Dear Wednesday...

Dear Wednesday,

Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I know you've got a silly nickname, but I try not to call you that, so please let's be friends. I won't hold it against you that today started with a headache and I haven't managed to stop being a whine-filled ball of crank since. Please don't hold it against me that I like other days better than you. I mean, Monday is the black sheep and Tuesday is sort of the underdog. Thursdays are generally just overlooked on the way to Friday, and everyone knows that Saturday and Sunday are the pretty girls we all wanted to be in grades K through 12. Anyway, we're here now, and I'd really like to enjoy you. It's Date Night tonight after all, and that's a really big selling point. So, if you stop the random acts of malfeasance, I'll be sure to tell everybody that you're really the best day of the workweek. Please consider my offer.
Respectfully, Crabby Baby

Dear PT Cruiser,

You know that I've dreamed of having you since your debut so many years ago, right? Other than a 1998 Red VW Jetta, there is no car I've wanted more (that I had a reasonable chance of obtaining in my lifetime, because it would be a disservice to compare you to any Aston Martin). My brother may think you're ugly, but I don't. I think you're cute and spunky and I've taken really good care of you these past two years. So please stop the diva-like behavior. You do not need constant attention from the guys at CarMax. You're better than that! You've got more self-respect than that! You go for your regular oil changes and maintenance. Igot you detailed just a few months ago. You're not neglected! So please stop blowing random fuses and flashing your "check engine" light at me. Is this because I chose to drive the Rondo to work last week? Are you feeling jealous? Listen, it's not you, it's me! I just needed the extra gas mileage. I love your Turbo GT whatever. Your leather seats get so delightfully scorchy in the Texas heat. I adore the bliding rays of sunshine from your sunroof. I've even completely adapted to the window controls being on the center of the dash instead of by the actual windows. Please, can't we put this petty repair business behind us? Sincerely, The One Who Buys The Gas

Dear Aaron Sorkin,

You're really good at writing. Geez, what a crappy sentence. Ok, it's true and I don't have a more eloquent way of saying it. I got hooked on West Wing and I don't even like politics. Then again, it wasn't really a show about politics any more than Studio 60 was a show about a tv show. As my Improv instructors have drilled into my brain, all good stories are about relationships. Anyway, because of you, I've decided to watch everything that Bradley Whitford has ever been in, except for whatever show has him in that ridiculous mustache. I can't do that one. Anyway, thank you for ending Studio 60 in a highly satisfactory manner. There is nothing worse* than getting to the end of a series to find a bunch of cliffhangers, un-answered questions and what-ifs, and yes, I'm looking at you, Joss Whedon! So, Mr. Sorkin, thanks for stealing many of my couch-time hours to fill my head with good stories of real-feeling relationships between characters that feel like people I know. (I'm such a Donna sometimes, right? I know!)
With affection, The Holder of The Remote Control

Dear Treadmill,

We need to have a talk. I know that we're both new to this relationship, but I'm finding that I'm getting increasingly frustrated. I've tried to talk it out with you, but you just don't seem capable of change. The problem really isn't me, it's you. You're too loose. And I'm not talking about the fact that you will give a free ride to every cat, dog, or husband who happens to saunter on by. No, the real issue here is your belt tension. I got into this relationship looking for something challenging, but familiar. Your incline is a little steep, but I can deal with that. What I can't deal with is the fact that you seem incapable of only two speeds: Run For Your Life, Zombies and Hip Replacement Rehab. As you may have noticed, I don't run, so that's right out. Also, I may be a former president of the Universal Convention of Awkwardness but I can manage to walk at a smooth and steady pace, so that leaves us at an impass. Don't tell me that because you are a "manual" treadmill the speed is my responsibility. I wish that were the case. If that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation. No, you need to get your belt tightened so I can tighten mine. Relationships are about compromise, so why don't you just give me what I want so we can both be happy?
With Respect, Trying To Be Less Blubbery

The morning routine is not without its pitfalls

Dear Chin--
We've been through a lot together.  You've been around all my life, and in case you're suffering from salicylic acid flashbacks from the 90s, I'd like to remind you that "all my life" is 30 years.  I'm not 16 anymore.  So you can stop with the pissy hormonal breakouts any time.  Go talk to my eyelids.  They seem to think I'm pushing 40, so maybe you could all come to some happy agreement and pretend to be 26 again.  I wouldn't mind that at all.  Just don't talk to my lips.  26 was a traumatizing year for them, what with the Fever Blister Explosion of 2006.  And don't try to beguile me with math and logic and tell me that at age 26 I was actually in my 27th year of life, counting year 0 and all that jazz.  There's no loophole here for you.  You know what I mean and your silly semantics aren't going to work on me.  You've been warned.  Shape up, clear up, or it's back to the Noxema for you!!

Dear Tights--
I am very pleased with your ability to turn my legs some other color than pasty-pale and I want to commend you for the valiant effort you have put up against my weapons-grade toe nails.  I know it's not an easy task to resist the temptation to rip, shred, run and otherwise quit being effective as seamless leg coverings.  Your cousins, the nylons, haven't been able to do it, no matter how often those toes-in-question are trimmed, filed and pedicured.  So kudos to you for standing up to the challenge!  That being said, I think you sometimes take yourselves a little too seriously.  "Tights" is just a name... like "hose."  So when I use the annoying grid on the back of your packaging to pick a pair that's supposed to fit my height & weight, don't be so unyielding as to cause me to commiserate with sausages and armadillos eaten by boa constrictors.  Loosen up a bit.  I promise it won't cause me to lose any respect for you or be a denial of your name.

Dear Burt's Bees--
I am a big fan of your product.  I think you got it right the first time though and can probably stop making a new formula for every trendy health-food that comes out.  I will try each new formula just in case you happen to surpass the greatness of the original so I suppose I'm only fueling the problem, but I'm only buying one because so far your other versions just aren't that great.  Peppermint oil was the kicker and when you remove or hide that behind cloves, pomegranate or acai berry extracts... well, it just sort of ruins it for me.  That original formula is so great that I have two three tubes of it in my purse (in addition to the acai berry and passion fruit varieties), one on my nightstand, one by my computer, one in the bathroom, and my husband has one that he carries at all times too.  So stick with what you do best.  Oh, and bring  the tomato facial toner back to stores.  I miss it. 

Dear M.A.C. --
You tempt me with your delicious smelling, beautifully colored, incredibly comfortable lipsticks and lip glosses.  I already carry around 3 of each with me in my purse, so really, could you give me a break?  I've proclaimed your greatness to the internet at large and even gifted your products to my friends.  The Lace has a pro-card (Thanks to The Yellow One) so you know we'll keep coming back.  Please stop showing me all the amazing colors that I don't own.  I don't have a large enough allowance to purchase all that I desire, nor the storage space in my tiny bathroom to properly display your greatness, so you taunt someone else.  As for your incredible variety of eyeshadow colors... well... just know that someday they will be mine.  Not all of them, because not even I can justify 3 square feet of green eyeshadow, but I will one day own enough colors to feel that I have a suitably representative sample... so maybe just 100 or so.  It's a goal, and a lofty one at that, so be patient with me and stop coming out with limited edition colors that are so perfect or just what I'd been wanting, because I have enough colors to conquer in your regular collection.  Thank you.

Dear Spanx/Assets/Other Spanx-type Products--
I know that you wouldn't have gained such popularity amongst my peers if you didn't have some value and thus a reasonable amount of success.  I happen to fall in that unhappy (if small) segment of the population for which you seem to be able to only do jack and or squat.  I do appreciate your ability to squish my hudge down so that there is an illusion of one-bellyness, instead of the truth: two bellies divided by the Mason-Dixon line of my belly button.  I would appreciate this more if it didn't come at the cost of causing my already Kansas-like rear end to appear even flatter than the Antiplano of southwest Bolivia, which I didn't think possible.  I'm also not really a fan of your supposedly non-binding, non-rolling leg bands that both bisect my not-insubstantial thighs and roll up to very uncomfortable, unmentionable places.  All those things I would gladly endure if any of them were able to take my square hips and make them appealingly round.  I would submit to a flat posterior and misshapen thighs for round hips... at least I think I would.  All in all, I have found your products to be worthless, useless, and disappointing.  I remain ever vigilant for a new product that will hide my hudge, round my hips and leave me with the illusion thighs slightly less lumpy than reality.

Sincerely and with all due respect,

The Bean

2011

Dear 2011:

Greetings and welcome!  I know you've just gotten started but I want to say that I have high hopes for you.  While you are finding your own unique groove, please allow me to offer some advice, filtered through the experience of those noble years that have gone before you.

• Sleep is a lovely thing, and should be granted in more than 90 minute increments.  This is especially important on days when work at an office requiring specific hours is involved, but as a general rule is accepted on all days, deadlines not withstanding.  That being said, naps are a special subset of sleep and shouldn't be confused with real rest sleep.  Naps are perfectly acceptable in 90 minute increments and as such are welcomed most heartily.  Think of real sleep like a Lord of the Rings movie marathon instead of a Disney flick.  
• Fever blisters, cold sores, or canker sores can truly be avoided at all costs.  While 2010 may have been throwing them about like rice at a wedding, we both know that throwing rice at a wedding is not only a social faux pas these days, it's considered tacky and dangerous--by women in heels mostly, but as I qualify as one of those, let's just consider it a foregone conclusion.  If you feel the absolute need to dispense one of the horrific things, please consider some advance warning.  I'm not so foolish as to ask for anything as grandiose as hours, but something along the order of 30 minutes would be kind.  That should at least give me time to take the preventative steps to minimize the damage.
• Weddings and babies are wonderful events and we'll welcome them in the lives of our friends and family.  Funerals are generally frowned upon.  
• 2010 had many pleasant surprises for us in the way of changing jobs.  It was lovely, but you don't want to be a copycat now do you?  I didn't think so.  If job-change is in mind, please limit it to those who want it, or think "promotion" or "raise."
• We have a new: fridge, washer, dryer, and AC unit.  Our roof is still in its infancy and our cars are in their prime.  Our fence is in its dotage, so if you desire sweeping change in the household realm, please direct your attention there.
• Thee cats and a dog is a mighty full menagerie.  No more animals this year, ok?

Sincerely yours, 

The Bean

A love letter to turtlenecks

Dear turtlenecks:

I love you.

I know you're not that popular with most of my friends. They consent to wear "mock" turtles, but not the real thing. I, on the other hand, have a whole shelf in my closet dedicated to you.

Yes, turtlenecks, I love you. I love you sleeveless. I love you cable knit. I love you cottony and in all the colors of my wardrobe (which, with the recent addition of 2 yellow shirts, now comprises the whole ROY G BIV spectrum, excluding coral because it makes me look ooky). I even chose a Halloween costume one year just so I could wear a red turtleneck. (Red Fraggle--it was fun).

I adore the way you keep me well covered and still looking stylish. I love the way you keep me toasty warm. I love the way you accentuate the 2.5 miles of neck I have.

Sparkly black turtleneck, you might be my favorite, thought I will admit that Purple ribbed turtleneck comes in a close second. You have been with me through so many years. You work equally well with slacks and jeans. You are the perfect shirt for me.

So, dear turtlenecks, please don't think that because I moved to the sweltering state of Texas that I have abandoned or forsaken you. I haven't. I am so excited that it is finally below 90° that I will be wearing turtlenecks bi-weekly until the temperature drops below 80°. Then, we'll have weekly wearings.

Of course, as per usual, starting December 1st, regardless of temperature, we will have turtlenecks at least 3 times per week until the end of February. It's the least I can do to make up for the shortened window of opportunity that my home affords me.

Please accept this compromise with the full spirit of devotion with which it is offered.

From the bottom of my heart, and from my clavicle to chin--

Sincerely,

Me.

An open letter to my shoes

In the time-honored tradition of many of my friends, and folks across the world wide web, I present to you this bit of inane babble from several weeks ago.

Dear Shoes,

It is incredibly unhelpful when you are not where you are supposed to be: a.k.a. on my feet, or in my direct line of sight. Those are the only helpful places to be, as anything else, as my dear friend The Gruss would say "smacks of effort."  Because I chose to spend all my spare time this morning with my new bff, The Internet, I don’t have any time to play hide & seek with you. I know you like to play coy and hide in the strangest places (the bathroom, under the bed, in the pantry, etc.*) but I don’t really have time for those sorts of things now. I'm making such an effort here, by changing my location, and thus allowing the "in my direct line of sight" to fall on many different places.  I'm trying to make this work, so please meet me half way.