I was all set to sit down and write a lengthy treatise on the sinusitis that has paralyzed the entire right side of my face, and maybe draw a picture for you of the x-ray that showed how my maxillary sinus is filled to overflowing with goo. My doctor acted giddy when he saw the x-ray, flew open the door to the room and said THIS IS SO COOL. Which, okay, I guess I don’t hear that every day, thanks for appreciating the beauty of my infected sinus recess. I have worked very hard on it.
But then I got a thoughtfully hateful email in my inbox this morning and realized I have deprived you of my hatemail for far too long (the last installment was posted over three months ago). I have been selfish in keeping them all to myself, these delicate, fragrant blossoms of humanity, and I knew that you would agree that a diagram of my sinus goo couldn’t possibly compete with the heartwarming sentiments of the following poetry. Although it would come very, very close.
The first one is from highfly2234, a repeat hatemailer whose grace and charm remind me of a dry, itchy crotch:
Now let me get this straight…you actually blog for a living? If your webaite doesn’t demonstrate that any idiot can make a living by posting crap on the internet, I don’t know what does. You have a great scam going on let me tell you. Write letters to your daughter, post pictures of your dog and …AND GET PAID for it. Wow you’re living the American Dream…sitting around your house with a camera on your neck just waiting for SOMEBODY…ANYBODY…to do SOMETHING…that I CAN WRITE ABOUT.
Yeah I don’t see you regretting your life 20 years from at all.
You’re an absolute joke of the worst kind…GET A FRIGGIN LIFE.
And I hope your dog runs away and never comes back because that would be the best day ever!
This is blowing my mind. How did he know? Because my day is pretty much exactly as he described it, right down to the ellipses. Except, he forgot one very important thing: I totally have awesome lip gloss.
And in 20 years when I regret my life? I WILL STILL HAVE AWESOME LIP GLOSS.
Here is one of my favorite pieces of hatemail ever for the sole reason that it was sent to me by someone named Deland. With a name like that you just know that his mama can fry up a chicken:
Hi my name is deland i’m from salt lake i seen your story in the paper so I thought i would check out your blog . Well I think its Lousy it really sucks I bet the only thing U R GOOD AT IS SUCKING ON DICKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Internet, that is 14 exclamation points. Not a record by any means, but a good effort, don’t you think? I like how he threw in such a naughty word, too, because where the exclamation points failed to make an impression, that word certainly brought his email to life. DICKS! It’s like, BEAVERS AND DUCKS! Which I like to randomly scream at children who knock on my door.
Up next is one from Paul:
Yes, yes you have to be one of the most pathetic people I have ever seen in my life. for God’s sake (and I’m not even religious) please stop abusing your child.
I think this email would have been better had he given specific examples to demonstrate his point, and maybe thrown in a numbered list or an outline, because which instance of abuse is he referring to? All of them? Only one? Just the ones involving drill bits? That one time I buried her in jello? HELP ME OUT, PAUL.
Next is one from the always diplomatic Anonymous:
Your family should sue you too. I’ve enjoyed your blog but I thnk that you have some serious issues. I read about your legal battles, your depression and all of your other problems, and I can’t help but think that bad things keep happening to you because you are a bad person. I mean look at how much you husband and your child have suffered because of you, and the more publicity you try to get for yourself the more awful things seem to happen in your life. In addition when your child gets older and goes to school everyone there could know that her mother is literally crazy. Imagine how hard that will be for her. Why are you doing this to your family? Do you really need the money that badly?
I get the feeling that this means I should stop trying to hit Mormons with my car.
Which is kind of an appropriate segue into this email from Durga:
I think it’s funny how u hate mormonism and mormons in general but still choose to live in Utah among them.Why not save yourself the daily depression and angst and just move?It makes you look pathetic when you say that it is still the best place to raise children.
I have explained this before, but let me make this clear one more time IF I HAVE TO: I choose to remain in Utah because of all the free tampons. IS THAT SO WRONG?
Here’s another one from another person named Anonymous, what seems to be the second most popular name for children behind Emma:
Why did you turn comments off? Mad because they point out that you are medicated fool? That you really have nothing going on? That you really aren’t that sharp? That you act irresponsibly and foolishly? That you aren’t that attractive?
This is a very thoughtful question, Anonymous, and I can understand why you might be frustrated that you cannot post your fully-formed love for me in my comments. Maybe this will help you understand why I do the things I do (TAKE NOTE, PAUL, I AM MAKING A LIST):
1. I do not open comments on every post because I do not think every post needs any additional commentary, or because I am not going to be around to make sure everyone is playing nicely.
2. On posts that do allow comments, I usually close them within 24-48 hours because the discussion has usually ended at that point. Plus, it keeps everyone nimble.
3. Occasionally I will turn comments off earlier without warning just so that I can get email like yours, full of bravery and courage, a warm kiss on the nose like a steaming Prozac burp.
A distressed reader, Maurice, writes:
Hi there! I love your column, but am getting rather tired of your dog pictures. Take pictures of each other, the house, the neighbors, Leta or gold fish, but ENOUGH with the dog.
Jeez oh pete.
This next one isn’t really a hatemail, but I thought I would share it here anyway just to give you a glimpse as to the amazing things people feel like they need to say to me. From Jamuna:
I just felt inspired to remind you of something that I think you already know but forgot when I read your post about anxiety today. It’s just this: when you eat animals that have been to the slaughterhouse, you are likely consuming on a more subtle and energetic level the adrenaline, fear and anxiety that they almost certainly experienced just before death. The anxiety you are feeling is not just your own but also the feelings of the dead animals.
If this is true, and do I ever hope it is, then the cow that I ate last night must have been feeling very plump and juicy right before they chopped off his head.
And finally, an email from a reader named Amy, and the only way I can explain some of the punctuation is to believe that she typed it with her forehead:
I just started reading. blogs like last week. I do’nt really care what mundan nerds do and then write about. But, you are so cynical. I c’ant get why you would have such a depressed. blase, I dont give a fuck, mean-spirited-attitude. Is that supposed to be “cool?” Its really dorky. Even the “dooce” thing is dorky…what is that? poo? a gambling reference? (SAHF) or a Shit Ass Ho Fuckingbadass? what does that mean? its soooo fuckin dumb….
oh, the only reason I feel compelled to do this, is cuz you get paid for it and its your job. Therefore, I am within my right to criticize. I certainly would’nt go picking on some 14 year olds blog, about the same mentality tho…
Amy, if you read my FAQ (that stands for FuckingAssQuaaludes, in case you were wondering) you’ll see that the “dooce” thing is not a reference to poo, although if you want to believe that, then I guess you are well within your rights to do so, and I certainly won’t stop you. You are also well within your rights to insert an apostrophe anywhere you think it seems cute — I particularly like the one in c’ant, right there at the beginning, like it’s flashing CONTRACTION AHEAD! CONTRACTION AHEAD! and I do appreciate the warning — but this means that I am well within my rights to assume that you are the type of person who hangs Christmas wreaths on the front of her pick-up.