Dear passive-aggressive teenagers,

You're making me be passive-aggressive.

Even though I hate passive-aggressiveness.

I will barf on you.

-Felicity

Dear sketch-a-licious Wal-Mart and Rite-Aid shoppers,

Yes, I understand that you like my bag. It is a very nice bag, and I agree with you.

It is okay to say "Nice bag" or "Nice purse", but I would sincerely appreciate if you left it at that.

I would not like to have a conversation about my bag. 

Yes, I'm very aware that it looks like a camera. That is why I'm a fan of it.

 Yes, I'm aware that it is a very nice bag.

But I really get very flustered and embarrassed when you continue to talk about my bag, and then turn to the person next to you and talk about my bag with them.

It's UNUSUAL.

Please, stop.

Thank you,

Felicity

Dear bed,

Thank you fro having wheels.

I think that my life would be missing so much hilarity if you didn't have wheels.

Like when I wake up between you and the wall because I somehow moved you while I slept.

Or when Kenzy tries to push you against the wall, but because of your wheels you just bounce back.

And after a while, Kenzy's standing at the foot of my bed, pelvic-thrusting and yelling "I CAN'T WIN!"

Honestly, none of these things would be possible if you didn't have wheels.

However, you totally suck for making my back hurt forever.

I need a stupid form mattress or something.

Or perhaps I should actually use a pillow?

I don't know.

Love and a little hate,

Felicity

Dear neighbors,

Kay, you know what's not cool?

Being loud at 9 am.

You know what's even uncool-er?

Yelling at your neighbors for being loud, but being louder than them in the process.

All I hear, right after waking up, is:

"Keep it down! Keep it down!"

All I can imagine is that there is a person who is surely going to murder me then stuff my body in some small German village's only well. Then, I hear:

"You keep it down! You're being too loud!"

And then I'm pissed. I just thought I was going to be murdered, because of this?! Because of some petty neighbor fight? I was about to pee, out of fear, because no one on the stupid street can shut up?

And I was still scared, because there was a possibility that this would turn into some brawl.

I hate you all, neighbors. All of you.

And an illustration of my 9 am fear, just for the fun of it:

With lots of words I'm not allowed to say,

Felicity

Dear F#m9,

F sharp minor ninth.

You suck.

I hate you, F#m9. And there are very few things I hate.

You are part of the exclusive club of things that I would like to rid from the surface of the Earth.

You, in fact, are the only member.

That's how much you suck.

You are a very ugly chord.
I think that I could actually produce a better sounding chord if I had my cat sit on the keys of my piano.
A toddler wildly slamming his hands on a keyboard sounds better than you.

Every time I hear you, my ears bleed and I'm tempted to rip out my own hair.

 In case you need a visual, here:

You, of course, are the music note floating to the right.

The thing around you is your cloud of evil.

I'm the girl to the left. My ears are projectile squirting blood. And I've ripped out tufts of my hair.

My nose has also disappeared, because it could smell how horrible you sound.

That actually happens whenever I hear you, F#m9. Or whenever someone dares to mention your ugly name.

Which is why I hate you. So much.

With hatred,

Felicity 

Dear Nyan Cat,

Nyanyanyanyanyan.

This website may be the most annoying, yet pleasing thing ever.

Seriously.

Nyanyanyan,

Felicity

Dear person,

You wanted a blog post about you.

Here it is.

You're conceited. You think you are my only friend. The only one who 'helps' me.

Well, truth is, you don't help me. You just hurt me. Over and over and over again.

You think you're the only one that I ever talk about.

That everything negative I say is about you.

Well, truth is, I have plenty of people to complain about. 

And I don't make a habit of wasting my time complaining about you.

Hey, babe, guess what? The world revolves around something, but it's the sun, not your gigantic ego.

You DON'T accept me. You blatantly shove your views down my throat.

I'm done with you.

Thanks for nothing. I'd say thanks for the memories, but they sucked.

Signed,

Felicity

Dear Facebook (reprise),

I don't speak Danish!

Do I seem like I speak Danish, Facebook?

Have I ever spoken Danish before?

What's with your obsession with including random languages that I don't know on my English Facebook?

It's not ok!

You really need to talk about your speaking problems with someone, perhaps a therapist, rather than taking them out on me.

Because I don't speak Danish.
And I won't learn it just to please you, because peer pressure is bad!
That's probably why you're doing this, isn't it, Facebook?
Someone pressured you into learning Danish and now no one speaks it with you and that makes you angry, so you take it out on me because you love confusing me with your various languages that I don't speak.
Not cool, Facebook, not cool at all.

Hugs and kisses and hatred,

Felicity

Dear phone,

I'm afraid that if you continue to die, and become reanimated in my pocket,

I will have to shoot you.

Obviously, you are a zombie. And I'm cool with that.

Well, I'm MOSTLY cool with that.

The only time that I'm totally not cool with that is when you die,

and then decide that the perfect time to come back to life is in the middle of Social Studies.

And since I don't notice you coming back to life, you make sure that I do by turning on Voice Command.

And you go, "SAY A VOICE COMMAND."

And then in my head I'm like, "sheepsheepsheepsheep."

And the teacher says, "TURN THAT OFF."

And I say, "I'M TRYING TO~!"
And you repeat, "SAY A VOICE COMMAND."
And then I manage to finally turn you off and shove you into the depths of my backpack.

It's just an ordeal. An ordeal I don't need, phone.

So, unless you fix your reanimation problem, I WILL shoot you.

You have 3 days.

Seek help immediately, please.

With warning, 

Felicity

Dear suicidal fishy,

Please stop trying to jump out of the tank.

It's not very fun out here in the world, trust me.

At least in that tank you have a (glass, breakable, jump-out-able) roof over your head,

and (pelleted, fishy-smelly) food every day,

and (fish) people that (really don't, they actually hate you) love you.

Honestly, you life isn't that bad.

It worth living!

So, in short; PLEASE STOP TRYING TO JUMP OUT OF THE FISH TANK.
And if the above listed reasons are not enough,
the other fish are starting to think you're a wimp. Yeah, honestly.
I head them. They were all, "Blubblubblub."
Which translates to: "Did you hear about the fish who keeps trying to jump out? Yeah, he's WEAKKK."
You're ruining your rep! Your fishy rep!
You don't want to loose your fishy rep, do you?

Thank you,

Felicity

Dear stereotypical teenaged girls,

Shut up!

Shut up!

Shut up!

My gosh!

You just go on and on and on about the stupidest stuff.

You insult girls that you barely know.

You get angry when we don't listen, but you NEVER have anything worthwhile to say.

Shut up!

You're just exactly what everyone expects teenaged girls to be.

You're ruining our reputation.
Everyone expects me to be like you, so they don't listen.
But I'm not like you!
And neither are most girls.
But the few of you, the few stereotypes, ruin it all.

Just, go away.

And shut up!

With annoyance,

Felicity

Dear past Felicity,

WHERE ARE MY GLASSES.

Seriously.

You're making it hard for BOTH of us by putting them in odd places where I can't find them.

It's not okay. You really need to cut it out.

Because you know what? If I go blind, then you'll be blind.

Yeah.

You glasses-hiding antics don't sound so fun anymore, do they?

Anyways, if this continues, then I'll be forced to take some sort of action.

Not sure what kind of action(you really can't sue yourself, so no legal action),

but I will take action. And you will PAY.

Hear that?

YOU WILL PAY.

With anger and no sight,

Current Felicity

Dear ice cream,

You're seriously issue-matic.

You're so... tempting.

But so, so bad for me.

I wish I could just live on ice cream.

But that would make me die.

And it would really suck to die because you ate too much ice cream.

Think of explaining that to people in hell.

Seriously, it'd be really embarrassing.

I think that we need a counseling appointment.

Because we have a serious issue in our relationship.
And that issue is that you're trying to murder me.

Seriously.

Love,

Felicity

Dear "Must Love Cats" Guy, (reprise)

YOU'RE SO CREEPY, DUDE.

WHAT.

EVEN.

With a deep concern,

Felicity

Dear tortoise,

Slow and steady wins the race.

Yeah right.

Slow and steady may produce quality results in the long run, but it doesn't win the race.

No way you're beating the hare in the 400m dash.

I honestly think you made that story up, just to make yourself feel better.

It's not good to lie, tortoise.

Just because you're slow and always fail, it doesn't mean you should lie.

Especially if that lie leads to millions of small children thinking that if they just keep going, the faster person in the race will take a nap and they'll win.

That's a ridiculous thought.

Thanks a lot, tortoise.

With a hint of pessimism,

Felicity

Dear World,

I JUST CAN'T EVEN DEAL WITH THIS.

I need a reason. Why is there gravity?

Why is there life?

Why is the number 9 so ugly?

These abstract concepts don't count as explanations. 

Because it's not the why.
It's just how. And I don't give a sheep about how.

I hate the answer "because it is."

I hate it.

I have this feeling deep inside, nestled right next to my left lung, that makes me nervous when there's no reason for something. When it's just like that because it is.

It makes me want to pull my hair out and cry and ask why until someone can finally answer me.

Just. WHY?

Urgh. Even thinking of this is making me really stressed out.

With a nervous feeling right next to my left lung,

Felicity

Dear World,

I. Don't. Care.

I'm too much of a hipster to care.

With love and kisses and rainbows,

Felicity

Dear Facebook,

I'm super confused.

Uhm, since when is "ನಿಮಿಷಗಳು ಬಾಕಿ ಇವೆ" a measure of time?

Well, it's not in any language I know. And it's not in any language that Google Translate knows.

I really think you have some issues, Facebook.

We need to have a talk about you making up times measurements.

It's not okay.

Someone could take you seriously, and think that that was how you measured time forever!

And that would be very, very bad, Facebook.

And all your fault.

With confusion,

Felicity  

Dear home,

I missed you I missed you I missed you.

I guess I didn't really realize how great it is to sleep uncomfortably on the living room chair until I couldn't for four whole days.

However, home, you seem to have let yourself go a bit.

You're a little dingy and dirty looking.

I know you missed me, but that's no excuse to stop keeping up with your hygine!

But I still accept you.

And I still missed you.

And I'm still so glad to be here!

Love,

Felicity

Dear hallway door,

Duck you. Seriously.

I just wanted to go asleep, but you had to creak and open and close until 1 am.

That was a really mean thing to do.

Because I couldn't fall asleep because of you but I didn't want to go to close you because you could've been opening and closing because of a serial killer who was trying to trick me.

So, I just stayed up, terrified, until the wind stopped and you finally shut up.

Thanks to you, I'm really really tired.

I hope you're happy about yourself.

With the burning anger that only a short-tempered 14 year old girl can posses,

Felicity

You,

You.

You're ruining her.

How dare you do this?

Why do you think it's okay?

Because it most definitely is not.

Stop it. Stop it right now. Or I might just...

implode.

Or punch you in the face. Whatever comes first.

I demand you to IMMEDIATELY cease and desist.

Stop your manipulative, sheepy attitude and ego-centric personality.

Go back to the old you.

For the sake of your so-called "best friend".

I'm not even sure I believe that she means that to you, the way your treat her.

  Who am I kidding? You'll never listen. You'll never even hear.

With disgust,

Felicity

Dear bowling ball,

TO THE LEFTTTTT.

Why don't you listen to me?

You need to go to the left, or whatever direction that I yell.

Go towards to bowling pins.

Not the gutter.

Honestly, you'd be much better off if you would just listen to me!

Whatever. You loss.

Actually, my loss.

But you failed, too.

Love,

Felicity

Dear fragile ones,

You are strong.

But, you fall hard when you fall.
After all, we all have porcelain fists sometimes.

You need to protect yourself.

Don't let the boys and girls break you.

You're better than them.

I love you.

Love,

Felicity

Dear procrastinators,

I thought about writing about you.

I'll do it later.

Love,

Felicity

Dear puppy,

It is NOT okay to eat my flip flop!

Especially when it is my favorite pair of flip-flops and you have to jump up on a chair to get them.

There is a REASON, dear puppy, that I  put them there.

Foolish dog child.

Anyways, I will forgive you THIS TIME because you are so adorable.

But next time, I WILL BE ENRAGED.

This is your FINAL WARNING.

Okay? Okay. Good.

All my love,

Felicity

Dear 'friends',

I am not a scapegoat. 

I am sick of receiving the blame for all of the things wrong with you because I said one thing wrong.

We are not in elementary school, darlings. It is not okay to yell and scream and fuss over nothing.

And it is certainly not the time to start being so petty.

It is actually the time to cease that behavior.

Honestly, grow up please? And let me repeat:

I am not a scapegoat.

Stop treating me as such.

Love and kisses,

Felicity

Dear kitten,

Oh, Fedora, you are just too cute.

I don't even know what to do about it.

You are just too cute. Too sweet. It gives me a stomach ache.

You're going to make me go into a diabetic coma or something.

Just, just stop. Stop being such an adorable kitten.

Actually, don't. Because once you're not an adorable kitten, you will be a cat.

And I don't want you to be a cat. But I don't want you to be such an adorable kitten.

There's just no way for you to win in this situation, is there?

Sorry,

Felicity

Dearest darlingest room,

I cleaned you the other day. And I'm really concerned about some of the things I found.

Such as:

broken glass

half-melted small plastic dog

can of paint

$5 worth of nickels (only concerned about this because NO ONE LIKES NICKELS)

stack of paper stuck together with some sort of red sticky liquid

bottles of water with stuff growing in them

chewed guitar picks

3 halfs of different pairs of head phones

 like, 20 cat food cans with moldy food in them

In short, room, I think you're a hoarder. And you need counseling.

We can work through this, room. We really can.

Love,

Felicity

Dear Hot Pockets,

Why do you never cook right?

Always too hot on the side, and then the middle is like ice.

Either that or I cook you too long and you explode, making my microwave totally disgusting.

It really upsets me, Hot Pocket. It hurts my feelings that you don't want to cook properly so I can eat you.

It makes me feel bad about my Hot Pocket eating abilities.

I wish we could get along, Hot Pocket.

Maybe we need a counseling session. How does Tuesday sound?

With unreturned love,

Felicity

Dear Ceramcoat makers,

 

Who thought it was a good idea to name a paint "Santa's Flesh"?

Do you know how creepy that is?

You know who the target audience for that paint would be?

Cannibals. Cannibals with a Christmas fetish.

Because no one wants to say that their paint is called "Santa's Flesh" except for cannibals with a Christmas fetish.

That's an extremely small demographic, Ceramcoat.

With More Concern than I had for MLCG,

Felicity

Dear "Must Love Cats" Guy,

You will now be refereed to as MLCG.

MLCG, is this what you want with your life? 

To go around the country, meeting crazy cat people and their cats and WRITING SONGS ABOUT IT?

Okay, it probably is. Because you LOVE cats. You ducking love cats. A bit too much.

I mean, I understand. Cats are fantastic animals.

But you're creepy. You're wicked creepy.

When I see your show, I just sit there gaping for a while.

Once your show is gone, you'll just have your money and your cats.

And you'll be a creepy, crazy, rich cat guy.

Is that what you want?

Who am I kidding? Of course it is.

With concern,

Felicity

Dear mouth,

You taste like onions.

My breath, smells like onions.

I hate onions.

I haven't had any onions, I had yogurt.

WHAT THE DUCK?

Confusably,

Felicity

Dear Script Frenzy,

I'm sorry that I haven't even started on you.

I was really motivated to do it... before I started to write.

I don't even have a plot.

So, unfortunately, I will say sorry in advance for not finishing you.

Love,

 Felicity

My dear ukulele,

You are an amazing instrument.
I am sorry that I named you Edward Cullen.
But, seriously, it fits. Just like him, you're sparkly, incredibly gay, and most people laugh at you.
Also, I'm sorry that you have a scratch from Olivia making you fall. Don't blame her. Actually, blame her. It's her fault.
I'm also sorry that there's a Cheerio inside of you and Sharpie on your tuning pegs.
That's my fault, but you can still blame Olivia.
I love you. I really do.
Sincerely,
Felicity

Dear doo-wop,

Thanks for making my Ke$ha arrangement hilarious.
Am I the only one who can now only think "Ke-dollar sign-ha" when I see Ke$ha now? Damn Glee.
I ducking love old music. More than this sheep we have now.
Ducking pop sheep. And it all vacuums.
Oh, and if you are wondering about the animals and vacuum, those are my new swear replacements.
Because swearing is baddd.
Ducking bad..
Love,
Felicity

Dear teachers,

Do you realize how obnoxious your playing favorites is?
Seriously.
It's like, you yell at the back corner of the class for talking before you come in and before the bell, but then it's like the kids in the front can talk to you and move you to a different subject in the middle of class.
You make me rage. Like, GRRR-ANGER-RAGE.
Also, I would appreciate it if you would stay in the room to TEACH us because you are the TEACHER instead of leaving the room and texting all the time. You act like a teenager more than we do.
And on said times that you're out of the room, of course we're going to talk. So don't get angry.
We wouldn't talk if you just stayed in the room.
Honestly,
Felicity

Dear hair,

Stop falling out.
Stop being messy.
Stop tangling.
Stop being in my face.
Please?
Love,
Felicity

Dear drunk neighbor,

You're a jerk. You're a drunk. You're a drunk jerk.
Do you think that I really want to hear about how my dead mom's birthday was the same as yours?
If you're really that stupid, I DON'T.
And no, I don't want you to yell "Run Forrest Run!" every time I run past your porch.
You know why I do that? Because you CREEP ME OUT.
I don't like walking past your porch when you're there because you're WICKED CREEPY.
You're the kind of person that should be brought to elementary schools to show kids why you NEVER EVER DRINK.
Because you end up a drunk. A bitter, old drunk.
A wicked creepy, jerk-ish, bitter old drunk.
Male donkey.
Love,
Signed,
Felicity

Dear blog-readers,

(all two of you)
I've decided to write the posts from now on, in letter form.
Change is the pickling juice of life, you guys.
Or is it spice? I don't really care.
Whoo-frapping-hoo.
Love,
Felicity

You make me rage.

My blood is boiling. It is so incredibly hot that it threatens to burn through my veins and melt my skin so that all would be left is the bloody, 4th-degree burnt remains of a terrifically angry girl. And then my whole house would smell like burnt flesh forever. And I would assume that that is not a fantastically good smell.
Anyways, I have a hypocrite in the midst of my social circle.
And.
She.
Is.
Killing.
Me.
She makes plans, this frustrating interpretation of a girl. And then she freely cancels them, blowing everyone off because she's made bigger or better plans with a more grand person. She feels no obligation to do what she said. Which is angering in its own right.
But, oh no, it gets worse.
Because if this girl has plans canceled on her, it is a disaster. World War III just broke out if you dare do something other than what was planned. She gets soooo angry.
And, somehow, this person doesn't manage to see how much of a hypocrite she is. Which is the most angering thing of all.

I have a toy melodeon.

I watched Glee today. I love Glee more than most people. Not even joking there.
And now, I am watching House online. Because I love House, too. Again, more than most people.
I am so tired. I am barely managing to blog this evening. I'm probably going to fall asleep after I write this.
I have a toy melodeon. It's very fun to play. I'm such a weirdo.
Happy Mardi Gras! Yeah! Whoo! Okay, that's enough faked excitement. I wish I lived in New Orleans.
I am too tired for this. Peace in the middle east.

Well, on the bright side, I could have malaria! Or be on fire! Or have malaria and be on fire AT THE SAME TIME!"

I am a klutz. Not only a klutz, but a blissfully unaware, ditzy klutz.
My wrist is sprained. Again. Since this time last year, I think I have sprained my wrist six times or so. It's not fair. I sprained my wrist PLAYING FETCH WITH MY DOG once. Fetch! Seriously, wrist? You can't even handle that?
I am so accident-prone. It's ridiculous. Let me list my last few injuries:

• Sprained wrist from who-knows-what
• Cut on my finger from hitting it on the wooden frame of my window
• Rash from one of those jelly glow-in-the-dark hair ties
• Rash from shampoo
• Giant head scabs from combing too hard
• 7-week-old puppy scratch that bled FOREVER
• Blister on heel from not wearing socks with my rain boots (okay, that was preventable, if I had known it would happen!)
• Cut on thigh from toilet seat (I kid you not)
• Hurt finger from getting it slammed in a door
• Bruises on my thigh and arm on the right side, caused by slipping on ice

Those are my injuries in the last 3-ish weeks. I am far too accident and injury-prone for life. Please fix me. The worst part is half the time I don't even realize how badly I hurt myself until I try to do something and I'm like, "OW SHIT WHAT DID I DOOOOO". And it hurttttssss.
Anyways, aside from my many, many ailments, I found my vanilla chapstick and it makes me happy. Very, very happy. Sadly, I cannot eat it, despite how good it smells. And it really does smell good.

I'M SO FUCKING ADORABLE IT'S NOT EVEN FAIR

I am adorable. I am not trying to be conceited when I say that, but it is so true. It's more of a curse than anything, though. I am just so cute and I get at least 3 comments calling me cute a day. It's totally unfair. Because I am supposed to be pretty by now but I'm still stuck at adorable(and not even a mature adorable, a 5-year-old adorable). And I'm almost positive I will be stuck there forever.
It's my face, and my personality. I am freckled and I have a button nose, and I don't have a particularly fat face, but my cheeks are very round. My eyes are spaced a little farther apart than normal, and I have a fringe. I am fucking adorable. My personality is like that of a 9-year-old, to go with my 5-year-old face. I am upbeat, shallow, easily distracted, absent-minded, funny... And apparently, charming. So, I guess I have an adorable personality. And I play the ukulele. Which is like a baby guitar. And according to some, that's adorable too.
The problem with being adorable is that I am never taken seriously. People are just too caught up on my adorable-ness. And they always think I'm joking when I'm not. It's so angering. And one day I'll be serious and people won't take me serious and all of their loved ones will end up killed by a super hero's evil twin. Watch, it'lll happen.
ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I get out of everything by either joking or being charming or adorable or whatever. People very rarely get angry at me.
TL;DR: I am adorable, and I sort of hate it, but it has its benefits, too.