DNR - JTI: 17 Weeks Pregnant Edition

As always, credit for Do Not Respond - Just Take It goes to the brilliant and beautiful Mollie Erickson, whose blog can be found here. 

Dear Body, 
Hi. I'm sure you're like, "WHAT'S GOING ON MARY CATHERINE?!?!" Except really, you're not. You seem to know exactly what to do. You're gaining weight, you're growing a human being. But also, you are losing your balance and your mind and other weird stuff. I think my belly popped this morning but I can't be sure. How does one test these things? Anyway, keep up the good work and also what are you doing to me and also I'm sorry.  Do Not Respond - Just Take It. 

Dear Snoogle, 
You are a gift from the Lord. I never knew that a pregnancy body pillow could mean so much to me in such a short amount of time. We've become inseparably bonded to the point that Jordan is now jealous. Of me, to be clear - he wants his own Snoogle. Who can blame him? I work you into every conversation. See you tonight. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Friend from College, 
Sorry your wedding gift is so late.  I accidentally sent it to myself because I can't functionally think anymore. This is evidently a "thing," so I'm going to blame it on this sweet little parasite sucking the logic outta me. You'll get it, I promise. Or, if I get lazy enough, I may just keep it. I mean, it's a Le Creuset serving piece, it's pretty nice. I kinda want one. Stay tuned. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Jordan, 
God bless you. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Entire Bag of Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Chips, 
Bye! DNR - JTI. 

Dear Leg Hair, 
You and I have been locked in a battle of good and evil since I was about 12 years old. (To be clear, I'm good and you're evil and if you have a problem with that you can get your own blog). Prenatal vitamins, while helping my growing baby, also seem to have taken your side and joined the effort to ruin my life. But I won't be defeated. I will get rid of you every day until I can't see my legs anymore. STOP GROWING SO FAST OR ELSE. You've been warned. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Woman Working at Subway,
When I went in for a pizza, you looked at my belly, looked back up at me, looked at my belly again, and then asked if I was pregnant. "Yes," I said, "But that was a risky question." You said, "I was just trying to figure out if it was a boy or a girl." "Well?" I wondered. "A girl," you said, "because you're carrying low." 

FIRST OF ALL, WWaS, carrying low is not a compliment. It means you maybe didn't have a strong core before you got pregnant (or so I've read). I'm a fitness instructor, so I sure I hope I did. SECONDLY, you've got it backwards. Carrying low means you're having a boy, which is what I think I'm having, which makes you not only a bit impolite, but also wrong. You were the first person to acknowledge I looked pregnant and I am simultaneously offended by you and excited. I have a lot of feelings that don't make sense, okay? Please just make my veggie pizza and lemme get outta here before I buy that entire freaking case of cookies. 

Dear The Baby,
Please feel free to kick at me anytime. I really loved that. It was like you were saying, "HEY UP THERE! I'M IN HERE!" And it was magical and the best ever. You've gone radio silent for a few days, which I respect, because you're not trying to be an attention hog. You're makin' me wait. I like your style, but I also miss you, so...you know. Maybe just give me one whenever you feel like it. Love you. DNR - JTI. 

DNR - JTI: On Behalf of Women Traveling Alone.

I traveled to and from Alabama last week and spent about 14 hours in the car. Because of that, I encountered lots of less-than-savory male behavior as a solo female traveler, all of which I would like to address right now. This kind of stuff happens to women all the time, PS - not just me. So hear me roar! 

As usual, all credit for "DNR - JTI" goes to the fabulous and hilarious Mollie Erickson. Though she is too kind to ever write a nasty post like this one. 

Dear Sketchy Looking Ford Pickup Driver,
Why are you flashing your brights at me? Maybe it was an accident. Nope, you just did it again. And now you've pulled up next to me on the interstate. Ugh, I made the mistake of glancing over at you. Stupid. Why are you tailgating me now? Here come the brights again. And...now you're exiting and waving your arm out the window. 

I'm sorry WERE YOU TRYING TO GET ME TO EXIT WITH YOU?? Did you think we were going to have some sort of romantic tryst in a gas station bathroom?? Dude, I barely use gas station bathrooms for their intended purpose. Also, you are a disgusting creep. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Man Leering at Me While I Fill Up My Car,
I think you think I can't tell that you're staring at me from the other side of the pump. Every time I turn around or lean into my car to grab something to throw away, your little pin-head has appeared from the other side of the gas pump wall. "How ya doin'?" I ask, making unwavering eye contact (and a New Jersey accent, for a reason that is still a mystery to me). I see you. You are not subtle. Get outta here. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Teenage Boy at Sonic,
This has nothing to do with behaving inappropriately and everything to do with the fact that you gave me an M&M Blast with STYROFOAM IN IT. Come on, man!! I mean, yes, I picked the first piece out and gave you the benefit of the doubt. But I was a 1/3 of the way into devouring that bad boy and I had to pull a piece of non-biodegradable, half-chewed styrofoam out of my mouth. I know you can do better than this, my friend. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Man Driving a Budweiser 18-Wheeler,
I'm in this lane. I'm in this lane. HEY I'M IN THIS LANE. I'M IN THIS LANE. STOP GETTING OVER. I'M IN THIS FREAKIN' LANE. I AM HONKING MANIACALLY. I am mad at you. I am FUMING at you. I get off onto the shoulder of the road to avoid being killed. After it's safe, the car around me know that I'm on a mission and allow me to get back up to you on the interstate so I'm driving parallel to the cab of your truck. I roll down my window and honk like an insane person. "You almost killed me!" I shout at you. You look down at me, shrug, and mime sending a text on your air phone. I'M SORRY DID YOU THINK I WAS TEXTING?? It's an audiobook, my friend. I'm tying to listen to Carrie Fisher tell me about her affair with Harrison Ford on the set of Star Wars. Also are you trying to communicate that you were teaching me a lesson by running me off the road because you thought I was texting?! WOW. WOWWW. Yeah, you better exit. I have half a mind to follow you, you paternalistic piece of  -- DNR - JTI. 

Dear Men in General,
Listen. Traveling alone as a woman shouldn't be scary but it is. Do you know why? Because of you guys. Not all of you, of course. But the ones of you that go out of their way to make us uncomfortable. The ones of you who think it's fun to antagonize and frighten women, like some sort of weird game -- in the same way you see little kids torture ants with magnifying glasses. It is mean, it is sexist, and more than anything, it's unkind and disrespectful. Does it make you feel strong? Does it make you feel cool? Let me assure you - if you're doing these things, you are neither. I hope it also makes you feel unemployed, because, while we may not be bigger than you, we sure as hell can take a picture of your license plate and call it in to Budweiser. Ants move in colonies and can lift three times their body weight. So, respectfully,  suck it. 

Do Not Respond. Just Freakin' Take It. 

DNR - JTI: Retail Edition.

As usual, credit for "DNR - JTI" ("Do not respond, just take it") goes to the fabulous Mollie Erickson whose idea I totally plagiarized. 

When Jordan and I moved to Asheville in the summer of 2015, I had no jobs and no friends. I decided to take a part-time gig at a national retail chain (whose name I can't share for legal reasons -- theirs, not mine). I'd never worked retail, and I'd always kind of wanted to.

I've been working there almost a year and a half. I've learned some things. And I've seen some things. And today, I'm gonna share. 

Dear Shrill Woman Bossing Your Husband Around,
Hi. Over here! Right. I've been fifteen feet away from you for the past few minutes and have heard every single marching order you've yelled at this poor man. I think the whole store has overheard, actually. We really don't need to know that you think your husband lacks a butt to hold his pants up because he's "so weirdly shaped, like a potato with toothpicks." Also, please stop digging into the back o his pants to see what size they are. You literally have both your hands in the man's pants. We're all RIGHT HERE. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Middle Aged White Women,
You've done a really good job creating witch hunts about people of other races and ages being thieves, but now I know better. YOU are the thieves. I see you casually perusing the sale section, eyes darting around, before you stuff that bangle into your purse. I SEE YOU. I know what you're doing when you take too long in the fitting room. We see the tags you've cut out all over the floor. You assume no one would ever suspect you. Middle aged White women, you've pulled the wool over the world's eyes. But NOT ME. Prepare to be profiled. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Woman in the Fitting Room,
Are you doing okay in there? Anything else I can get you? OH. OH. Oh my goodness. You've opened the door and you're pants-less. And you're 90. You're now in the middle of the store yelling and asking why no one came to check on your sooner. You're having an Elaine Stritch moment and you're burning my retinas. Back into the fitting room with you. Shhhh. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Adult Man Who is Sweating Profusely and Shifting his Weight from Side to Side,
Yeah, we have a bathroom. Yikes, dude. Come on. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Teenager Messing Up a Perfect Pile of Sweaters,
I know you just saw me fold those. I know you did. I watched you watch me. And now you've not only knocked the stack over, you're going through each individual sweater, holding it up, and checking it for size. Cut the crap. You're not buying a sweater. You're 14 and you're carrying a skateboard. GET OUTTA HERE, KID. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Disgruntled Customer,
When you asked me to get different sizes of shoes for you to try on, it was my pleasure. Truly. It's my job.  When, however, after five tries, you decided that you "just aren't going to pay that much for flats," it got a bit irritating. On a similar note, I neither designed nor priced these shoes, so your disapproving glances are wasted on me. Hope you find what you're looking for, Cinderella. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Window Shoppers,
UGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGGGGGGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGH. DNR - JTI.

Dear Well-Intentioned Man,
It is so supremely thoughtful that you are going to buy your wife a gift with the leftover money from the return you just made. We've got some beautiful jewelry and some nice silk tops. But the spaghetti strap XXS black crushed velvet peplum top that you've chosen, while certainly fashionable, is going to miss the mark with your 45-year old wife who just had a baby and you told me is 5'11. I'm trying to help, here. Nope? Gonna buy it anyway? Mmk. DNR - JTI. 

Dear That Man's Wife,
Got a return for us? Yeah. I know. I tried to tell him. Let me show you the jewelry. DNR - JTI. 

Do Not Respond - Just Take It.

First of all, thanks to the blogging community for being patient over the last couple of days with my deatbeat-ness. Sometimes, you run up against a week that just owns you, and this was one of them. However, I haven't run out of opinions, of course. 

Let's talk about some things. (As usual, credit for this concept goes to the hilarious Mollie Erickson).

Dear Instagram,
Hi. I see that you have upgraded your situation to now feature "stories." I feel like there was already a social media service doing that. Instagram, you are stressing me out. Do you know how much pressure we all already feel to keep up with everyone's Snap stories, Instagram photos, Facebook feeds, and Tweets? Have you ANY IDEA how much of my day is spent speed-scrolling through these various mediums, barely even enjoying it, but doing it to make sure I've seen every single picture? You're making this REALLY complicated, Instagram. I haven't used your new feature yet. I'm mad at you for adding it. But I'm also scared I'm gonna like it and I can't deal with another "thing" to pay attention to. Tell your other social media platform friends to CHILL OUT because this is TOO FREAKIN' MUCH. Sincerely, An Addict. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Presidential Election Cycle,
Are you over yet? I am so, so tired of you. If I'm using my "feeling words," you make me sad and mad. Please hurry up. Goodbye. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Retail Customers,
I know you think you are being helpful by putting your own selections back on the racks after you've tried them on, and I appreciate the sentiment. What you're actually doing is creating a game of "needle in a haystack," in which retail employees must dig through the piles to find and correctly re-hang the item you've replaced. It's a lot. Just put those thangs on the "rejects" table and don't feel a darn bit bad about it. DNR - JTI. 

Dear President Obama, 
This morning I scrolled through an article about how much you love kids. It made me really happy. This isn't the first time I've gotten nostalgic about you lately - in the midst of all this turmoil and insanity, I am reeeeeeeeeeeeeally going to miss having a President who is such a dynamic public speaker and a charming personality. However people feel about your time in office, one thing that's hard to deny is how charismatic and awesome you are. One of my friends referred to you as "Season 8 Obama," implying that you have turned on an extra special level of frankness and swagger in this final chapter of your administration. I agree. I love you. I'm going to miss you so much. DNR - JTI. (But respond if you want, sir - I'm not trying to tell you what to do.) 

Dear Produce,
Please stay fresh for longer than a week. I know, I am  a complete lame-o and should've already cooked with you. But sometimes I'm tired and I just want to eat cereal for dinner. Is there a spell I can cast to make you stay fresh forever? Let me know. Especially you, brussels sprouts. You're stinkin' up my fridge. DNR - JTI.

Dear Chad from The Bachelorette,
Go ahead and be The Bachelor already. I feel it coming. I know it's gonna happen. I just KNOW IT. Don't get me wrong, I don't want it to happen. I want Luke to be The Bachelor (although I also simultaneously don't, because I want him to run far away from this franchise because he's #toogooforthisshow). But I feel like that rat Chris Harrison is going to do it. You are ratings gold, though I'm growing weary of the "is he or isn't he" game. Let's cut to the chase, Harrison. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Self Tanner, 
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET MY BACK???? How. How. Somebody explain this to me. Because right now, I have two big stripes on my shouler blades because MY HANDS CAN'T REACH THAT FAR. I guess I could just not use it, but then I'd also not be able to go outside because my lily white skin would scorch people's retinas and I'd be responsible for hospital bills. We can give people face transplants - we should have the technology to evenly apply tanning foam to a person's back. DNR - JTI. (Actually, please respond because this is so annoying.) 

Dear Weekend, 
Hello. I love you. Let's hold hands. Never leave me. DNR - JTI. 

DNR - JTI: Construction.

As usual, credit where it's due for the "DNR - JTI" idea, invented by the much cooler and funnier Mollie Erickson, whose blog can be found here. 

Dear Construction, 
You and I have a complicated relationship. In Jordan's and my first and second homes, we've unwittingly moved in next door to what would be a construction site. This year, as an added bonus, we moved not just next door to a construction site, but also across the street from one. By "complicated," I of course mean you make me want to pluck out my eyeballs out and throw them at you. DNR - JTI.

Dear Nailgun, 
sssssssFOOM. sssssFOOM. sssssFOOM. This is the soundtrack of my life. It scores my laundry-doing, my bed-making, my tidying up, my dinner-cooking, my bill-paying. I used to be scared of Javier Bardem in No Country For Old Men. Now I just want him to come cow-tranquilize me between the eyes so I can escape you, nailgun. It's not your fault, I'm sure you do a perfectly good job at what it is you do. But...I hate you.  DNR - JTI. 

Dear Head Guy of the Guys Pouring Concrete,
We live on a one-way street. You have chosen to park your very large truck in the middle of said street, and not in the gravel driveway that was, I should point out, built into the construction site for the express purpose of housing large vehicles like yours. When I politely ask you to park there instead, you look at me, wink, grin, and say, "No." I really should be congratulating you, because I don't think any one person has ever made me so instantly full of white-hot rage. If you think that because I'm a girl I can't come down there and kick your ass, you haven't seen Mulan. DNR - JTI. 

Dear 7:30 in the Morning,
I used to love you, 7:30. You were a sweet time full of soft morning sunlight and coffee smell. You were a gentle nudge into the rest of the day. Now, you are the sound of the "reverse" warning for backhoe digging up the lot across the street. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP WAKE UP MARY CATHERINE THE BACKHOE IS HERE GET UP WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TODAY I BET IT'S A LOT HAVE YOU EVEN PLANNED WHAT YOU'RE COOKING FOR DINNER I BET YOU HAVEN'T YOU'LL BE LATE FOR PURE BARRE IF YOU DON'T GET UP RIGHT NOW  TOM HANKS PROBABLY NEEDS TO GO OUT WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE HAVE YOU FIGURED IT OUT YET BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP DNR JTI BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Dear Tree-Clearing Team,
You guys really are the worst. You stole our shade. You cut down the trees where all the bear cubs used to play. I don't mean to go all FernGully here, but you should really see that movie. It might change some things for you. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Big Giant Man,
I think you're a high-ranking person on this job, even though you flick your cigarettes everywhere. Every time I drive past your worksite, you look at my car and shake your head disapprovingly. Why is that? Is it because you assume I am not very cool? Is it because you think I'm a snobby little blonde girl? Is it because of that time you had your truck and trailer parked next door, but it was hanging like two inches into our yard and I asked you to move it? ...okay yeah, it's probably that one. You gotta understand, BGM, that my experience with construction is if we give you guys an inch, before long, you'll be chainsawing our porch off for some extra wood. Don't be mad. I really don't like when people don't like me. Can't we make it work? DNR - JTI. 

Dear Bears,
I love that you guys don't care about the construction and will wander down anyway. We were worried all this noise would drive you away, but we should've known better. Y'all are the native members of this neighborhood. You run this shizz. If you really like me, you'll show up in the middle of the day and make all these big tough construction guys, some of whom have been not very nice to me, tee tee in their pants. Check in and I'll point them out. I'd consider it a personal favor. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Future Next-Door Neighbors,
You'll have to forgive me if, when I bring you the customary "Welcome to the Neighborhood" casserole, I accidentally punch you in the teeth. It's going to be a reflex. I won't be able to help it. But I really do hope you like your new home. DNR - JTI (the casserole and the punch in the teeth).

DNR -JTI: Airplanes and Airports.

As always, credit where it's due to Mollie Erickson who invented DNR - JTI on her much funnier blog, found here. 

While traveling to Tulsa for Memorial Day weekend, I was writing this post in my head. 

Dear Person Who Isn't Listening,
I see, despite the multiple reminders from the TSA agent whose job it is to stand near the metal detector and yell this, that you've still failed to remove your laptop from its case until just before your belongings go on the conveyor belt. I'm also willing to bet that you've forgotten to take off your belt and that it's gonna beep. ...yep, there it is! You gotta go back. I want to strangle you. With your belt. So does everyone else.  DNR - JTI. 

Dear Two Small Children and Infant in the Row Behind Us,
I won't lie. I noticed your presence and cringed. I was feeling sorry for myself that I'd have to put up with your wailing screaming tantrums the whole flight. I was even thinking about buying some alcohol from the beverage cart. To my enormous surprise and delight, all three of you fell asleep immediately upon takeoff. Please accept my apologies for judging you. You (and your parents) should get an Awesome Award. DNR - JTI.

Dear Head Flight Attendendant,
I know, I'm seated on an exit row. I'm more than happy to stow my large purse underneath my own seat, since there is no seat in front of me. I do not, as you so passive aggressively put it, need to "partner with the man in front of me to clear the area." No one needs a partner. I'm good. Have a drink. DNR - JTI. 

Dear The Pilot,
I read somewhere that most plane crashes take place during takeoff or landing. You're a real gem for not blowing us up. Seriously, I can't even believe that planes are a thing. You're so good at your job. But maybe get that one flight attendant outta here. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Flying, 
I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever stop dropping my jaw in total wonder over the fact that we are thousands of feet in the air, hurtling through space, sitting in a metal tube. It MELTS MY FEEBLE MIND. I love being alive. DNR - JTI. 

Dear People Collecting Your Belongings at the End of Security, 
Hi. I am very, very late for my flight. In fact, my husband and I will momentarily sprint to our gate and be two of the last four people admitted on board. I also got up at 3 AM in order to drive to the Greenville airport to get on this plane. I'm not feeling super generous. It would really help me out if, instead of standing at the end of the conveyor belt and putting your shoes back on there, you'd be a pal, scoop up all your things and take them somewhere less to re-dress yourself. I know, you're relieved they didn't notice that you packed your > 3 oz. bottle of shampoo. But just celebrate over there, okay? Thanks! DNR - JTI. 

Dear Everyone on the Plane,
Why are you shooting out of your seats when the plane lands? Do you think you're getting outta here any faster because of that? See how this whole aisle is clogged with people? Just sit on down. I don't get it. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Couple Making Out,
So we're all in that lockjam waiting to get off the plane, and you guys are hardcore making out. There are people mere inches from your heads, but that isn't stopping you. Other passengers are looking away with embarrassment, but you don't care. You're goin' for it. And now you're taking a selfie. While making out. I can't decide if I'm grossed out or impressed at your genuine and total lack of shame. I think both. Jordan and I are giggling to hard for me to tell. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Man Across the Aisle, 
Wow. You have a lot of stories. A lot of LOUD stories. A lot of loud, semi-inappropriate stories. I am turning the white noise app on my phone up and putting my earphones in. Except...I can still hear you. With the white noise turned all the way up inside my ears.  DNR - JTI. 

Dear Man Next to the Story-Telling Guy,
I saw you at baggage claim and told you that you get an award for being the most patient passenger on the flight. You smiled and agreed that that guy was loud and verbose, but then touched my arm and looked at me as if to say, "It's okay - sometimes people just need to talk," and wished me a wonderful day. Thanks for reminding me that sometimes we all just need to scream our stories at a person we'll never see again. I think you might have been Jesus. DNR - JTI.