Super Psycho Magnet

Dear Sir,

I should start by apologizing for this apology being slightly after the fact. After 14 years some would say that it’s too little too late, but hey, what’s a few years between friends?

When I first saw you, I was 11 years old. I thought you were cute even under all that cake make-up, straw hat and overalls. The first time I actually meet you was the first week, of my first year in high school. It was the first Drama Club meeting of the year. That was the day I got my nickname for the rest of the year. ((My sister had graduated 3 years prior so the people that were freshmen when my sister graduated were seniors when I was a freshman.)) For the rest of the year I was known as the Little Sister.

Moving on, I remember watching you as Sergent-at-Arms and thinking about how cute you were. I also remember thinking that you could never like someone so much younger, and you probably already had a girlfriend, and I should probably just shut up and go about my business.

I didn’t. No surprise there. Somehow I worked my way into your group of friends and made my own mark. And you did notice me. And somehow we started dating.

I think it was the fact most of my friends were seniors that brought on my delusions of grandeur. I was the only freshman I knew who was hanging out with the cool Drama Club seniors (Jesus H. Christ, I’m a nerd). When someone suffers from the feeling of being much greater then they really are they tend to take things for granted. They tend to take people for granted.

That’s exactly what I did to you. You were always good to me. You opened doors and always paid for my way. We talked for hours on the phone and in person. You comforted me when I was upset. You were the only person to visit me when I had mono for three weeks, knowing that you would inevitably get sick too (and you did).

For all that you did for me, the only thing I have to do is apologize for the way I treated you.

It’s really easy to sit here and say that it was because I was young and I didn’t know any better. I knew right from wrong by the time I was five. It really boils down to the fact that I was a brat, and maybe I still am. I always wanted what I wanted, when I wanted it and it didn’t matter who else was there.

For all the things I did, I’m sorry.

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

Dear Shithead,

I have one thing to say to you. Thank you. Thank you for taking from me the one place in Hawaii that I was truly happy. Tomorrow marks my one year anniversary in Hawaii and since I’ve been here the one person that hasn’t let me down is my dog, Betsy. I got her almost three weeks after I got to this Hades surrounded by water and she’s been the one thing that’s made me happy.

After I moved into my apartment, and before I had furniture, I started taking her for daily walks after work. That’s when I found the Ala Wai K-9 Playground. It’s been about 11 months since I’ve been going to this park with my dog.

We all knew that it was a semi-legal dog park. Long story short, there are construction crews sitting on the land that is designated to be the actual park. Although my organization was told they were to be moved by last summer, it’s now looking like they’re going to be there for another two years.

This park has been my only constant source of anything resembling a social life. It’s been my only source of human companionship outside of work.

Friday that all started to change.

Friday afternoon about 4:45, two uniformed police officers came and told us we had to leave. He said he’s received complaints from the residents of the adjacent building about dogs being in the park. According to the signs posted we’re not allowed to have animals at all. However, that’s not what we were told, in writing, by The Department of Parks and Recreation. We were told by the police that they checked with Parks and Recreation and there was nothing on file allowing us to have our dogs in the park.

So, we left tail between our legs. We had no other choice.

The next morning I tired one of the other dog parks. It was awful. The place is filthy. The cross walk is at the top of a hill so you’ve got to bolt before you get hit. The dogs are mean. The steal toys and pee on my feet. The people are meaner. I was afraid one of them was going to pee on my feet too. I was also warned that I might want to keep her on her leash, even though I didn’t have to, because dog fights are more frequent then they should be.

The next morning I tried yet another dog park. This one wasn’t as awful but not as good as mine either. The main problem is their landscaping. There is mulch all over the ground. My dog has a hard time with her footing on mulch. Mix in her hip dysplasia and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

I was told the cops came back on Monday after I left and told people to leave. I didn’t see them so I can’t comment. They did come back last night though. Luckily for me someone else saw them driving through the park and stop about 200 yards from us. That gave half of us enough time to grab our pups, put their leashes back on, and skedaddle in a different direction. The other half weren’t so lucky. After I was out of sight, another police car came through the field and stopped at the break in the fence where the first cop already had everyone else waiting. I watched for a few minutes to see if it looked like anyone was getting ticketed. It really just looked like a gaggle from where I was standing so I went home and cried for a little while. I was told this afternoon that tomorrow the citations will start.

This, my dear Shithead, is the pain you’re causing people. Now there are 40 to 50 people that have to suffer, because you’ve got some pole wedged between your cheeks so far that you can probably taste metal. The old and differently-abled people that can’t get anywhere else now have no where for their pups to play. The people without cars are stuck with their dogs playing in traffic. The people that relied on the park for more then just a place to let their dogs run have absolutely nothing now.

Thank You. I really hope you’re happy with yourself.

I hope you have a great big party for yourself and all of your friends show up to celebrate what a good job you did ruining someone else’s good time.

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

Dear AT&T,

When you sign a contract you are supposed to live up to said signature.

When you allow your network cables to disintegrate you cause problems for many many people. More importantly, you cause problems for me.

Yesterday and today were the days from hell. I had to work on presentations from multiple foreign nationals. I had six presentations given to me on six different thumb drives and CD’s. These presentations needed to be uploaded within 15 minutes.

This may seem like a simple task and usually it is. However, when your servers go kaput it makes things very complicated. You actually affect the world.

Let me break down to you exactly how important I am, as simply as possible.

There’s a thing called National Security. Maybe you’ve heard of it. If you haven’t you might want to look into it. It might be beneficial. National Security includes disaster management, anti-terrorism, and inter-continental cooperation and information dissemination.

The kittens that work on such projects like to be pet. You’ve got to rub some overseas bellies every once in a while. That’s what my center does. We scratch behind the ears of big wigs; we make sure the kitty’s coats are shiny.

I myself, personally, don’t do the scratching. My boss doesn’t scratch either. However she answers directly to the people that do the scratching and I answer directly to her.

I get the small, simple, yet important jobs. My job yesterday was to put presentations together so when the meetings commence each kitten can prance in front of the others and let them know that their litter doesn’t stink.

When your networks fail and I am not able to do my job claws come out. When claws come out I get scratched. I don’t like being scratched.

By allowing your networks to lapse you’ve made my job very difficult. I’m not trying to say that you’ve stopped me from doing my job. You haven’t. You must have realized by now how much better than you I really am. That being said, you’ve made my job more difficult and that doesn’t make me a happy kitty.

You affect National Security when you affect my job.

A couple questions that might help your perspective:

Do you want another September 11th?

Do you like the sound of cats fighting?

Do you want a natural disaster to incapacitate the call centers you’ve unpatriotically outsourced to third world countries?

If you’ve answered “no” to any of the above questions I suggest you do your god-damn job so that I may do mine.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

p.s. The damn sequins on my shoes keep catching on the hem of my pants. That’s your fault too!!!

:::An Open Letter to the passengers of flight 4409 from Las Vegas, Nevada to Honolulu, Hawaii:::

Dear Passengers, flight crew and various other airline representatives,

First, I would like to say what a pleasure it was to spend as much time with you as I did. It was really nice to get to know you through random conversations and shared chortles during the announcements that said we were getting delayed… again.

Second, to the airline. I would actually like to thank you for giving me a little more time with my friends. I was able to, legally, sit at the gate and see two groups of friends onto their respective flights. You gave me that much more time with people I care about and for that I’m grateful. I don’t believe it’s entirely your fault that I had to sit in McCarran Airport for 8 hours. How could you have predicted engine trouble on one end of a multi-stop flight? It’s not your fault there was no back-up aircraft. It’s only your job to get people from one end of the country to the other in a reasonable amount of time. I totally understand that “Mission Readiness” is not your top priority.

Thirdly, to the man sitting in seat 16F. You were my favorite. I would like to thank you for complaining the entire time we were waiting for all the passengers to be seated, for the aircraft to finally push back, in line to take off, and once we were in the air. Being sixth in line to take off is a chore, I know. It means that we have to wait for another 15 minutes to get into the air after waiting 8 hours in the airport. The 5 planes in front of us should have known better. They should have known that you are that important and should have immediately moved out of your way. I’m really glad that you didn’t pay attention to the 15 planes that were behind us waiting for the same thing.

I would like to say how nice it was to hear you constantly complaining. You were completely right about everything. Nevermind the fact everyone else on the flight had to wait the same amount of time you did and we were all tired and wanting to get home or our vacation spot. Pay no attention to the fact that you were traveling with one other adult and didn’t have to deal with one or more cranky and sleepy small children. And you can completely disregard the fact that the flight crew had to wait for that flight as well so it’s well within your right to be a complete dick-face to them. I know they appreciate that. It keeps them on their toes and ensures they know their jobs better.

It’s not like you got inconvenienced for 8 hours and didn’t get at least some compensation. Something like a free round-trip ticket to anywhere the airline flies would have been really nice.

Oh. Wait. You did. The same as everyone else.

Well, I guess that’s where the airline went wrong. They should have known how important you are and should have given you two. Would that have shut you up? I would contemplating giving you my ticket in hopes that it would silence your bellyaching for 10 minutes while I tried to go to sleep in a seat that would not recline AT ALL. Although that would have meant my ears would have been closer to your constant stream of wailing. You put Moaning Myrtle to shame.

Lastly, I would like to thank the passenger in seat 15E. The wonderful little thug boy I was fortunate enough to sit next to. Had you been six-feet or taller you may not have had a mention in this little letter. Luckily for you, your hoodie covered head reached less then 5′6. I don’t know what it is with some guys and the need to spread theirs knees as far as possible. Is it that your balls are that big? Do you really need that much room? I’m just asking what would make you do that because judging by your adolescent face I don’t think yours have dropped yet. However, the amount of times you dropped the F-bomb told me that you are definitely a mature adult with a rich and active vocabulary. Now, I’m not usually one to talk about the amount of curses that are said in one sentence and most people who get within 4 feet of me can tell you that too. At some point, though, it does get excessive and if I’m the one that has to point it out there’s something wrong. What is even more wrong is when said conversation is with yourself, my petite delinquent nut job.

So, you’ve got your knees apart and your foot under the chair in front of me. I swear I didn’t know that was your foot that I kicked incessantly until you moved it. I thought the person in front of me had dropped something and it rolled back. I was trying to be a good passenger and get it back to them. It could have also been my purse that I was simply trying to move out of the way so I comfortably and gently place my feet under the seat they were supposed to be under.

One more thing… You were wearing a sweatpants and a hoodie. Traveling from Las Vegas to Honolulu. At the end of July. Why? Do you live on the equator? I mean, really. Is 110 degree heat so chilly for you, that you have to wear a full sweat suit? I’m really curious to know and would appreciate an answer.

Thank You.

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

:::An open Letter/Apology to the people that have or will touch my feet:::

To whom it may concern:

I would like to express my condolences to those of you who have had to touch my feet in the past 3 years.

When I lived in Norfolk, VA my friend, Burcu, and I used to go every two weeks to have our eyebrows waxed, manicure, and a pedicure. It was one of the highlights of our weekend actually. In January of 2004 I left Norfolk, VA for Cornwall, England, and with that stopped the treatments completely. I started doing my own eyebrows much to the dismay of… well… my face and I didn’t even bother with my nails or feet. Every once in a while I would chew on my toes out of boredom but even that was few and far between.

In the three years I lived in England I walked 4 miles in a new pair of new flip-flops that scarred the tops of my feet permanently, wore steal-toe boots to work everyday and spent 8 months in a desert camouflage uniform with the most uncomfortable boots in the world. I did all of this while completely ignoring how my feel looked.

Yesterday morning I woke up with a wild hair that said I should do those things that I used to like doing so much. So, I drove to Hawaii Kai and made an appointment to have a pedicure, manicure and wax.

This is where the apology really starts.

You poor woman! I am so sorry! The look of horror on your face spoke volumes and the sigh you thought I didn’t hear told me that you knew you were in it for the long haul. I think I even saw you try to suppress a tear but I can’t be sure.

I’m sorry that you have to even see feet as ugly as mine. I’m sorry that it took you so long to remove the calloused skin from the underside of my size nines. I’m even sorry that I’m bringing up the memory of abomination now.

I want you to know that I am going to become a regular customer of yours. You did a fantastic job on everything. You spent 2 hours of your life making me prettier and for that I thank you from the bottom of my heart. My feet look beautiful all thanks to you. I am no longer ashamed to wear open-toed shoes and sandals.

To all those who have to touch my feet in the future you have one woman to thank. You drive to Nail Tek in Hawaii Kai 9:30 to 8 on Monday through Saturday or 10 to 6 on Sunday, and look for the woman who is still in the fetal position crying and thank her.

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

***An Open Letter to the Asshat (and Asshats everywhere) that likes to open his stupid mouth before he gets the whole story.***

Dear Asshat,

I woke up this morning and as soon as I logged on I got an IM from my best friend, Karyn, telling me to go here. She accompanied the link with this message, “You MUST READ. You will be appalled and laugh all at once.”

Sweet, I thought, I love being appalled first thing in the morning. It was a link to a rather old post that Karyn had linked to a CNN article about the war. After I read the comment there were too many expletives flying through my head to make a complete sentence. Thank you for that. That’s my second favorite thing first thing in the morning.

I don’t remember exactly what the article said and the link has gone bad so I can’t go in and read it again. Many others already know how much I love the media and the propaganda BULLSHIT that they spread. Because the link is defunked I can only guess that the article was about some poor Army guy being misquoted. The fact that I can’t read the article is actually really bothering me because I feel like I could make a much more educated response if I could put the entire thing in context. However, calling you a Douche-bag does make me feel better for the moment.

This part is my favorite.

Everyone knows this. Even the Iraqi people and they don’t want that. How do I know this? Because I’ve spoken personally to hundreds. Can you say that Walter??? Been there???

Why, yes, Douche-Bag. I have been there. Fuck you very much. I spent 6 months there. I got lucky enough to miss the rainy season for the most part but I did get to endure the 140 degree heat. I got to live in a trailer and considered myself lucky to be there. I could smell the hate in the air and see the smoke clouds rising from it. To this day, 6 months later, I still jump at loud noises but don’t think anything of it if I hear a gun shot. That 6 month period turned my life around some for good and some for not so good. We went through hell and many of us are still going through that hell via a little gem called PTSD.

With all of that being said I would do it again in a heartbeat if asked because I know I made a difference to someone. I know I made someone’s life just a little bit better even if only for a little while. I worked in strength management. That meant that I made sure there were replacements for the soldiers that were already been there. Some of them were on the third of fourth tour. A lot of them were volunteers as well. That means that this is the third or fourth year, some in a row, that these people are going to be away from their families and friends. They had to go through the long good-bye process for the third or forth time knowing there’s a possibility they’re not coming home.

I’ve been through that Good-bye process. I would recommend that you try it but I pray to whatever God I can that no one would have to go through that, because I wouldn’t want anyone else to know that pain.

So you sit there and be a couch-commando. You make snippy little comments about things that you OBVIOUSLY don’t know about. If you had taken the time to read on for about 30 more seconds you would have realized where that post came from. You would have realized it was written by a woman who had the balls to raise her hand once again and say, “Yes, I will go. I will go to that war-zone and serve my country. I will leave my family and friends not knowing when or if I’ll be back. I will NOT ask for anything in return, and I will be grateful if I simply get a Thank You.”

A woman just like me.

So, Douche-bag. Next time you want to make comments about someone not supporting the troops you better make god-damned sure you know who you’re talking to and what you’re talking about.

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

:::AN OPEN LETTER TO ALL WHO PARK IN A PARKING GARAGE:::

To whom it may concern:

HEY! STUPID!

Mini-vans, pick-up trucks, station wagons, luxury cars, full size cars, and anything bigger then a Honda Civic, are not (repeat NOT) Compact Cars!

When you pull into a parking garage there are always spaces that are very small and very close together that are just big enough for compact cars to fit into. These magic spaces also have “Compact Cars Only” in big white letters between their lines. Inevitably, there is always some jack-ass that drives a HUMMER that will try to fit into one of these spaces (I’m not kidding. I’ve seen it done.) When said jack-ass bought his extension of an obviously inadequate manhood, I’m sure he wasn’t thinking, “Gee, this car is just small enough that people won’t think I’m a loser and JOY! I can park in small parking spaces.”

YOU’RE CAR IS TOO F-ING BIG!

To all of you who don’t feel like driving that little bit farther to find a parking space that your car will fit into… PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS!!! This is probably why your car insurance in so high. Mine is not that high because *I* am *NOT* an idiot. I only park in spaces adequately sized for my car. However, I do drive a Honda Civic so it’s not that difficult for me.

One more thing. Please. Dear God, please. Take the extra 30 seconds to straighten your car out. I realize most of the people that park in the garage I park in while I’m at work are here on vacation and they want to go and have some fun. Well, guess what? There are people that actually live here and have to be here every day and have to deal with people like your dumb-ass on a regular basis. For the sake of those that are at work with you’re out playing, have some bloody consideration. If you’re parked in two spaces take the time to straighten your car out so you’re nice and snug between the lines of ONE space. The rest of us will appreciate it and you just might NOT come out to your car to find a scrap down the side from a blue Honda Civic keyless entry FOB.

Thank you for your time and as always don’t be f-ing stupid!

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans

:::AN OPEN LETTER TO MAGICIANS AND SNOWPLOW DRIVERS:::

To whom it may concern:

Recently we had a pretty good snow fall over Pennsylvania. I had plans to go out on that Friday night and they were ruined by the amount of precipitation that landed on the ground. Thanks for that, by the way.

The temperature was good. It’s wasn’t the cold that bothered me. I can deal with cold. I’ve lived in every temperature from 140 to -20. I can deal with anything. No, no. It was the tiny little snowflakes that attacked the roads that made me angry. The pretty little snowflakes that everyone loves so much, the ones that are so beautiful and unique. Let me tell you, when millions and millions of those little assholes decide to gang up on you they’re not so frickin’ cute anymore.

So, I offer this suggestion to you the Magicians and Snowplow Drivers of the world. Why don’t you join forces??? Why doesn’t one of you driver the plow while the other one makes the snow magically disappear from the road. I’m not trying to say that the snowplows themselves aren’t doing a good job. They try their hardest and most of the time it’s sufficient. However, due to high winds and snow drifts the roads still close well after the snowplow has gone home to rest.

The Snowplow Driver should continue his good work. I just would like to see a Magician in the front seat with him just as a back-up. You lay your brand of magic down on the asphalt like a spreader with the salt… Come to think of it… You don’t even need to ride in the plows if you don’t want to. You charm that salt so that the snow never comes back.

Please, please. For the love of God. Make the snow stay off the roads!!!

Thank you!

Sincerely,

Walter Bean
Chief of Master Plans