Dear Lucky Magazine: Who can drop $642 on ONE BLOUSE and consider it a “lucky” find? What is your target demographic? Just curious. I guess, if I could do that, I WOULD be lucky.

Dear Mattel: You are on my list. We’ll talk more about this later, you lying, deceiving, crap-monger.


Dear Migraine-Inducing Barometric Pressure: Get lost, already. Lighten up. Everything’s nice and soaked, you can move along now.

Dear Concerned Friends: Please stop forwarding me the email about boycotting the upcoming film version of “The Golden Compass” because it is “anti-God.” Seriously–I’ve received this email eleventy-million times in the last three days, and not one of those missives has come from someone who has seen this movie or even read any of the “His Dark Materials” series. Why should we be afraid of things that are “anti-God,” anyway? Christianity is all about free will. It’s a personal choice we make to accept Christ or not. If we could remove every influence in the world that was not Godly, well, then it wouldn’t be much of a “choice,” would it? It would seem to me that this film or the book it’s based on might provide a prime opportunity to discuss important theological issues with our children, particularly the difference between faith and religion…but that’s just me. Anyway, I know you mean well, but I’ve read the email, and the linked report now more than once. I’m good.


Dear Arkansas Immigration Alarmists: For your own mental health, accept the inevitable. We have a larger and larger influx of hispanics to this state every day, and I haven’t seen anything you’ve proposed that’s going to slow it down much, much less stop it. Take a breath, and start learning Spanish. We are.

Dear Internet: I think we’re growing apart. It’s not you, it’s me. OK, it’s mostly you. Give me things I NEED, or I’m going to have to start looking elsewhere.


Dear Real Life: Thank you for getting better. I couldn’t have taken yet another sucky year.

Dear Family: I love you guys.

Dear Husband and Daughter: I am checking out of the Volume Race around here. You two are LOUD. You are, quite honestly, the two loudest people I have ever met in my whole, entire life. Isabella, I never dreamed that I would ever meet anyone as loud as your father…and then YOU came along. You were such a quiet baby. Can’t we get back to that? I’m interested in everything the both of you have to say to me, but here’s the thing: I’M RIGHT HERE. I can HEAR you. Just talk, in a normal human conversational tone, for the love of my eardrums. I’m not going to compete to be heard any more. If you want to hear what I have to say, you’re going to have to hush up and listen, because I’m not gonna holler any more.

Dear Wal-Mart grocery department: You disappoint me. I occasionally shop with you when I just need a few things for one dinner, and also have to buy, say, a bucket or a belt-sander at the same time. Why does the biggest store in the universe have such a limited selection? It’s weird. Congratulations on carrying Pocky, though.


Dear Kroger in Jacksonville: I love you. You have everything I need, and you double my coupons–even when I have half a dozen for the same item. You’re clean and well-organized and not overwhelming, and you offer a varied selection of ethnic grocery items. Please treat your employees better so they don’t always look so sour (see next item).

Dear Kroger in Cabot: You are new and shiny and clean and bright. You have super-wide aisles and the happiest staff I’ve ever seen at a grocery store in my life. When I dropped a jar of pizza-sauce and it smashed on the spotless floor, not only was there someone cleaning it up almost before the sound of the impact reached my ears, but he was HAPPY about it, smiling from ear to ear and cracking jokes about how at least I didn’t drop the pricey stuff. You need to talk to the Jacksonville branch about how to keep your workers happy. BUT, Kroger in Cabot, when I have a choice, I don’t choose you, even with your big comfy aisles and your happy employees. I choose Kroger in Jacksonville. Because, Kroger in Cabot, the layout of your store is INSANE. Like items belong together. I know it’s probably some strategy to increase shopper exposure to as many items as possible, thereby increasing impulse purchases, but you know what? When I have to double back and re-trace my steps, it just annoys me. I wind up leaving without things I wanted to buy, just because I can’t find them easily, and that is losing you money.

Dear local trees: I know it was 80 degrees until last week, but let’s go with the foliage changing already.

Dear red pickup truck: I am SO tired of making payments on you. The next seven months can not go by quickly enough, as far as you’re concerned.

Dear white Tahoe: Thank you for not breaking down, even though you’re all paid for. Please last several more years, or at least until I can trade you in for something more reasonable. It’s not you, it’s just that I now have a husband, who has his own truck, so I no longer need your big engine or towing ability. When you’re gone, I will miss you, though.

Dear house and 5 acres: You are on borrowed time. If the real estate market weren’t so depressed right now, you would SO be up on the block. We’re allergic to all your multitude of trees, and your weird, weird floor-plan is not cute any more. I am trying to like you better, so work with me, OK? This is your time to shine, in some way.

Dear poodles: It would be great if you guys could learn to bathe yourselves. You’re smart enough–I really think you could do it. Give it some thought, OK? I’ll keep the good food coming. Stay out of the trash.

Dear Invader Zim: Come back.

Dear Mario Van Peebles: I don’t know where you’ve been for the last several years, but “Damages” was truly awesome. I noticed that you put yourself into the final episodes, and I’m hoping that doesn’t change anything next season.

Dear whoever is responsible for the plot of the “Transformers” movie: Man, you stink at the plot-writing. Never write anything for public consumption ever, ever again. The way you wrote that whole storyline made it impossible to think anything throughout 2/3 of that movie except “why don’t the Autobots and the Decepticons just have a bidding war on Ebay for the stupid glasses?” That would have been just about as interesting, too.

Dear Southern Living and Mental Floss magazines: I will never stop subscribing to either of you. The love, it is fierce.

Dear Real Simple magazine: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I picked up your November issue while in the checkout line at the grocery store, due to a personal character weakness of mine when it comes to magazines. After reading an article about cleaning, with practical tips like how to clean with non-toxic items like baking soda and vinegar, I came to the article about organizing a linen closet to optimize space. There, smack in the middle of $10 tap lights and storage chests, a $12 under-shelf basket, and a $13 mini-dresser, is this thing:
It’s a small plastic wall-mount organizer, kind of like a hanging shelf with hard plastic “pockets” in which to store things. It costs $310. THREE HUNDRED AND TEN DOLLARS. For a place to put your spare paperclips. Real Simple, that is neither “real” nor “simple.” Are you high? What kind of a kickback are you getting from the Uten.Silo people from this incongruous product placement?

(This item partially cross-posted from NINJA POODLES!)