Dude, My Bad

I'm not a racist, I'm just an idiot.

2011-07-15T11:59:00.000-07:00

Mr. Chang, I’ve lost a lot of beauty sleep thinking about what i did to you so it’s probably best I apologize...to you and your 4 billion relatives.

Lets get right to the point: I’m sorry I mistook you for another Asian. You and I have engaged in multiple conversations at work about math and my paycheck and other nice things so you certainly didn't deserve such an insult.

I never actually explained what prompted me to “welcome you to the agency” that day. Well, I’ll tell you. That morning, we all got an email from a young man who had just started working with us, and he said he'd be handling our paychecks (which was always your job). He also said he sat on the second floor (also your floor). And he signed off his email with: Justin - The tall Asian guy. (You get my drift.)

So when I saw you sitting on the second floor, sorting through what looked like paychecks, looking like a tall Asian (by Asian standards) naturally, I thought you were Justin.

Which is why I So very politely extended my hand, introduced myself and welcomed you to the agency.

I knew what I had done was wrong as soon as your cube buddy and defender of all payroll department employees gave me the stink eye and said, “Um…Kelly, Mr. Chang has been working with us for like five years.”

I’m sure you can see how anyone with a slightly retarded lineage, like mine, (my grandmother married her first cousin) would make this honest mistake. That day, if someone woulda put a gun to my head, Mr. Chang, and asked me what your name was, I’d scream: Justin! It’s Justin, you bastard! Let me live!

So you see Mr. Chang, I'm not a racist, I'm just an idiot. And I ask that you take pitty on me. If not for me, then for our people and all that we have in common:

Rice, good hair and short men.

KELLY'S BIG TIRE GIVEAWAY!

2011-04-18T14:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Clear Channel Katz Advantage,

I know I fucked up a lot in the two years I worked there. Like the time I said I was the one who made those delicious cupcakes at the office pot luck but really didn’t and nobody laughed. And the time I had the mail room guys deliver fake dog poop to the managers in envelopes labeled CONFIDENTIAL. And that time I wore jeans every Tuesday instead of Friday. The list goes on but even I know that all of these fuck-ups are merely misdemeanors next to KELLY’S BIG TIRE GIVEAWAY! I've titled the incident for dramatic effect.

Lets revisit what I think was a very exciting day for corporate America and radio-listening drivers everywhere; The day I gave away $10,000 worth of free tires.

You know how you get those emails just as you’re waking up around lunch time and you’re all like, “Ugh, words.” So you read the first two sentences, the most important ones, and go back to dominating Solitaire. That’s sort of what happened on this particular day when that marketing dude from unnamed company emailed me with the details on the tire-giveaway promotion. His first couple of sentences were very clear: we’d be giving away four new tires per winner. Personally, I would’ve gone with three as a clever way to increase single tire sales but what do I know, I’m just a marketing expert. His last couple of sentences, the ones I didn’t read, were also very clear: we were only to give away these tires to the top five markets on the media buy.

Oops.

Okay so I gave away free tires to like the top 30 markets. The thing is, yes I was lazy, but I was also really excited to give away free tires! I always wanted to give back to the community and now I could do it with someone else's money/tires! So I did what any philanthropist would do: I punched the computer in the face for beating me at Solitaire and got on the phone to tell hundreds of lucky new tire recipients I was about to change their lives, forever.

Anyway, I’m sorry I cost the man an extra $10,000. I’d also like to thank you for moving me to the “creative” department in lieu of canning me. I’ll never wear jeans on a Tuesday again.

Forever grateful,

Kelly

Blinded by Patriotism

2011-03-20T11:02:00.001-07:00

To the city of Orlando,

This year marks the 10th anniversary of my crashing the city’s van into a school bus at the veteran’s day parade. I respectfully commemorate that incident with a public apology.

Let me just start by saying, that road was really fucking narrow. And that school bus was really fucking big.

Second, I had a van full of streamers that needed to be delivered and I was NOT going to let our veterans down by slowing down for children.

Last, I think everyone really blew things out of proportion (the mayor included) and missed the poetic parallels between an intern’s patriotism and that of our troops. You see, no one wants casualties but it’s the price of war and that bus was in my way.
No, let me rephrase that, it was in my country’s way.

All that said, I sincerely apologize for diverting the attention from our brave veterans to that of a bus full of screaming band kids.

Serving with honor,

Kelly

Misery Loves Company (Holiday Edition)

2010-12-21T15:20:00.000-08:00

My dear cousins,

While I am proud to have been the one to educate you about S.E.X. by pointing to the neighbor's dogs when we were 9 ("Actually, Mario that's not lipstick..."), I can’t say I’m proud to have informed you that there is no Santa Claus. I was mostly angry because your parents were so much better than mine. At things like parenting and Christmas. Your tree was always real and green. Ours was $14.99 from our local drugstore. Your toys were always battery-powered. Ours were powered by the mind. So when my sister told me that our parents were the ones wrapping our Christmas presents in birthday paper, NOT Santa Claus, I was appalled and had to share the shitty news with those closest to me. Ken, Barbie, and of course you guys. And seeing as my sister chewed the hands and feet off of barbie that year, I chose to only tell you guys. I couldn’t bare to bring Ken any more bad news. “Ken, no more hand jobs. No more Christmas either.” Surely you understand the difficult position I was in.

Anyway, I know your parents will never forgive me for prematurely ushering the two of you into adulthood but I hope you can find it in your hearts to buy me a present this Christmas.

I miss you guys,

Kelly.

Dear Suzanne,

2010-12-20T18:50:00.000-08:00

When I said that meth can make you look like a mom from the midwest I didn’t realize you are a mom from the midwest.

My bad.

Your beloved coworker,

Kelly.

Best Worst Make-over Evar

2010-09-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

Mario,

Remember that one time i told you all the cool guys were highlighting their hair and convinced you to let me highlight yours with some illegal products my mom had stored in our bathroom cabinet and then you had your senior picture taken and you looked like Lauren Conrad with a buzz cut and a bow tie?

Yeah, I’m sorry. I really hope that's not why you're gay.

Your peanuts for your headphones

2010-01-18T15:25:00.000-08:00

Dear American Airlines,

I just wanted to let you know I stole about $15 worth of headphones from you last week. I have a problem. Not with theft. Just with keeping things around…in general. I lose things. Cameras, children, and lately every pair of headphones I've purchased. So, when I saw you had hundreds of them in a bucket I got excited and thought I should stock up for the inevitable. I am now on my 9th pair (thank you).

I know you’re probably thinking this is somehow my fault and that a respectable company such as American Airlines shouldn’t have to pay the price for my carelessness. But I’ll have you know, what I have is an illness like any other and you wouldn’t fault a blind kid for needing an extra pair of eyes to read the airline safety instructions, would you? Yeah, didn't think so.

And while it may seem like you’re operating at a loss (b/c you’re missing 10 headphones) in actuality, you are not because I'm paying you back. In peanuts. See, when the nice flight attendant offered me some snacks I kindly declined.

I've priced these out (keeping consistent with airport prices of course):
1 bag of roasted peanuts $4.75
1 shot of “Florida” orange juice $5

That’s $9.75.

So $15 worth of headphones - $9.75 worth of snacks = $5.25

As it stands I owe you $5.25. I will pay my balance off when I fly again and bypass your delicious snacks.

Thank you for understanding. You are almost definitely my domestic airline of choice.

Kelly

Hercules, Hercules!

2009-11-29T19:18:00.000-08:00

Em, you may be wondering why I’m writing you an apology. In fact, you may not even remember the occurrence. It was a long time ago. But every now and again my conscience pays me an unwelcome visit and reminds me that I’m an asshole and I owe you an apology.

The year was 1999 and I believe we were on our way back from Westland mall in Hialeah, fl. Me, you and my cousin, Mario. The gay one who was half your size and twice as girly. Anyway, we were in your 1979 Volkswagen bug. My cousin and I, in the backseat. You driving us around. Why no one was in the passenger side is beyond me. You must have been trying to make us feel rich or kidnapped. Anyway, my cousin and I were doing our nails in the back when the bug decided to quit on us. “What the fuck, Em!” I said. Normally I’d play it cool but we were in Hialeah. A city that boasts the largest population of senile drivers who foam at the mouth when you try tell them they're driving against incoming traffic.

Anyway, I have no explanation for what happened next, all I can offer 10 years after the fact, is a thank you and an apology.

“Shut up Kelly” you said.

“What are we going to do? I asked. “I ate my last granola bar. And my nails aren’t even dry yet. Should we beep someone?” This was before cell phones were affordable to Hispanics.

“No, we need to push.” You said.

“Oh, good idea.” I confirmed.

So you got out the car. Positioned yourself in the rear. Palms laid out in front of you and you pushed. Like I’ve never seen anyone push.

As expected, my cousin and I did not follow. But we talked about it:

“Shouldn’t we get out and help?” my cousin asked.

“Oh god no, she’s totally got this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she plays softball.”

Silence.

“And she likes black guys.”

“Okay,” he said. And we sat back, admiring our nails, not once looking back or doubting the ability of our savior to push us, and a 1000 pounds of metal to safety.

For the little people

2009-11-16T11:43:00.000-08:00

Babe, I'm sorry I got on the train and left you on the subway platform. And extended my arm only to wave goodbye. I was sad for you but happy for my people because we finally did something the white man cannot: Fit on the 6 train at 8:30 in the morning.

Lola,

2009-10-05T19:00:00.001-07:00

I’m sorry I gave you up when you were just a baby. But you peed on my bed dude. Twice. You ate my expensive gadgets and scratched the fuck out of my dates. Despite the fact that lady from the adoption agency bitched me out for returning you, I’m confident I made the right decision and you’re in a much better place. Running around some big lawn, peeing on children who are just as oblivious and misbehaved as you.

love,
your old master

The Wedding Gifter

2009-08-21T09:23:00.000-07:00

Kristen + Adam,

Let me congratulate you once again on a lovely wedding. But more important, let me apologize for my poor gift choice. It seemed like a sweet gift at the time, but after receiving your thank you note I realize it's not worthy of your gratitude. My sincerest apologies. Rest assured, I will make it up to you at your 25 year anniversary.

Sorry Jenny

2009-07-14T15:00:00.000-07:00

Jenny,

I'm sorry I made you drive yourself to the hospital that time you had appendicitis back in college. I thought it was gas. You thought it was gas. We both thought it was gas. And gas doesn't warrant a 5am trip to the hospital. Besides I was probably drunk and you wouldn't want me driving because I could have killed us both which would have been much more tragic than just losing you to appendicitis.

I'm glad we can look back and laugh at how silly the whole thing was.

much love,

Kelly

Home Cookin'

2009-07-08T07:12:00.000-07:00

Babe,

I'm sorry my special spaghetti ruined your insides. I shouldn't have made it with love.

Optimash Prime

2009-05-01T16:42:00.000-07:00

Babe,

I'm sorry I gave you a Mr. Potato Head that christmas. But, only because you gave me a digital camera.

I didn't know we were "there." If you know what I mean.

I guess it's not your fault. I should have snooped around and known what you were up to. Then I could have gotten you an Ipod touch or something.

I will say this, while, the current value of that Mr. Potato Head is about one-eighth of the digital camera you gave me, it won't be in thirty years.

Not only is Mr. Potato Head an American classic, but this specific one is even more special since it morphs into a Transformer. Your favorite movie, may I remind you. In fact, the way I see it, you're sitting on a gold mine.

Optimash Prime will be worth hundreds, if not thousands of Yuan, years after the digital age has passed us. So when we're old and grey, we'll retire on Mr. Potato Head, and wonder what happened to that digital camera you gave me way before you should have.

Love you,

Kelly

ps. No really, I can't find it. I might have left it at the bar or Holly's car when we went out for girl's night.

Little girl at the coffee shop talking into a banana

2009-04-12T11:02:00.001-07:00

I’m sorry I looked at you like you’re stupid.

But you looked stupid. Talking into a fucking banana. Dude, you’re like 11 years old. Surely, you know that there’s no one on the other end of the banana. It’s technologically impossible for produce with a shit ton of potassium to receive any kind of wireless signal. You know that right? If not, your parents should have told you the first time they caught you talking to a fruit plate. I’m all for vivid imagination and shit but not at the expense of dignity. And you sort of left yours lying right next to the muffins at the coffee shop.

A kind stranger,

Kelly

Oh shit, it's Jesus!

2009-04-12T10:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Jesus,

I’m sorry I keep forgetting what Easter is.

I know you came back from the dead. And that freaked people out so they started hiding their eggs, just in case. Paranoia hit the streets and people went as far as disguising them as bad art. But you were like, “Everybody, chill out, it’s me, remember I turned water into wine at my last party?” And they were like, “Seriously, guys, hide the eggs.” So you gave everybody a bunny and they were like, “oh shit, it’s Jesus!”

Or something like that.

Anyway, i'll get it eventually. In the meantime, do your thing.

Yours truly,

Kelly

Dingleberries

2009-04-05T20:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Raquel,

I’m a good friend. At least I like to think so which is why I offered to cat sit Damaso for you while you were away doing things I’m too poor to experience.

My abilities as a nurturer are pretty limited, I know, but I thought I could handle your cat.

I must say, Damaso is the prettiest cat I’ve ever seen. Not really a compliment to you since you didn’t birth him but I guess you deserve some credit since you know how to keep his silky, black hair real shiny. And I noticed you took the time to manicure his little nails, which is weird since they spend most of their time inside his paws. Anyway, I had every intention of keeping Damaso this way. I even followed the rules you so kindly posted on the fridge:

-brush hair once a day
-Turkey flavored salmon is for Wednesdays
-If possible, please watch 2 hours of animal planet with him
-feed him 1 half can of Fancy Feast every day at 3:00 pm

It was this last bit of instructions that I was having a hard time processing. And this letter is my attempt to explain where I went wrong.

“…One half can of Fancy Feast?” I asked myself.

Fancy Feast, is the Slim Fast of cat food. A super tiny can of something super delicious. You feel even fatter when you’re done cause you’re left wanting more. It’s not a lot of cat food and Damaso is a lot of cat. So portion controlling an already small-sized meal would be cruel. “He’ll be starving by midnight,” I thought. And midnight hunger pangs are a bitch. At least I can open a fridge. If Damaso gets hungry at midnight, he’s fucked.

And so the case for feeding half a can of fancy feast seemed less and less logical.

“His hair is gorgeous. Which means he eats a lot of protein. Which makes me think he eats a whole can not a half can,” I kept rationalizing.

And so after much debate with myself, it was obvious that these tiny cans of Fancy Feast cat food are called Half Cans. The Fancy Feast Half Can. Of course, how could I not see that earlier?

So, I gave Damaso a whole can of the Fancy Feast Half Can.

By the third day of hanging out with Big D I knew his pet peeves and he knew mine. “Dude, I hate it when you push your perfect little paws up against my thigh.” And he hated when I ate on the couch. But overall, we were happy.

We were watching Groomer Has It when I left Big D to go pee. “Big D, I’m gonna leave you now to go pee,” I said. And in the bathroom, next to the toilet, next to the tub, next to the fuzzy, blue matt, in the litter box, sort of, was the shit storm.

Damaso was peeing from his butthole.

I had a sneaky suspision the shit storm could be traced back to the Fancy Feast Half Can. That’s when I texted you, “Hey Raquel, when you said to feed Damaso half a can of fancy feast did you mean, half a can of fancy feast?”

“Yes” you texted. But in a scolding, “I will rip your heart out” kind of “yes”. I know you.

In my defense, you really should have been more specific with the feeding instructions but, there was no time for semantics, I had a litter box to light on fire and a cat’s insides to repair.

“Big D, why didn’t you tell me?” But he was in too much pain to reply. “Here’s some water and a pillow you can bite. That’s what I do after too much salsa picante.”

And as he walked away I noticed his cat ass, where his shiny hair no longer shined. Call FEMA. This was a natural disaster area, for sure. And so began our bonding over some animal planet, dingleberries, and a giant pair of scissors.

In the end, all was good. I sang him some tunes, nothing special just some Top 40’s stuff, and I let him push his little paws up against my thighs even though it annoyed the shit out of me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m glad he’s okay and “Raquel, I’m sorry I had to cut your cat’s ass hair.”

Also, did I leave my sweater at your house?

Your friend,

Kelly Diaz

Quin, the toddler formerly known as Gwen

2009-04-05T19:50:00.000-07:00

My Dearest Quin,

As your homegirl and occasional babysitter, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry I called you by the wrong name.

For two months.

Personally, I think Gwen is a much sexier name even for a 2 year old but, making you cool is not my job.

I want you to know I didn’t do it on purpose. I really did think it was your name because you answered to it when we played fetch. “Go get it Gwen. Go get the cookie.”

And while this is meant to be an apology from me to you, I want you to know you’ve let me down as well. I thought a level-headed 2 year old such as yourself would speak up when something’s not right.

In the months I’ve known you, you never ceased to impress me. You know what you want, and you go after it. Cookie, kitty, dirt. And I admire that.

But that person I built you up to be vanished when you let me call you by the wrong name in front of your mother. And what’s worse is that you giggled and smiled your way through the whole thing. Keeping up the charade.

It sucks dude, we shared some good laughs over Dora the Explorer’s shitty haircut and her stupid Spanish accent. You taught me how to color within the lines and that Goldfish are only for eating.

So yeah, I’m sorry I called you by the wrong name. But I’m even more sorry you let me.

I hope we can come back from this Quin.

I miss your Goldfish.

Yours truly,

Kelly