Dear Rain

Dear Rain,

You ruined my phone, bitch! Also, for the second day this week, my feet are soaked and cold. I don't appreciate this, you know.
At least my umbrella is not broken.

Resentfully yours,
Peat

Dear Umbrella

Dear Polka Dotted Umbrella,

Thank you for keeping me dry. And thank you for being so cool. Thank you for wearing a condom so the stuff in my bag doesn't get wet. Thank you for attacking Carlie on command. You're one spiffy, nifty, neato, swell umbrella. Way to go, bitch! No raindrops fallin' on this head! Peat

Dear Third Year

Dear Third Year,

You are over. You ended with a whimper when I wanted to go out with a bang, but whatever. When all is said and done, all that I will remember is that I made some fantastic friends. Honestly. I know it's supposed to revolve around the academics, but life is important, too. And, in this case, I think life might have won out.

I learned a lot this year, though. Good stuff. Better than working the whole year and not being in school, I suppose. I had a lot of troubles. Mostly with motivation and getting interested. Hopefully this will not be the case next year. Fourth year.
Wow. That's going to be sort of weird.

So, that's it. Thanks for a better life; more enlightened and more full of love and friendship than it was before.

Look out, future! Here I come,
Peat

Dear Ottoman History

Dear Ottoman History,

Ouch. You raped me. At least you're over and your Empire is totally dead. Way to survive, bitch /sarcasm.

Welcome, freedom.

Sincerely,
Peat

Dear Interrobang

Dear Interrobang,

I realize that, after the "Dear Alphabet" series, many other parts of literature felt a little left out. Well, I am only going to dig myself into a deeper grave by means of this letter.  This is not the first in a series addressed to punctuation (or... is it?), but it is nonetheless important.

I love to learn new things, Interrobang, and your existence is one of the most interesting things I have learned in a while. I was watching a man I admire chat about literary things on YouTube and he was asked the question: "What is your favourite punctuation?" His answer... was you, Interrobang. Where have you been all my life‽ I constantly find myself using the old question mark, exclamation mark series at the end of a sentence because I want to make sure my inquiry and force are both understood. Now that I know you exist, I plan on using you whenever possible.
I'm glad to have met you, new friend.
I waited how long to meet you‽

See you soon and often,
Peat

Dear Podcasters

Dear Podcasters,

I like your show a lot.  You're very funny. You're honest. And you speak to things which relate to me. I love how you mock stereotypes while fitting them perfectly and you aren't afraid to mock and be mocked.
I like cats, too.

It was good for me,
Peat

Dear Josef (Parti Deux)

Cher Frère,

Josef, tu es la meilleure chose depuis le pain en tranches. Ensemble, nous sommes toujours contents. Tu m'amuses.
Notre mère, elle pense que nous sommes dérangés. C'est très amusant, non?
J'aime aller à la plage avec toi. Allons-y! Peut-être au week-end? D'accord.

A+
Peat

Dear French Girls

Dear French Girls,

Damn, you're sexy. And why do the sexy French girls all have names that start with "A"? I mean, at least the ones I know: Alice, Amandine, Audrey, and Adrienne.
Honestly, is that just a coincidence? Or do parents know "Oh, our daughter is going to be very sexy (and French, because we are French, but for the purposes of this blog we think in English)"? Is that how it works?
Not that I care, really. Any sexiness France wants to share with Canada, I am good with.
You know I'll montre vous mon cul ;)

A+,
Peat

Dear Alejandro

Dear Alejandro, 

I was lonely. I was sort of down. I opened up my closet (pun fully intended) to find you waiting for me on the other side of the door. You came into my life several years ago now. Five years. It does not seem so long, but it has been this many years.  You have changed over time. As have I. We’ve gotten through some very interesting life situations. We’ve also failed to get through some. Or, I should say, you have helped me to get through some (and failed to help me get through some)? Yes, I think that is the best way to put it.
I missed you. It had been a while since we had gotten together to do what we do. I found some of the material with which we used to experiment. Some of it was really intense. I didn’t realize until we tried it out again only to find ourselves too out of practice.  My lips weren’t ready.
We got back to it very quickly didn’t we? It’s sort of like riding a bicycle. Although, I’m sure had we left it for long enough, it would have been forgotten. We need a bit more time with it to get back to the level we once were. But that’s what the summer is for, right? We can experiment.
Let us spend a lot of time together. Shall we perhaps invite others to join us? They may or may not enjoy our activities.
It’s not for everybody, remember.
Thanks for making me feel better.

Without you, my life would “B flat,”
Peat

Dear Canadian History

Dear Canadian History,

*gunshots* You are more dead to me than Pierre LaPorte at the culmination of the FLQ Crisis. You didn't stand a chance of pulling a James Cross and escaping your demise. I have gladly resolved you, unlike the Meech Lake Accord. I am happier to be done with you than a young woman was to meet Pierre Trudeau at the height of his popularity in the 1970's (oh, Trudeaumania). Thou art of no more significance to me that Sif John A. MacDonald's National Policy which failed in its attempt to foster a national identity by finishing a railway and introducing more foreigners to Canada. Studying for your exam was more tedious than listening to radical feminists bitch about the dysfunctional system rather than trying to fix the existing one. You are more pointless than Japanese internment camps (and not quite equally infuriating). You are more exasperating than the institutionalization of racism and calssism as a result of the ammendments to the Immigration Act in 1906 and 1910 by Frank Oliver just because he didn't like Clifford Sifton. At times, you were as amusing as Cold War antics such as blaming gays and Jews for the spread of Communism while breeding a generation that would only rebel against the system in the following decades.
I am glad to be done with you.

Goodbye/Salut (because this is a bilingual nation),
Peat

P.S. ... also pwned. I had an answer prepared for every question you threw at me, bitch.

P.P.S. Yeah, two in one day. Lucky, readers :)

Dear Fingernails

Dear Fingernails,

Please stop growing. Do you have any idea what you've done to my poor, defenseless legs? They're a mess now because of you.
I don't even seem to have the option of "oh, they're not that bad. I'll just clip them tomorrow." NO! I can't do that. Do you know why? Because I don't consciously scratch. I dont' know how or when to stop. And it's only worse when I sleep and scratch.
I am not a masochist. I don't want to be cut open because I have a tiny itch that I compulsively scratch. Whassamadda fo' you?
Why can't you just not grow? Make my life a tiny bit easier, because you know I can't just absent-mindedly chew on you either. Uh-uh. No way. I know where you've been, and I'm not putting you in my mouth whenever you need nibbling.
Ugh.

Exasperatedly yours,
Peat

Dear Russian Language

Dear Russian Language,

pwned.

Sincerely,

Peat

Dear Cashier

Dear Cashier in the Union Market,

I was really impressed today with how happy and positive you were. It was very nice to go in to the Union Market for a bite to eat and have a friendly conversation. It didn't matter that my items weren't scanning; that didn't bother you at all. You just took it as a big joke at your expense and kept on smiling.
This is just a thank-you for doing something that most people fail to do, especially students around exam time.  Thank you for being human, it's really appreciated.
Hopefully, I'll run into you again tomorrow when my blood sugar's low and I could use some candy and friendliness.

Cheers,
Peat

Dear Childhood Crush

Dear Childhood Crush,

It's so weird to be browsing Facebook only to come across the first girl I ever remember crushing on. I mean, I didn't know exactly what it was when we were kids, but I knew there was something there. Your friends didn't like me, but we were sort of friends. I remember wanting to be like you because I thought you'd like me then. I couldn't be like you, though. I could only be like me.
We went to elementary school together. Those were the days when everbody knew each other. And we all knew everything about each other, too. Well, all we cared to know if we paid attention.

We went to high school together as well. I don't think we said two words to each other in high school. By then, my infatuation with you had definitely disappeared, but I knew it had been there when we were younger.

You added me on Facebook a couple of years ago. I guess just because we knew each other, not that we've ever really been good friends. I don't think we've even communicated via Facebook (or in any other way) since then.
Here's where it gets interesting, young lady. You're a lesbian. Hm.
The point of this letter... to expound upon my thoughts about being amazed at my own childhood gaydar. Thanks, reappearing childhood crush, for showing me how gay I have always been. Not that I really needed this affirmation, but I certainly find it entertaining.
Final thing; I'm sorry you're not my type anymore or I might consider posting on your wall or even sending you a suggestive poke.

Keep it gay,
Peat

Dear University Students

Dear University Students,

You are delightfully amusing. The habits you reveal come exam time are hilarious. I have seen people absent-mindedly picking their noses while reading, ceaselessly tapping on desks, stuffing their faces with snack foods they wouldn't normally touch because they're deathly unhealthy, and chewing on pens to calm their nerves.
Even more entertaining are the things university students do while procrastinating. No, nobody wants to study for their 7pm biochemistry exam, so there must be something better to do. On a lovely day (as it was today), there is the option of frisbee, guitar-playing in the shade of a tree, grass wars, or simple sun-bathing. When it's rainy, chilly, or cloudy, options extend to video games, cards, re-organizing things that really don't need to be re-organized, or good ol' Facebook.
Yes, university students, your habits are fascinating to witness (and to participate in, of course). I have but one small request to the lot of you... invite me to play frisbee next time?

Good luck on exams,
Peat

Dear Girl

Dear You-know-who-you-are,

I hate that you make my heart jump. Why does it have to do that for you?
Can you make it stop? Please. Please, just do something horrible to me so I don't have to put up with this any longer. To not want you in my life is what I want.
No, you don't cause me pain. No, you don't make me angry. No, you don't do anything to make my heart jump. No, I don't have any beef with you at all.  ... Except you make me feel. And I don't want to. I can't handle feeling right now. This isn't a good time for me. Don't come waltzing through my mind like you own the place. Don't invade my thoughts. Don't corrupt my dreams with your presence. Don't allow me to see your face in every crowd. Don't infect me with your laughter. Don't be your fantastic self. Be horrid. Be ugly. Be cruel. Be male. Be nauseating. Be filthy. Be hairy. Be selfish. Be anything but yourself.
If you could just do that for me, that'd be great. Thanks.

Regretfully at your command (and I hope you never discover that),
Peat

Dear Z (Part 26 in a 26-part series)

Dear Z,

I have a confession to make, Z. I find you fascinating.  I mentioned last month that F is my second-favourite letter to write in cursive, well, you are my favourite. There’s something about your curves and loops that completely appeals to me.  You bring us such fine words as zero, zealous and zygote.  As a side note, the Devil’s Dictionary defines zygote in this manner: “not the root, but the seed of all Evil.”
Z, do you think the defunct letter zog will feel left out for not having its own letter? I wasn’t quite sure how to approach that situation. I mean, being pronounced more like a G, written more like a Z and being pronounced zog… Clearly its relationship to G complicates things, but I can’t let that get to me forever, can I?
Alright, Z, I think that all I have left to say is that you may be last in the alphabet, but you’re first in my heart.

Zdarou,
Peat

 

Dear Y (Part 25 in a 26-part series)

Dear Y,

As I draw closer to the end of the alphabet, I grow weary and worried. What shall become of this blog once the alphabet is finished? To whom will I address my letters once more? Of course, this isn’t your problem, Y.
You are pretty awesome.  I know you start many wonderful words, but I want to begin by addressing the fact that by adding the suffix –y to just about anything, it becomes an adjective. Sometimes, it’s even funny.
Okay, so… words you begin that I enjoy? These include yogurt, yo-yo, yak, and yahoo! Had to end that with an exclamation mark. Last word just isn’t the same without it, you know.
I do have a bit of a bone to pick with you, Y.  What’s up with the wishy-washiness on being a vowel? Make up your mind already, bud. 

Yawa,
Peat

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Dear X (Part 24 in a 26-part series)

Dear X,

You get short-changed because of the predominantly negative phrases with which you are connected.  Ex-girlfriend, excommunication, exile, exercise, expensive.  Even when one goes to have an x-ray, it is rarely because there is nothing wrong.  How quickly we forget such things as xenia (hospitality) and xenophobia (change IS bad, I don’t care what you say!). You come near to the end of the alphabet, but you’re right up there in my heart, so don’t frown.
You stand for kisses when written at the end of a letter or a card.  You indicate a wrong answer (so you teach us… from this function, let us just take away the fact that we learn from our mistakes). And, best of all, X… you mark the spot. Yargh!

Xaire,
Peat

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Dear W (Part 23 in a 26-part series)

Dear W,

You’re so fancy. Along with Q, you are the only letter who does not appear in the spelling of your own name.  Double-u.  You aren’t really two U’s though, are you? At least, not when most people write or type you.  The French have it right saying you are double-v’s. Where would we wind up without you, W? We wouldn’t have will, walnuts, or the world. Nor would we have wonders of the world, for that matter. Winston Churchill certainly would sound silly.  You’re so much more common than I realized. Obviously I often forget about the 5 W’s: who, what, where, why, when!  You’re even in the 1 H: how. Just because you’re at the end, doesn’t mean you’re not useful.
I really enjoy how some people take the care to pronounce the H that sometimes follows you. Awfully silly, don’t you think?
Oh, W, you’re simply wonderful!

Waliki,
Peat

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Dear V (Part 22 in a 26-part series)

Dear V,

I have very little to say to you, but this is not a bad thing at all.
I think, perhaps, your greatness as a letter may be summed up in just one word (although I am certain many will not agree with me, I don’t really care): vagina.
Thank you for a better word than ‘sheath,’ V. As we’re oozing with Latin, your farewell comes in its Latin form.

Vale,
Peat

6

Dear U (Part 21 in a 26-part series)

Dear U,

I’m glad that you’re your own letter now, U.  Having never been differentiated from V until the 1700s, it’s about time you got your own shape.  And what a lovely shape it is. Still, I can’t help but feel a little bad for you, U. Such a lonely vowel you are.  So separated from the rest of your vowel, friends. I mean, sure, you’re pretty close to Y, but, let’s face it, Y is naught but a pretender to the throne.
Urchin, Ursula, ubiquitous; what wondrous words you allow us to create. You go, U!

Uf widerlüge,
Peat

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