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Letters to my Life

Abbott the rabbit's burlesque-y latest just got a starred Publisher's Weekly review....huzzah!

Dear Fat Pants,

I am giving you two weeks notice. I am about to be done with you. I am really, really, super serious, this time.

Firmly (and by firmly, I mean ABOUT TO BE more firmly, specifically in the butt area),

Dear Burlesque,
I can forgive you for not being as spectacularly bad as Showgirls. I can forgive you for not being as good as Chicago. I can forgive you because you are mostly inoffensive and moderately charming and you probably gave Stanley Tucci and Julianne Hough a nice payday, so yay on that.

What I cannot forgive? EVER? Is your CRIMINAL underuse of Alan Cumming. You WILLFULLY cut away to people’s faces as they mouthed out boring dialog that furthered the forgone-conclusion of a wispy love story. MEANWHILE? BEHIND YOU? Alan Cumming was very busy being a genius—A GENIUS—-with two girls dressed up as naughty mimes and some tropical fruit.

Alan Cumming’s number was the only part that actually HAD any ACTUAL BURLESQUE in it. Burlesque, in case you did not know, (Hint: You didn’t, and so I am getting you this fantastic book for Christmas if I decide I am still speaking to you) is about promising everything, showing almost (almost!) nothing, and sending people away pleased and giddy ANYWAY.

Most of your non-Cumming numbers attempted burlesque by simply applying fringe and a soupcon of finger-n- head snapping sassy-ish choreography and hoping.


Is that a statue of me?? Fine, as long as we can agree the plaque reads...The Grinch's fat pants shrunk TWO sizes that day!

Dear Fat Pants,

I don’t believe laughing and pointing is a polite response to my sincere and very serious eviction notice. I REALLY MEAN IT THIS TIME. And all those sotto voce remarks about Christmas Cookies and my notoriously low threshold for sugarly-temptings? They were not all that very sotto. I WILL be rid of you if I have to tie horns to Bagel and storm Who-ville and STOP CHRISTMAS FROM COMING.

Suck it,

Dear Boggart,
Electrical cords are not made out of cat kibble. They are made out of equal parts DEATH, BURNING-THE-HOUSE-DOWN, and “going to live outside forever.” Please stop gnawing them before you kill us all. Best case scenario, you end up huddled on my car hood trying to leach warmth from my cooling engine and getting the stuffing beaten out of you by Ginger The Cat Next Door.

With cordial civility and moderate fondness,

PS I have this month alone shelled out 80 dollars for the MAC power cord, and 30 for my laptop cord, and I don’t know what fixing that lamp will cost, but I am guessing “plenty.” You chew one more cord? I will take the costs out of your hide. By which I mean I will LITERALLY sell your ACTUAL HIDE to recoup. I am CCIng this to my good friend, Cruella D.

13 comments to Letters to my Life

  • Andrea

    Cat and cords solution.

    1. Hot sauce.
    2. Q-tip.

    Apply the first with the second on the favorite cords and allow them to air dry. Cats tend to pick up an aversion to cords pretty quickly with this treatment.

  • I dearly love your snarky letter to your cat. It’s just ever so entertaining. Andrea’s solution seems promising 😉

  • Oh dear. I guess this means the post-editor post-shopping lar-lar-laring is over…?

    PS: Can you write a letter to my pants, too. They might listen to a NYT bestseller who speaks with a-thor-i-TIE. They certainly don’t listen to me.

  • Don’t worry I’ll be taking those pants off your hands soon if this Boy Scout popcorn (Chocolately Caramel Crunch, to be specific) doesn’t run out soon. Good thing I only bought one bag. Although is seems to be a magical BOTTOMLESS bag. At this rate my feet won’t even fit in my lovely Christmas Shoes. (sorry, couldn’t help myself…)(much like that danged popcorn)

  • Brigitte

    I was reading too fast and first thought BAGEL was the cord-chewer. And going to be beat up by Ginger the cat. The image was actually pretty funny that way (especially as I suspect that he is the type to get himself beat up by cats). 😉

  • Kacie

    Our cat does the same thing. I’ve already lost one set of christmas lights this year, 2 pairs of headphones, the cord connecting the sensor bar to our wii (for the 2nd time), an ethernet cable, and he’s been messing around with the television cable lately. We’ve tried spraying everything down with several different brands of bitter spray you can get at the pet store. Obviously they do not work. In fact, I suspect he actually likes the stuff because I’ve lost more cords since we started using it. We’ll have to try the hot sauce thing and see if it works. I still have no idea how he’s not dead…

  • Wasabi on the cords (or any other item that gets chewed when it shouldn’t) works well too. Speaking from experience, here. Unless you have a masochistic pet.

    Love love love Alan Cummings! I’m so sorry he didn’t get a priority placement in a show where he would obviously excel!

  • Kitty

    My letter would go like this – Dear Fat Pants: you are on notice. I have joined Weight Watchers. Again. You know, they say the third time’s the charm. So. Seriously. You have been warned. Now excuse me, I have to go finish off the triple chocolate chunk cookies in the kitchen so they won’t tempt me anymore. *points finger at fat pants for emphasis and severity and waddles out of the room*

  • I have also put my fat pants on notice. I’ve found a New and Magical Diet, with Magical Foods. I haven’t actually started it, but I intend to. VERY SOON.
    I’m pretty sure my pants are scared already.

  • Since I have successfully recreated Shoney’s hot fudge cake in my very own home, I have a feeling I will be sending a similar to my fat pants very soon.

    I’m so glad to know that I’m not the only one who loves Alan Cumming. I fell in love with him the first time in A Circle of Friends and have been in love ever since!

  • I’m going to set your fat pants on fire when you come in January.

  • jeanette

    Dear Fat Pants,

    Thank you for still fitting. I will be most appreciative if you will still be fitting on January 1st. We can break up after that. I would never dream of breaking up with you over the holidays. I am not totally heartless, you know.


    Fat Gut

  • Buh-bye, fat pants! You’re off to the tailor to get skinnified. I’d say that I’ll miss you, but that would be a big, yes, fat lie. Good riddance!