My letter The Bachelor

Dear CityTV,

Hello. My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am an impressionable 28 year old breakfast enthusiast/ retail worker who enjoys petting kittens, unitards, and a tasty omelette.

The purpose of me contacting you is to offer you the chance of a lifetime. For I, Sarah C Bertrand, to be the star contestant in your hit reality tv show, The Bachelor.

People tune in for one reason, and one reason only; because they are hopeless romantics. Also, because every season is full of emotionally unstable, dishonest, catty, dangerous, and embarrassing women. However, well all know that these same women are the reason that people will be interested in watching week to week. The dramatic lunatics, the women who lack shame, morals, and the overlooked wallflowers that have garnered the pity votes. I feel no shame in letting you in on a little secret, City. Come close, so I can whisper it in your ear; I will be that guy for you.

I will be a chameleon. A saboteur. A promiscuous, religious fanatical thief. I'll create a scandal. I'll adapt to any and every situation. No one's paying attention to me around a campfire? I'm a fire dancer. Conversations lacking by the pool? I'm a skinny dipper. I don't receive a rose at the ceremony? I'm a florist. Brought my own roses. Don't need yours. Try and force me in the cab now, Prince Charming. Doctor Jekyll, Mr. Hyde... which one do you want? Doesn't matter, because you'll have both. I'll sporadically try out new laughs, I'll stand the opposite way as everyone else is in an elevator. When things are not going my way, I'll cry. But I'll never tell why. I'll stop taking birth control, I'll have a catch phrase. I'll create elaborate, outlandish webs of lies, and whenever anyone confronts me, I'll say "I saw it with my own eyes." I'll bring an animal; a weird one, like a hedgehog. I'll carry a sword, I'll write a song and play the guitar to it. It will have lyrics that are mysterious and inspiring. I'll say, "This is the perfect place to fall in love", every five minutes, like clockwork. I will never, ever stop drinking. And I'll dance drunk, right into the hot tub, fully clothed. And when I regain consciousness, I'll tell my Bachelor that I'm insecure and will need reassurance that I'm there for another week. I'll giggle and flirt. I'll have a nipple slip. I will literally come onto every Bachelorette there is, until I can no longer explain my actions and have to succumb to a dramatic intervention with anxiety riddled music. I'll make sure I give deliberate hints that I'm there to further my career in something cliche, and I'll say things to my future gentleman suitor like, "You look so beautiful. When you sleep." I will create perfect moments for commercial breaks, and the biggest shocker of all?! I'm a lesbian. When you see me it won't be shocking, but can you imagine the ratings?!

I thank you for your time, City TV, and look forward to being on your show and getting famous with you. I never miss a season of The Bachelor/ The Bachelorette. And I can't wait to be on a billboard.

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand

My letter to Quaker Oatmeal To Go bars

Dear Oatmeal to Go Bars,

My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 27 year old breakfast enthusiast who enjoys practicality, the color neon , and children who's hair have been fashioned into a rat tail.

Last week I was hungry. It was early morning, and I knew I wasn't going to have time to feast on a lavish breakfast before I had to leave for work. Since I had about three minutes to get out of bed, get ready and get out the door, I thought to myself, Sarah Bertrand. What's something you can press down your throat like a pelican full of shame as you drag your disheveled unshowered self to the bus stop? Oatmeal to Go Bar! I frantically ripped the unopened box of bars out of my cupboard, tore into it, and peered inside. I was confused and horrified, Quaker. Allow me to set the scene: There was one bar that was already opened! Who opened my Oatmeal to Go Bar! Was it a mouse? Was it an unsatisfied Quaker prankster? Was it YOU?! Who! Obviously I discarded the aforementioned Oatmeal To OH NO Bar, and rifled through to see if there was anymore trickery my trembling hungry fingers might discover. There was not, so I selected a granola snack, and ran out the door.

As I was skeetering to the bus stop, I tore into my Oatmeal to Go bar, and was instantly greeted with the vile taste of disappointment, anxiety, a hint of oatmeal, and virtually no cinnamin. It's almost as if the cinnamin was tipped off at what was to be in store for him if he chose to remain an ingredient in a sub par batch of madness. I don't blame him for not wanting to waste his talents.

I'd also like to thank the diligent employee or rabid animal that you employed to eliminate the frustrating, time consuming chore of unwrapping my own breakfast selection.

Sidenote: On the list of ingredients, I noticed, "tree nuts" being included. What is a tree nut? An acorn? Are these being taken away from squirrels? Because I work at a pet store, and I do not support animal neglect.

My breakfast experience was compromised, Quaker, and I would appreciate a letter of apology, a new box of Quaker Oats and Honey bars, and a letter of apology to my mother, Joan Bertrand, who purchased the normally delicious treat for me. When she asked me how my granola bars were, all I could do was inhale deeply, look up at the sun, fight back the tears, and say, I love you mom. And that's all the breakfast I need.

I thank you for your time, and look forward to a prompt response.

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand

My letter to Red Bull

Dear Red Bull,

My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 27 year old aspiring ventriloquist who enjoys Tylenol, excess energy, and crew neck t shirts.

I am a long time enjoyer of your delicious beverage, Red Bull. I work several jobs, and when fatigue seeps in, I say, No thank you natural reaction to sleep deprivation! I need me some sweet bull nectar! (slang term I coined for Red Bull) It is efficient, delicious, and I can only assume really healthy.

I drink so much of your mystic potion that I have decided to give back. To you! I have several presumably lucrative ideas for your new ad campaign that I would like to share with you.

My first idea involves me, as an actress. I'll be wearing a Red Bull tshirt, and yoga pants to imply that I'm active yet relaxed. Neither of these traits will be relevant to the commercial. So, in my tshirt and yoga inspired pants, I will be holding one of your beverages, and sipping it, as a fancy text appears underneath the screen, describing the many relateable stages of Red Bull. First, the sudden burst of energy. Then, the excited sense of hope that this might actually get you through your day in a positive and timely manner. Then of course, last, the inevitable stage of descent, after you've had about three and are in the midst of crashing. The world seems harsher, your emotions more vivid, and tears are barely below the surface. Then, a flashy new slogan slams across the entire television screen. Instead of "Red Bull gives you wings": "Red Bull gives you the agility of an exotic cat! *fin*

If that idea doesn't tickle your fancy, how about I, Sarah Bertrand, in a cape. A flowy one. Wearing a taupe women's pantsuit, running around, and jumping. Then, the camera pans to me. I am out of breathe, but smiling. Perspiration is dripping from my forehead, and I start speaking really rapidly, almost incomprehensibly: "Knock knock. Who's there?! Red Bull! Red Bull who?? Delicious!" That doesn't make sense. However, I find confusing people makes them ask less questions, and eventually buy what you're selling, so to speak. So try this one on: "What do Red Bull and childhood obesity have in common? Nothing! Drink Red Bull!" They will feel safe, and foolish if they haven't already boarded the "bull" train. Also, inspired that they too can behave the way I am upon ingesting Red Bull.

I have a few more, and you can pick and choose which slogans will go with which commercials:

"Red Bull: Give diabetes the thrill it seeks!"
or:
"Red Bull: Gives you confidance; when partnered with vodka! (also, mild heart palpitations.)" This particular ad will have to go with a specific commercial I've been practicing for. I am in unbelievable physical shape, and have the body of a prepubescent male gymnast, so I assume I would be an excellent summersaulter. I will perform 30 in a row. I will need a unitard, some spackle, and a tamborine to perform this.

I thank you so much for your time, and look forward to hearing from your "people" regarding my immediate addition to your company. Huzzah! For Red Bull! Sweet dreams.

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand

My Letter to Dr. Scholl's

Dear Dr. Scholl's Massaging Gel Superior Comfort Insoles,

My name is Sarah Bertrand and I am a 27 year old pet store employee who enjoys the idea of jogging, exotic crepes, and dancing.

I recently received a pair of your fancy magic rubber feet thingies (insoles) as a present for the relief of my ailing feet. You see, Dr. Scholl's, my feet are ill; with grief, and pain. I work a very lucrative retail job, that demands I be on my feet for several hours a day. Those several hours add up to tens of several, and before I know it, my foot pain has spiraled out of control. I'm often left limping and disoriented, exasperated and dispondant. Allow me to set the scene:

Me: Gosh, my feet are so sore!
My Manager: You never say `gosh`, but you sure do complain a lot about your foot pain Sarah Bertrand. Maybe you should take action. Serious action.
Me: Looks like a job for Dr. Scholl's!
My Manager: Why are you yelling? Where are you going? You already had your break! *end scene*

By this time, you're probably aware of where I'm going with all of this. I, Sarah Bertrand, am so enamored with your product, I have decided that I will offer you my services of being your spokesperson. I have several witty and ingenious ideas of promoting your product to a plethora of individuals, young and old, new and old, old and crabby (with foot pain), that you are going to be left speechless! Allow me to set a few of the scenes that I'm envisioning for your new commercials:

Me, dressed as a mid thirties semi professional entrepreneur: "Hi, I'm Sarah Bertrand. You may remember me from *chuckles* the every day average Joe. I'm you, if your feet hurt. And this product works." Then the camera will slowly pan out, and it will show that I'm standing in a pile of Dr. Scholl's rubber insoles. And I'll just start throwing them at the camera, insole after insole, to show the public that it's urgent they get them, and fit them into their own shoes. As urgent as my really fast throwing.

Or,

I dress up as an Olympic runner. My hair is pulled back into this really tight pony tail, and I'm wearing large hoop earrings. There's a twinkle in my eye (you can choose which one), and I'm stretching. Slowly. Suddenly, I look up. Up, up, waaay up. Into the sky. Then, it cuts to a starry sky, where the moon is big and bright. And then you see me start running across the sky, running across the moon. There could be a trail of stars behind me, but if you think that's unrealistic we could use a trail of flames. Then, at the end, when the audience is probably catching their breath, or wiping their eyes (from emotion), the camera pans to me, standing in an open field, and the caption, "Feet? What feet? Air is propelling me forward. Air, and blue gel. Across the sky, across the pain and discomfort... to satisfaction and relief." Then you could throw in your logo. *fin*

I look forward to working with you in the near future, and I sincerely thank you for creating such a magical and innovative product such as the one that resides currently in this dainty lady's size ten men's skate shoes. I have a new lease on life. I can probably do so many more things I was never able to before! Like samba or ju jitsu. Congratulations! To you!

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand

My letter to Cool Beer

Dear Cool Beer,

My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 26 year old Chia Pet enthusiast, who enjoys antique hourglasses, hakka style chicken, and beer labels that contain some sort of ferocious animal.

About an hour ago, I was consuming some delicious spicy hakka style chicken, with white sticky rice, stir fried vegetables, and a Cheetah Beer beverage. My girlfriend, Holly, said I should get it because of it's name, and I agreed it was humorous and the notion of broadening my beer horizons excited me. The chicken was a little too spicy for my taste, and the beer, at first, seemed mediocre. Holly said it had an aftertaste of a bag of garbage that had been set on fire, but I think she was being a tad out of line. Post consumption, I didn't think anything was awry.. until, that is, we got home.

I began pacing around my living room in a panicked, primal manner. In circles. Growling at everything and being territorial. At first, I didn't realize what I was doing could be construed as odd. However, as I sit here atop the drapes, yelling my thoughts to Holly to translate into a serious email to you, I think that there is a problem. A big problem. And the problem is called, me now being a cheetah.

I just ate a raw porkchop, and I'm running around so fast, even my cats can't catch me. Please send the antidote immediately.

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand

My letter to another Spammer

October 11, 2009

On Sat, 10/10/09, Lione Prez wrote:

From: Lione Prez
Subject: Dear Beloved,
To:
Received: Saturday, October 10, 2009, 9:52 AM

Dear Beloved,
I am Madam Lione Prez-a citizen of philippine,widow, and legitimate heir to the late former Minister of finance who was assassinated for been working with the ex-president Joseph .E in philippine.

I inherited a total sum of 5 million dollars my late husband, The presure from my decease husband's family for this money has compelled me to leave Manila and have the money which is concealed in a metallic trunk box is deposited with a security and finance company Burkina Faso under a secret arrangement as a family treasure.
This means that the security company does not know the content of this box that was shipped from the Philippine to Burkina Faso under a diplomatic coverage.

My purpose of asking for your assistance boil down to the fact that I don't want my late husband's family to be aware or name involve, and the deposit statement of the box authorized the company to make this box avaliable for shipment on request only to my foreignbussiness representative, though unname.

Hence I want you to contact the the security company as my bussiness partner / associate, after receiving the prove from me to enable the company release the consigment to you diplomatically, while I join you on the arrival of the box.

I have recently paid all demurrage ,storage charges and the shipment fee, all you need do is to help me contact the security company and introduce yourself as my bussiness partner / associate ,requesting the shipment of the box to your address which you will provide.

And as soon as Diplomatic shipping agent approved the shipment and tell you the arrival date of the box then I will join you to give you 15% of the money instantly before I go on with the proposed investment in your domain provided is secured and investment friendly.Please if you are interested and willing to represent me as my bussiness partner / associate kindly write me as soon as possible.

I awaits your urgent response
Best wishes
Madam Lione Prez.
***
--- On Sat, 10/10/09, Sarah Bertrand wrote:

From: Sarah Bertrand
Subject: Re: Dear Beloved,
To: prez.lione@yahoo.com.hk
Received: Saturday, October 10, 2009, 8:13 PM

this is incredible.. this is the opportunity of a lifetime! how can i begin my quest as soon as possible?
***

Confirm this mail...Sunday, October 11, 2009 6:41 AM
From: "Lione Prez" Add sender to Contacts
To: "Sarah Bertrand"
My Dear Partner,
Thanks for your email and your sincere understanding to help and do this business with me. I will be very greatful to you and expecialy to God who have directed me to choose only you in this great venture to rescue me out of the lion den to live a better life in your country, you may not understand very well why i use the word "lion den" i am going through hell right here in the Philippines and i have gone through a lot of humiliation in the hands of this wicked and heartless family of my late husband, but i strongly beleive that if you are able to help me retreive this box of money from the security company to your end which means my life will come back to normal again when i join you soonest.

You will have to help me in bringing this box of money out of the security company where the money was deposited, that is the more reason why I contacted you because I will not want our family name to be involved in this great transaction for some security reasons of my safety and the safety of my funds. All you have to do to make this transaction a true successful venture is to call the security company and give them your correct safe residential address where you want the box of money to be deliver, then they will use their diplomatic power to ship the money to your address with immediate effect. Before the box of money get to your address, I will give you the keys to open the box for you to send me some money to arrange for my travelling documents to meet up the arrival of the box at your address where the box is delivered.

Please i hope there will be utmost confidence in this transaction? as it will benefit both of us because i'm willing to offer you 15% of the money outside any of your little expenses that you may incure during cause of this transaction as long as you can assist me soonest, that is you will be entilte to 15% of the total sum as your own share of the money for your kind assistance.
I am ready to give you the security company's contact number and the documents that I used in depositing this box of money which is the certificate of deposit they gave me on the very day when I deposited the box of money with a code as family treasure, I will also to feed you with more informations and giudlines for you to discuss with the company without making any mistake .

Upon your confirmation of this email, I will send you my identity and also scan the document as file and send it to you by email attachment so that you can call the security company in Ouagadoudou Burkina Faso to give them your address where they will deliver the box immdeiately,You have to act fast to your reply of this mail so that we can conclude this business sooner.

Await for your response and your confirmation so that i will send an email letter to the company in Burkina faso to introduction you to them as my associate who is to recieve the shipment of the trunk box.
I want to know more about you,

How old are you? Are you marrined? if yes how many children do you have? What do you do for a living? and which business are we going to invest this money into?
Kindly anwser this question's so that i can forward the security company contacts information's to you and my documents in my next mail.

Awaiting to hear from you, while I look forward to meet you very soon.
Bye for now and God bless
Madam Lione Prez.
***

Dear Madam Lione Prez,

My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a 26 year old French Immersion donut eater. We have been corresponding recently about me being your personal hero.

Thank you so much for clearing up what you meant by the term, "lion den". I was confused, and for a second I thought you were typing out this grammatically stellar email nestled comfortably in the embrace of a king of the jungle.

First off, I was a little skeptical, I have to admit, about your emails. But then I crawled into a "lion den", and thought long and hard about your foolproof plan, and deduced that you have no other choice. And if the box of money from the security company cannot be retained by you, your late husband's wife, then who better to waltz in there and acquire that box of money, but I, Sarah Bertrand! *begins the slow clap* Well done, Madam Lione Prez. Hey, know what I just realized? Your name is "Lione". Like "Lion". The den in which you currently reside.

Moving along, so let me get this straight: I call the security company, give them my address, and they send me the box of money. Then you send me the keys for the box of money. And then I deduct 15% for myself, and send you the rest of it back? This.. is.. good. Really good. I can do this. 15% is more than fair. You need the majority of the money to maintain that "lion den". You know, for lighting, and not to mention feeding those "lion". Possibly hiring entertainment, like hiring Elton John to sing them all a diddy about circles, and life.

Commence shipment immediately. I will send you my address if you can answer my riddle, so I know that you are in fact legitimate.

What is the difference between an elephant and a blue plum?

You have asked me some personal questions about myself, and I will answer those so you feel more at ease with me handling your box of money, and then sending it to your den of "lion".

My age is 26. You asked if I was "marrined". I do not know what this means. I can only assume that it is the language barrier, to this I am very understanding. I will answer this question, in terms of all the things I believe this could possibly mean.

I am not marrined. I am a human being, not a mammal such as a whale. I do not have my own "World", and I actually resent that you asked me this, if I'm being perfectly honest.

I am not, in any way, affiliated with the Seattle Mariners, although I have played baseball for many years.

I am not a steak, nor am I poultry, so I have not been marinated. Although I have had two beers tonight, while cleaning my house, and I did spill a little bit on my leg when I started writing this. I do smell a little like it still, but I did wipe it off, so you can make your own assumptions I suppose.

I have no children, because I am barren. Thank you, really, for bringing up such a sensitive subject. Well, it has not been confirmed that I am barren. However I am a homosexual, and one day a few years ago, a man stopped me on the street and told me I was going to hell, and crazily spouted off something about babies, and me not being able to have them even though it's God's will, because God made Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve, so I can only assume that he was trying to helpfully communicate to me that I was not born with ovaries nor Fallopian tubes.

What do I do for a living? Daydream. Sometimes I read. Other times, I cry. Oh, did you mean a job? I manage my own car theft ring. It's pretty glamorous, but frowned upon in some circles, so you're going to have to keep this one between you, I, and all those "lion".

Also, we will be investing the money in "lion", and things related to "lion". Like, safaris.

I will not sleep until I hear from you again, Ms. Lionpants. Here here! Your late husband will have his vengeance! Oh, wait. Is he "wicked" like his family? Are we mad at him too?

Lion!

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand.

My letter to the AGO

Dear Art Gallery of Ontario,

My name is Sarah Bertrand, and I am a vengeful, passionate, 26 year old woman who is somehow associated with an artist, and this is my tale of woe.

On September 19th, 2009, I was forced against my will to venture to your establishment, because my girlfriend has just started her first semester in art school, and wanted to be accompanied. Since I support her work, I decided I would put on my fancy hat and good t shirt, and venture out for some culture.

I have one question, one suggestion, and one comment. I shall begin with the "suggestion".

There was one painting, up, up, waaay up on the fifth floor (we could not locate the elevator, so we walked up the spiraling staircase of death.. I had to use my inhaler immediately after), and it was brown. Not my inhaler, the painting. A light brown. That was it. It was about the size my cat, Sunshine, if he was standing up and had his arms outstretched. He is orange, and very furry. He also is blind in one eye. It was a rather tawdry shade of brown, and there was no pattern, no picture, literally nothing on the canvas except the shade brown. It was called, "Untitled". Well, duh! That would be the *obvious* choice to call it. I, however, have contrived several more imaginative ideas for what this "piece of art" should be called. "Bark". Or, "Chocolate". Or, "Brunette". Or, "Autumn". These are just a few working ideas to jazz things up a little bit. I also thought it would be quite interesting to catch people off guard, and give them something they wouldn't expect. Like, "Shazaam! Brown!" Or, "Whoooaaaaa!" Or, "Peanut Brittle." I don't mind if you use any of the ideas. In fact, I would be very flattered. I would, however, have to insist that my name be accredited, and a wing of your building to be named after myself: Sarah C Bertrand.

Now, the comment. On the first floor, there was one larger scale photograph that took up a small wall. It was framed, and looked like someone took a picture of various items in their house, and got it developed at their local Wal Mart, or Sooters. Is Sooters still around? It was a picture of an empty pack of Belmont's brand cigarettes, an almost empty glass of what looked like Coca Cola, concealer, eyeshadow, and a few nick nacks. My friend, Kevin Tramov (who also went with us that day), exclaimed loudly and abruptly, "This looks like my make up counter!" It did, AGO, look like his makeup counter. What constitutes art nowadays? It just seemed to be random objects in a polaroid taken out of focus. Was there a hidden meaning I didn't comprehend? Or, is this is newest art fad that's going to be taking over? Because, in that case, I have several pictures I'd like to send you, and have immediately displayed. There was a brief period I was experimenting with piles. I would wait until my cat, Mr. Bojangles, was sleeping, and then I would pile as many things as I could on him until he woke up and started to squirm, and I would take a picture. Books, blankets, socks, cds, pens, a Lean Cuisine one time. I'd never hurt him, but the pictures turned out pretty inspiring. I also have pictures of my brother wearing my bathing suit when he was younger, a really great one of my mother dressed up as a cowboy a few Halloweens ago, trotting around my room, and I even have a very endearing picture of my other cat, Ned, in laundry basket. He's looking up at me, pleading with his eyes, "I'm not dirty mom! Don't put me in with the wash!" And I didn't. But it's still a great picture. Regardless, my comment is this: I don't understand it, so I fear it. You should make exhibits that are less confusing, and thus less scary.

Speaking of scary, here comes my question. As soon as you walk into the AGO, and after you've paid your fee (a fee which I will be demanding back in a few short paragraphs), there is a large room with a large exhibit. Although I do consider myself an artist at sandwich making, I am not in fact an actual, conventional artist. So, from a non artistic point of view (unless we're discussing sandwiches), what I saw not only confused me, but horrified me. There was a massive mirrored dwelling. Some of the glass was cracked, and it was two storeys high. On top there were several budgies that had visited the taxidermist, as well as a mannequin that had the body of an angry businessman, and the head of a giant bird with pubic hair glued to its face. There were several dildos on display, some bedazzled with leather, and odd viney things that looked as though they were haunted. There was also another birdman, who looked like he was late for an appointment, and thus wanted to kill someone. I don't know why he was so mad. I don't know why the words, "scrotum" and "tongue" were scratched in the trees that surrounded the whole display. I actually don't understand, even a little bit, what any of it meant. I even tried to think like a pretentious jerk, and think about it in terms of "society", and I *still* don't get it.

My question to you, AGO, is how quickly will it take me to get back my $18 sent back to me before I implement an artistic protest outside your building, involving interpretive dance, picture taking, some melting ice (like that other presentation upstairs that made even less sense), and perhaps showing of artistic emotion. Like tears. Or passion. I look forward to my $18 immediately, as well as an apology. For the world to see. Post haste.

Sincerely,
Sarah Bertrand