A review of "Cousin Vinny" Agnello.

Dear Louis Anthony "Cousin Vinny" Agnello (or "10 reasons I asked if there was another way out of Barnes & Noble"),

1. I am not public property able to be touched because I'm in your space. Just because we are inhabiting the same area does not make me less than human or give you the right to just touch when you feel like it. Did I give you permission?

2. Bragging about your Stripping days in the same breath as you're bragging about how wonderful your book is does not make me want to read it. Especially when you keep saying you are a "messenger" (the "from God" being implied by your "I have some spirituality in me" comments).

3. You don't even KNOW ME, so how can you "guarantee" that YOUR book is going to be my "favorite book?"

4. You're trying really hard to get me to buy your book, but I feel like you're really just trying to explain to me why your penis is the biggest the world has ever seen. And I'm sorry, but I'm just not buying it.

5. Memorizing your laminated accolades doesn't make you seem cool, it makes you seem pathetic.

6. I am half tempted to read your book simply to give it a bad review. Seriously, you tell me how the writing is "the best" and that your story is "the most original" (fun fact: You're not original) and that the copies you are trying to hock are going to be "collector's items" because you are leaving that particular publisher, but I read a sample while I listened to you ramble and your writing style is similar to a 13 year old's. Seriously, I've seen better writing styles in Children's books. You write like you talk. Not very well.

7. You're visiting small towns in the Bible belt, of course this book is going to "sell like hot cakes."

8. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. You play like you're the "Devil" just for a scenario, but you're in my face telling me I'm worthless. The difference, as I told you, is that I KNOW I'm NOT worthless. My worth is more than reading your book though. Seriously, how could you possibly think that would make me want to read it? Pretending that you are the Devil and that this book is going to save me from Suicide and save my soul... Dude, you don't even know my Soul!

9. "The Devil's Glove" is a terrible name. It sounds worse than cliched. And trust me, I've read some pretty cliched books. (Usually in the genre you are in)

10. "Are you big readers?" Nope. I walked into Barnes & Noble because I like the scenery. Never read a book in my life.

I could go on and on, really. This was the worst meeting with an author I've ever had. And I didn't want to meet you in the first place! Thanks for telling me all about your schedule though, because I now know to avoid B&N until Friday when you leave for St. Louis.

Sincerely,
Sarai.

Post Script: Don't laugh at me because I said "Joe Pesci does not endear me to your book." I was being quite serious. Going by his character name really doesn't make you more likable.

Your Absence

Your absence has not gone unnoticed. I still miss you every day since you passed. I'm still waiting by the phone, re-listening to your voice-mails, wishing I had asked you to show me how to make goulash, wishing I could tell you about being able to finally eat rice again, wishing the Mondays weren't stretching out before me in weeks, months and years.

I am still feeling the pain of your loss. I am still waiting for you to call me, feeling guilty for not having called that last week you were here, wishing I could do it all over, wanting to see you again.

I know it sounds selfish to other people. They must not understand what its like to not be able to breath, because you feel like someone just kicked you in the ribs. They must not understand what its like to crumple to the ground, because you suddenly don't know how to stand. They must not understand what its like to lose someone that you believed, foolishly, would live forever.

I want you back. I want you here. I want you to annoy me by constantly calling. I want you to tell the TV people that they don't know what they're talking about. I want you to do that funny little dance you would do whenever you were getting up to go do something. I want to be in your too hot house while you grumble about all the cooking you have to get done.

I want you back, because I'm looking at a calendar full of empty Mondays and I just don't know what to do without you. And they say these things fade with time, but I don't think it will. I don't think I'll ever get over this.

On Monday

Dear Aunt Peggy,
I keep expecting you to call, even though I know you're not going to. I keep expecting you to leave me a voicemail message, saying, you know, "what do you want for lunch on Monday?" And I keep thinking "what am I even going to do on Monday?"

I've had a lot of suggestions.

"Well, you could always catch up on all your reading." or...
"I'm sure you'll come up with something, you have plenty of time." and...
"What will you do on Monday?"

My answer is, I don't know.

What will I do on Monday, Aunt Peggy?

You're not going to be there and I keep thinking, "man, I kept putting off cleaning those pictures for you. And, man, I kept putting off going and seeing you there at the end. And, man, I did a lot of putting off didn't I?"

And then I keep thinking you never broke any promises to me before now. In one fell swoop, you broke several.

I don't have a picture of you. Besides the one I took on my phone when you weren't paying attention. Can't see your face.

And you broke your promise that you would live to 100, 'cause we still had seventeen more years to go.

And, you know, broken promises. I'm not angry at you. I just wish you'd been able to keep them.

But I keep thinking that you had the spaghetti and meatballs all ready. And that you were so excited we were going to have spaghetti and meatballs because we hadn't had it in a long time.

And I keep coming back to "what am I going to do on Monday?"

Because we're not going to get to share our McDonald's cup of coffee anymore.
And we're not going to get to eat goulash together anymore.
And we're not going to get to rant at Pat Robertson anymore.
And we're not going to get to do any of those things anymore.

So, what am I going to do on Monday, Aunt Peggy?

What am I going to do on Monday?

I thought maybe I'd still come and share a cup of coffee with you.
And maybe I'll bring my books and I'll bring a blanket to sit on so I don't get grass stains all over my rear.
And maybe I'll go and buy a chocolate soda.
And maybe I'll figure out how to make goulash on my own.
And maybe I'll use those potholders that you gave me.
I'll put up all the knick-knacks you gave me.
There's a lot of maybe's.

But Aunt Peggy, I'd much rather be with you. I'd much rather actually be getting to see you than wondering what it is I'm going to do.

Who am I going to watch "The Price is Right" with?
Who am I going to banter with about who pays for what?
Whose going to make me ham salad even though I don't eat pork? But I eat it anyway because you made it. The only time I ate pork for a really long time.
Whose going to worry about me while I'm off gallivanting in DC and whose going to ask me what "erectile dysfunction" means and whose going to ask me all these questions I don't know how to answer?

Its not fair, Aunt Peggy.
I love you.
I miss you.
I'm sorry I didn't come and see you at the end.
I'm sorry.

I need to grow some proverbial balls.

Dear _____,

Once I would've tried to move Heaven and Earth to keep this friendship going. Once I would've given my life to keep yours going. It is pretty sad that now I could care less if this friendship works or fails, I could care less about your pathetic problems.

Reasons, I should give reasons shouldn't I? Since you will demand to know what the fuck my problem is. So I'll give you reasons and You'll argue them, but in the end, you know I am right and I am glad that we had this fight so that I know who you really are.

I could've forgiven you the fight we had. I could've forgiven the harsh words you said, saying I never gave a fuck when in reality it was you who never gave a fuck about me. I could've forgiven you, it would've taken time, but I could've done it.

But the unforgiveable thing was when I needed you most and you weren't there. You haven't even apologized for not being there. Let me fill you in, posting a blog 6 lines long announcing to the world that the person who probably meant the most to me died does not equal a personal message saying "I'm sorry for your loss". It can't equal a personal message or a hug or SOMETHING. It is kind of pathetic that my sorrow was all put into 6 short lines on a blog on MySpace. Oh, but I mustn't forget that there were 2 other short lines in a second blog all about you. Wow, 8 lines total. What a precious gift to me, how can I ever repay you?

And then when we finally do talk, you have the audacity to ask me what I've been up to. Hmm, let's think about this for just a moment. I just buried my grandfather and I'm so depressed I'm spending most of my time in bed with the blankets covering my head. And you want to know what I've been up to? Then you tell me that you did too send me condolences by writing the blog. I don't even know what to say to that.

If you had just lost your grandfather and I just ignored you for the entire time that you needed me and posted a blog about it that was 6 lines long you would be pretty pissed. You expect me to be there for you no matter what, you expect me to hold you when you cry, to be there no matter how small the drama. I can't do that anymore. I can't be there for you every five minutes when you can't be there for me at all.

And your excuse for not being there? "I am sorry that I was not there for you.. but like I told ___ I am not the best person to help you deal with that."

You are selfish, immature, childish and two-faced. I know it sounds really harsh, but I'm tired of the bullshit.

You claim to have grown up to fast, that you never had a childhood, but you act like a two year old all the time. I'm not going to say that I act like an adult all the time, because I don't, but even my own mother agrees that I have always acted older than my actual age. I didn't have a childhood and grew up to fast. Do you know what it is like to raise children? I do. I helped raise 4 of them. Do you know what it is like to have to take care of your mother because she is too sick to take care of you? I do. Do you know what it is like work your ass off doing little odd-jobs and then giving all of your money to your parents because what you make is just enough to pay a bill? I do. Have you ever paid a bill? I have.

Your mother pays for everything. You get new clothes and new bags and new shoes. Your mother pays the bills and feeds you. My step-father, as I got older, refused to purchase new clothes for us or new shoes. If we wanted some of the basic necessities we had to buy them ourselves. Did you know that my sophomore and junior year of high school I bought my school supplies with money I saved up from my birthday money? Have you ever had to do that? When you have done all of the things I have just listed then you will know what it is like to be an adult and can justly say that you are grown up.

You are childish because you never try to fix your own problems. Adults try to fix their problems not shove them on others and expect them to fix it. You lash out at the people that try to help you and cling to those who hurt you.

You are immature because you brag about how mature you are all the time. Maturity is not garnering praise for your maturity. You constantly cry to anyone who will listen, the world knows when you have a problem because all you do is complain about it. Maturity is leaning on a few friends who help you stand up when you feel weak, not falling to the floor and expecting everyone to lift you. Maturity is giving everything you have, even when you have little to give, and NOT expecting everyone to appreciate what you've done.

You are selfish because all you care about is you and your problems. You expect everyone to be there for you, but you aren't there when someone needs you. You expect everyone to listen to your pathetic problems, but you can't be bothered to listen to someone else's. You are so wrapped up in your own world that you don't have the time to see anyone else's problems but your own.

You are two-faced because you talk about your "best friend" behind her back ALL the time. Then you say that you two fight like a married couple. You don't even know what marriage is. You haven't even seen enough of your parent's marriage to know what marriage is! Your parents were divorced when you were really little. Donnie and I fight like a married couple. Because we are practically married as is. My friend Sarah W. and her husband fight like a married couple. You and _______ do NOT fight like a married couple. Married couples don't go behind their spouses backs and insinuate that they are prostitues, or call them cunts, or blame them for car accidents, or treat each other like shit. That isn't how marriage works.

You don't know anything about life and you will never grow up.

In a way I'm glad that all of this has happened. The past two weeks have really shown me your true colors and made me realize just how tired of the bullshit I really am.

I do still love you. I think I love the memories of you more than anything. I just don't think I can work this friendship out with you. Not unless you suddenly grow up. Maybe getting knocked on your ass will help, I don't know. Please refrain from writing me about anything anymore, because if you can't be there for me, I'm afraid I can't be there for you.

Sincerely,
Sarai

Dear Grandpa,

Dear Grandpa,
Happy Birthday. I miss you like crazy and still think of you almost every day. Sometimes I hear your voice in my head and I just start crying because I feel like we didn't have a proper goodbye. I love you and I miss you. I hope we will meet again soon in the next life.
love,
Sarai

Dear Ann Coulter,

Dear Ann Coulter,
Civil rights is not just limited to Black people. Civil rights exists for ANY group being disenfranchised by their government. That's the point of Civil Rights. And I don't agree that these other groups (women, homosexuals and Immigrants) are just whining because they are not getting what they want. And you know what, your ancestors were immigrants. People who were looked down upon. I am part Irish and the Irish couldn't get jobs in this country because they were Irish. You are an idiot if you truly believe that Black people are the only people that have been treated unfairly and disenfranchised in this country.
Sincerely,
Sarai.