Dear Stranger I Made Out With That I Only Vaguely Remember

Dear Stranger I Made Out With That I Only Vaguely Remember,
Hi… um… I don’t usually do this but, well, who are you again?
I know, I know, I know, we’ve met before so you’re technically not a stranger, but I’m also pretty sure we don’t know each other well enough to have each other’s tongues down on our throats. It’s weird how it works out like that?
I mean, I don’t wanna be rude or anything, but I should probably clarify everything that went down that day. See, when you’re as self conscious as me, pool parties are not your friend. They make me unnecessarily nervous and over-the-top paranoid about my weird body image issues. Add five parts alcohol and these insecurities are intensified.
Now, take into account that somebody (no offense, but it could have been anybody) was expressing interest and you’ve got yourself all the ingredients for a drunken, sloppy, make-out session on somebody else’s couch.
So to clarify, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault and I’m sure, at the time, I had a good time but, well, in the harsh light of day, it was kinda embarrassingly inevitably. Nothing personal but, yeah… if we could never mention this again? That’d be great.
Sincerely,
Calhoun

Dear Rando Drunk Dude

Dear Rando Drunk Dude,
I feel like we need to clear some things up.
I am not your love. Not really sure where you got that idea, but I’m not.
Moving on. I did not, as you claim, “find you.”
I was on a run. You got in my way.
And before I knew it, you were hugging me. Now, since you’re a complete stranger, I don’t expect you to know this about me, but I’m not much of a hugger.
Maybe, just maybe, when I’m drunk, but even then, it’s a gamble.
But that’s the thing, I wasn’t drunk. You were, but I wasn’t.
How do I know you were drunk? Well, the super classy brown paper bag you were swigging from was my first clue, but the smell of your breath as you hugged me sealed the deal.
All I gotta say is, Four Loko, dude? Really?
If you’re gonna get trashed and stumble down Santa Monica at least get a real beer.
Oh, and if you happen to run into me again and hug me one more time?
I’m taking one of your testes. Right or left, that’s your choice.
Sincerely,
Calhoun

Dear Elderly Man Telling Me How to Raise My Dog

Dear Elderly Man Telling Me How to Raise My Dog,
While I appreciate your input, in this particular instance, why don’t you let me handle things?
For instance, while your recommendation of “just let those two dogs fight”, referring to my extremely antisocial dog and an overly friendly labrador retriever, is greatly appreciated, my gut says no.
Furthermore, while I normally love complete strangers making snap judgments about me, no, I do not spoil my dog and discourage him from socializing.
I just happen to know him better than you.
But none of this compares to your absolutely enthralling tale of how my dog reminds you of your ex-lover.
Well, not so much my dog as his name is the same as your former partner’s name… I’m sure there were some subtleties to the tale, but they just must have been lost on me.
Definitely worth making me take off my Boba Fett headphones to listen to you prattle on for an obscene amount of time, given your complete lack of knowledge or regard of anyone but yourself.
Sincerely,
Calhoun

Dear Guy Who Farted in the Elevator

Dear Guy Who Farted in the Elevator,
Listen, we all know it was you, okay?
How do we know that?
Well, allow me to rephrase that, actually.
“We” don’t know that you did anything. Because the “we” in this little story? Well, it’s really just me.
So given the fact that there are only two people in this elevator and I’m one of them, so I know for sure that I’m not the culprit, by the power of my Sherlock-ian deductive reasoning, I figure it was probably you.
Besides, if it had been me, you probably would’ve heard me laugh to myself a little… or at least awkwardly avoid eye contact for the rest of the ride down.
But the whole “awkward avoidance” thing is, well… it’s just kinda awkward. It’s not like it accomplishes anything either.
The smell remains. We still both know it was you. It’s just not a great situation.
Especially given that in this scenario, the elevator effectively becomes a slightly roomier, steel dutch oven.
So I’d like to end with a few words of wisdom that I’ve learned over the years.
He who smelt it is not always the one who dealt it.
You don’t need to deny it to be the one who supplied it.
Rather, when there are two people in an elevator and one of them farts, sometimes it’s just best to fess up.
Or in your case, it might jus be easier to look down shamefully at your shows while holding your breath for the remaining 8 floors.
Either one works.
Sincerely,
Calhoun