Dear children: YES. You have to do the dishes AND clean your rooms today. I am about to take you and your friends to the “Fun park”. Do you know how much your average adult likes going to the “Fun Park”? About as much as getting a yeast infection with a chaser of hemorrhoids. You’re lucky it’s just doing the dishes and cleaning your rooms and that I’m not renting you out to The Triangle Shirtwaist Company for underage slave labor in exchange for this little outing.
Dear “Fun Park”: Please, please, please be cooperative today. Do not have change machines be perpetually “Out of order”, don’t take my kid’s ski ball award tickets don’t have your mats out of place in the inevitable place that my child will land and bonk his head, and if there is any way that you could somehow rid me of feeling like I need to hose myself down with Lysol the minute I walk through your doors, I would appreciate it.
Dear Body: You haven’t been too bad lately. Sure the non-appetite thing has been annoying and bland, but dude…We’re in the 140′s now, which doesn’t suck. And? Is it weird that I feel better eating a lot less? I mean…I should feel worse, right? It’s kind of cool to not really need the food crutch I’ve had for oh, my entire freaking life. I’m assuming it will come back but for now I am having a moment of empowerment.
Dear VW Passat Wagon: Please for all that is holy, STOP FREAKING OUT ON ME. Please? Because even though I know that the problem with you is just a “Sensor” issue, when you scream “STOP MOTOR!!! OIL PRESSURE PROBLEM!!!! YOUR CAR WILL EXPLODE IF YOU DON’T PULL OVER RIGHT NOW!!!” I just CANNOT IGNORE IT. I will keep pulling over, in the dark, at midnight, in the middle of a canyon when I’m exhausted from doing a show and I will HATE YOU FOR IT. So? Get your act together, yo.
Dear Gretchen:Your rolls are about the only thing I am looking forward to today. You are the Goddess of Yeast. (Not in a bad way. Ehem.)
Dear Husband: You realize that when you tell me that you “don’t really think you want to see it THAT bad” when I tell you how much it will cost to see Wicked, you are really hurting my feelings, right? Because I am trying to give you a GIFT with MY hard-earned money. I don’t want new clothes, shoes, makeup, kitchen gadget or even my much LUSTED after SLR camera. No, I want to take you to see a show that means a lot to me, that I know you would lov,e and do something special with just US. We rarely do anything or go anywhere together. And you don’t want to go because the tickets are a little more than you thought they’d be? Ouch.
Dear Credit Card: I am so pissed off that I miscalculated your limit by a measly 2.50 and got whomped with a big, fat overage fine. I’m also pissed that when I pay you off, the money comes out of my bank account almost immediately and yet it takes DAYS before it posts to my credit account. It’s really not cool. It’s not like you have to use The Pony Express to get the payment to and fro, ya know?
Dear Friends: It has been so good hanging out with and seeing you. I love my computer but sometimes I need to be reminded what the outside world actually looks like, you know? Love you all more than you know.
Dear Voice: THANK YOU for last night. You were awesome and you didn’t let me down in front of my friends, Chelle and Heidi. This goes in the scrapbook as one of our best performances. Even though I use and abuse and bitch about you a lot, I love your guts.
Dear Oregon Trail and Rockband: YOU ARE MY BITCHES.
Dear Creativity: Could you please, please, PLEASE get your act together? I’m dying here. I mean, I know that you do your best, but look at this post and how much we struggled to write it. And it’s just kind of…”Meh”. You’ve been kinda, “Meh” for a long time. Get your proverbial panties out of a twist and behave, ok?
Dear SoapNet Dude. Please stop playing re-runs of Melrose Place. I seriously do not want to be sucked back into the early 90′s but the pull of Allison/Billy/Amanda/Brooke, Jane/Michael/Kimberly/Sidney is just too damn much! MUST. KEEP.WATCHING! GAH!!!
Dear Twitter: Not now. I’m busy. You know…Watching Melrose Place.
P.S. This is me, HORKING DOWN THE DELICIOUSNESS THAT ARE GRETCHEN’S ROLLS.
Mmmm…Totally made the stupid Fun Park bearable. (Yes. I took the whole damn box with me. Perfect accompaniment to an Ipod and a Martha Grimes novel.)