Idea blatantly stolen from the lovely Kristabella and Sizzle.

******

Dear Blog,

I’m sorry I haven’t written and I’m sorry you feel neglected.  But really…get over yourself.   It has been cold, cloudy,  and depressing around here and the last thing you want is to turn into an EMO blog.  Furthermore, it’s not like I signed up for NaBloPoMo .  Please have your people call my people so we can discuss your unrealistically high expectations of me.

Signed,

Your People

******

Dear Face,

In case you didn’t get the message, this year we turned 28.  Not 14, 16, or 18.   Is there really a need for the break-outs?   And what’s with the splotchy dry cheeks?  And FOR REAL, all the whining and complaining that we’re no longer buying the $25, 3.3 oz face wash is really unnecessary.   We’re in a fucking recession.   You’re lucky I’m not washing you with bar soap.  (OK.. I didn’t mean the last part about the bar soap.)  If I promise to wash you every night, resume the use your favorite eye cream, and stop eating crap for lunch, will you promise to play well with others so I don’t have to leave home wearing a paper bag over my face?

Signed,

The ”excessively oily T-zone” talking head that is forced to represent us in public

******

Dear Kitty that lives outside my office, 

I know that the guys who work at the loading dock feed you, but I would really like it if you found a real home.  You know… one that’s dry and warm and full of cat toys.  I would take you home with me; however,

• You are likely feral.
• My husband will kill me if I bring home another animal and then who would love you and take care of you ?
• Because of the first point, you would likely eat (a) My furniture (b) My other two cats and (c) Me and my husband.. and seriously… THEN who would take care of you ?

So.. I will keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not getting to skinny.  In turn, you should really stop tempting fate by running around in the road.    

Signed,

The lady who cooos at you from behind the shiny see-thru wall

******

Dear New Oven,

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.   Two super smallish things though:  (1) Could you please stop smelling so new when I turn you on?  It is completely stinking up the house and giving me a headache.  (2) Don’t tell the face how much we paid to free you from your captors (aka “The Home Improvement Store”).  She’s a bit bend out of shape that her budget has been cut due to the “recession”.  

Signed,

The pretty lady who kissed you when her husband wasn’t looking

******

Dear Injured Husband,

Your laundry is cleaned and put away (no small feat for me).  The kitchen is spotless.   The cats have been watered and feed daily since your surgery.  The trash has made it to the curb on time every week, the cat boxes are clean, and the milk has never spoiled.   In the past three weeks  I have baked you one peach pie, one batch of New York Times chocolate chip cookies,  a homemade pizza, and monkey bread.  I’ve made coffee for you almost every morning even though I don’t drink coffee.   I pack a convenient-to-carry  boxed lunch for you every day so that you won’t starve to death.  I even clean up your growing collection of soda cans from your desk, since I know that “crutching with an open beverage” is hazardous.    

I have taken you to no less than 5 doctors visits, 3 trips to the pharmacists, and 2 trips to the ER.   I have tried to make our house as “crutches-friendly” as possible so that you can easily move around while I’m at work.   I do all this, not because I stood up in front of 110 people six months ago and promised the whole “in sickness and health” bit (in all fairness, you hadn’t had as much as a sniffle up until that point), but because I love you and because it’s what loving wives do for their husbands.   That being said, OH MY GAWD I never realized how trying, exhausting, emotionally draining, challenging this whole situation was going to be for us.   Having your spouse be sick/injured really sucks.  Thankfully, in three short weeks, you’ll have permission to walk on your gimpy knee again, and things should slowly return to normal.  And then…… guess what??!!??   I’m going on vacation……….without you. 

Signed,

You loving, adoring wife

PS.  Ok.. maybe not without you.  I will need someone to pay for the trip and to drop me off at the airport.    

PPS. I’m totally just kidding about the whole vacation thing.  Please don’t change the locks before I get home.

PPPS. Please don’t move either

PPPPS.  IF you do move.. please take the cats.  

PPPPPS.  But don’t move.   Please

PPPPPPS.  Don’t listen to the oven.  It lies.   Those lipstick prints are NOT mine. 

******

Dear Job,

I truly believe that you are a career-squashing sadist.   Consider this fair warning. 

Signed,

The uninspired, under-utilized, slightly-directionless, resume updating MBA in the corner office closet

******

Dear Career, Inspiration, and Motivation;

The Job has been given fair warning.  Please understand that due to financial obligations and the “recession”, we will have to wait for Job 2.0 to be properly installed before we can uninstall Job 1.bleh.  Please continue to be patient while Job 2.0 is fully researched, as we would not want to replace Job 1.bleh with similar software.  Your cares and concerns are fully being considered during this insane tiring frustrating delicate process.  An announcement will be made once a decision has been finalized.

Signed,

The person in charge of your care and well-being