of being at the beach.

2.) Burt's Bees. I tried some of their shampoo and conditioner for a few days and it made my hair feel like I stuck it in Vaseline.

3.) Rachel's Yogurt. I saw this product at Sprouts and had to get it because my name was written all over it. Literally. Can you believe they named a yogurt after me? I'm super flattered. Anyway, it's yummy and I wanted to thank them for not putting my name on something gross.

4.) My state senators. I saw on the news this morning that they were locked in the state capitol until the budget is signed. I suggested that maybe their paychecks should be locked in the vault until the budget is signed also. I may have used the phrase, "Stop being such babies and SIGN IT!"

I will not be silenced!

The Fiery Pits of Hell are up My Nose

Dear People Who Have to Be Around Me Today,

It's Monday, alright? I don't normally work on Mondays. I have a cold and I didn't sleep well and my left ear is so clogged up that I'm pretty sure Katie stuffed a sock in it as a joke last night (Why would you do that Katie? Why?!), and the homeopathic stuff that Doc had me put in my netty pot makes my sinus cavity feel like the Fiery Pits of Hell have relocated up there, or at least the boys locker room from the Fiery Pits of Hell, because that's what it smells like, and because I have to put it in my nose that's all I can smell and I'm not sure if I'm just smelling it in my nose or if I actually smell like it. And on top of all of this I have to work 12.5 hours today so maybe I'm just not prepared to look pretty or be chipper and maybe you should just back off and bring me a cookie. That would be a real big help.

Sorry about the smell,
Rachel