How did you decide who got to keep me?

June 10, 2014

The  letter request:

Good friends of mine, Matt and Elena, split up last year and while I thought I was equally friends with both of them, only Matt has stayed in contact with me.  I’ve tried to reach out to Elena but she seems to be avoiding me. I feel like they’ve decided amongst themselves who gets to keep me as a friend but the thing is, if I only get to be friends with one of them, I’d actually prefer Elena.

 

The letter: 

Dear Matt and Elena

Let’s start by saying that I know you are no longer ‘Matt and Elena.’ It’s for simplicity (and transparency) that I address you both in the same letter. You know that biblical passage that people read at weddings: Love is patient and kind…Love never fails…? It’s a wish that gets stated as a truism. The reality is that sometimes love is an arsehole and fairly often it fails us dismally. I don’t need to tell you guys that.

It’s absolutely none of my business how the divorce proceedings panned out. I will never enquire about how you guys decided who kept the house, or who got the kids when or, perhaps most poignantly, who got to keep that super comfy couch.

What I am interested in is how your friends were divvied up. Specifically, how did you decide who got to keep me? I’ll tell you how things look from the outside: it appears that, like the dog, I’m staying with Matt. It appears that the decision has been made that Elena and I are no longer friends.

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Too busy reading medical journals to care about fashion

June 4, 2014

The letter request:

 I had a perplexing visit to an emergency department that was clearly ill equipped to deal with anything slightly resembling an emergency. 

The letter:

Dear Department of Health

When I was growing up, our family GP wore brown slacks and a buttoned-up checkered shirt. My current GP favours lady slacks and pastel jumpers with floral embroidery. When I recently told a friend that my doctor was in her 70s, my boyfriend interrupted to say that she was actually around 50. Imagine that! Her clothes are so serious that I misjudged her age by two decades. Whether consciously or not, these professionals are projecting to the world: ‘I’m WAY TOO BUSY reading medical journals and boning up on rare conditions to care about fashion.’ As a result, I feel safe in their care.

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Yo, Goldilocks

May 15, 2014

The letter request:

It’s been a month since I asked my whacky housemate to move out yet he seems to still be here. We are carrying on as though the conversation never happened. I need a letter to give to him as a gentle reminder that our house sharing relationship is over. 

 

The letter:

Dear Brad

Something funny has been happening around my house lately. I go into the bathroom and the shower is all wet. I say to myself, ‘Someone’s been showering in my bathroom.’ I go into the spare room and find the spare bed disheveled and unmade. I say to myself, ‘Someone’s been sleeping in my spare room.’ I go into the kitchen and I see someone cooking dinner. I say to myself, ‘Someone is making Pasta Arrabiata in my kitchen… after I asked him to move out.’

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Situation: Anarchy

January 19, 2014

The letter request:

I need your assistance. I bought a lovely watch from David Jones for my gorgeous sister. She has small wrists so needed to get it adjusted. She went back to DJs but was told they don’t provide this free service anymore… It seems that they’ve taken a leaf out of the budget airlines school of Customer Service offerings with optional extras like a watch that fits your wrist fitting this category…

 

The letter:

Dear David Jones

Thank heavens you’re not in law enforcement. Here’s what might happen if you were: you’d arrest a perp, slap a pair of cuffs on them, the perp’s wrists would be slightly on the dainty side, the cuffs would slip off, the perp would escape, you’d shrug your shoulders and walk away. Situation: Anarchy.

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Sex is a game for two. Sometimes three or more.

November 21, 2013

The letter request:

I’m looking for work and saw my dream job advertised but I noted applications had closed a few days earlier. I phoned the company and asked if they would accept a late application, explained my qualifications and gave a bit of history. They said they would like me to apply so I pulled an all-nighter and submitted the next day. Two hours later I received an email advising I had not been successful.

 

The letter:

Dear HR Manager,

Sex is a game for two. Sometimes three or more, sometimes one, but often two. When someone fakes an orgasm, it is generally for the benefit of the other person involved. There is no great enjoyment to be had from faking extreme pleasure; it’s just something one might occasionally do to make someone else feel better about their performance. Altruism, you might call it, for want of a better word.

Last week I applied for a job with your company. We spoke on the phone prior to my applying and you seemed enthused by my experience and credentials. You said, ‘Yes! Please Apply! Just make sure your application is in by 5pm tomorrow.’ I spent many hours writing, gave considered thought to each of your selection criteria, sought consult from friends, checked in with potential referees and finessed my resume. I spent a few hours daydreaming the logistics which in this case involved imagining myself resigning from my current role, imagining myself moving across the country to take up the position, imagining the impact on my relationship – you get the drift. I was quite excited.

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Shit, no, not my heart, my wallet

October 7, 2013

The letter request:

Ok this is the deal. I went to replace my stolen drivers licence today and it’s free of charge if you can produce a police report. So I took my San Francisco police report only to be told they only accept Western Australia police reports. Accordingly they sent me down to the local cop shop to lodge a report of my licence having been stolen in San Fran – 13,000 km away…

 

The letter:

Dear Western Australian Department of Transport,

I left my heart in San Francisco. Shit, no, not my heart, my wallet. I left my wallet in San Francisco. I left some brain cells at Burning Man and it’s rendered me a little confused.  You, however, seem incredibly confused. Someone less polite might call you stupid.

When my wallet was stolen on the other side of the world I did what most travelers do and reported it to the police. Not because I thought they’d track down the sticky-fingered pickpocket as they spree-ed Vegas with my credit card, but because I figured it would be useful to have a police report to help me get the necessary replacement cards once back in Australia; in particular, my drivers licence, which I need for work.

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The warm glow of knowing you’ve helped chickens

September 9, 2013

The letter request:

I want to write a letter to my local IGA to ask them to get more free range eggs in. Sometimes they have them but often they don’t and I’m left having a half an hour debate with myself in front of the egg section whether or not to buy the cage ones on a Saturday morning when I really want to go home and make eggs benedict.

 

The letter:

Dear IGA,

It gets hot in Death Valley National Park, Nevada, USA. Damn hot. So hot you could fry an egg and someone tried this recently. They posted a video of the experiment on You Tube and it went viral, leading to a spout of copycat egg-fryers testing the theory around the National Park until the rangers sent out a loud plea, Dudes! No More Frying Eggs in the Park! It’s getting MESSY!

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Did you seriously just light that shit-stick?

June 10, 2013

The letter request:

Here is the situation. A lovely woman at my work has tried to set me up with a colleague of her friend. She told me he was a smoker and wanted to know if that was okay. I wasn’t really thinking and said ‘Sure, I’ll give it a go’. Said person (Rob) then emailed me. On the day he emailed me, a new friend from the sailing club died of lung cancer. A compelling reason to not date a smoker. Can you help with a reply for me to send Rob?

 

The letter:

Dear Rob

I have something to confess. I’m a morning person. I literally bounce out of bed every single day. Bounce, I tell ya. I arrive at work at an hour when most other people are hitting snooze for the first of 25 times. I’m friendly with crisp air, shadowy moons that linger over early daylight and the peach glow of sunrise on inner city windows.

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Dear Joseph

May 9, 2013

Way back when, we wrote the lyrics for a song called Dear Joseph in exchange for a polka dot scarf. We’re very excited to tell you it’s now been recorded and is about to be launched! Co-written and produced by Peter Joseph Head and sung by Evelyn Ida Morris from Pikelet, you can hear it here. And here are the lyrics so you can sing along…

Dear Joseph, do you remember me? / We were side by side on Tiger to Sydney / You were scared of flying / I felt sorry for you / But when you started chatting / I ducked behind my Paris Review / O Joseph / You kind of lost it in a sense / O Joseph / When we hit that turbulence / I’m a reading girl, you’re a chatting guy / I tried my best but I ain’t gonna lie / I’ve never been to Crown or a sale at a DFO / When we landed I had to google Costco / I was glad to disembark / Glad to get away / Maybe it’s me who loses out / When I keep others at bay.

He’s pretty much taught her how to be a dog

March 22, 2013

The letter request: 

My neighbour is off on a roadtrip around Australia and I want him to leave me his dog, Harvey. My own dog, Shyla, and I have become quite attached to him. The dogs are always going under the fence to see each other. Also, Harvey also teaches Shyla a lot and he is making her into a more confident dog.I’m willing to give visitation rights and I’m happy to send photo updates as well but ultimately I think his dog will be better off staying with me.

 

The letter:

Dear Guy,

Do you ever feel like life is too banal? Like we respond to things in a way that is just so foreseeable that life has lost all meaning? That our existence has no sense of surprise?

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