Dear Foul Mood,

You're a jerkface.

I wish you'd go away. I've been fighting with you since I woke up this morning and I've done everything in my power to dismiss you. I've worked out, prayed, ate some blueberries, listened to this song...* But it's like you are permanently glued to my soul. The fact that my cubicle smells like a burning vacuum cleaner doesn't help. And yeah, I checked — it's not me.

I hate you, Foul Mood. I hope you die soon. I want to chemically pacify you, but it's not even noon. And it's a Monday.

*Sigh*

Also, I love the term "chemically pacify." I found it in the book I'm currently reading. I couldn't wait to use it.

I do feel a bit better after writing you this note. So hopefully my day is saved!

To bluer skies,

Me

*If your job sucks and you can't access youtube, go here to listen to the song I mentioned above.

Dear Bed Bath and Beyond,

You're expensive. Seriously. Maybe I'm just cheap, but dang.

The other day, my pal and I roamed your aisles in search of sheets and omelette pans. We somehow found ourselves in a mountain of towels.

"Dude," I shouted, "this towel costs..." my right hand held up four fingers as my left hand formed a zero. I mouthed 'forty' as if it were a curse word. "...dollars!"

"Oh yeah? Well, this one is $60."

My jaw dropped to my knees."You're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

What's your deal, Bed Bath and Beyond? How can you charge more than ten bucks for a towel and still flaunt a grammatically incorrect logo? I mean, where's the money going? And where's the comma?

Anyway, my pal ended up buying me one of your plush towels. I can't really tell the difference between it and my Target special. Except for the fact that yours is much thicker. And softer. And more absorbent. Oh, and it reminds me of a woven-together piece of heaven.

Also, BBAB — you make me want to get married just so I can register for everything in your overpriced store. There are other reasons I want to get married (like guilt-free sex on demand), but free stuff is the main one.

Oh — awesome idea! I could register for Christmas presents. Is that rude and inappropriate? Yes, it is. I could totally send out Christmas cards with a footnote saying, "Registered at Bed Bath and Beyond."

I am so terrible.

Thanks,

Me

Dear Driving,

Why must I be faced with your hell every day? I'm not good at you, D. In fact, I suck. You can ask any of my friends. No one wants to ride with me. Ever.

Plus, my gas-sucking car is an impossible-to-maneuver tank.
But it was free, so I shouldn't complain like a spoiled brat.

*Sigh*

You should see me try to park that mammoth ride. Remember this scene in Austin Powers? Yeah. That's me. Every day.

Look, I've weighed the pros and cons. I know with you in my life, I have the freedom and privilege to go where I want when I please. I could be in a different state by tonight — all because of you, Driving. Dude — you've totally taken me places.

But we don't get along, simple as that. Please don't say I didn't try. We've both spent the last decade trying to make this work. Make US work. But the speeding tickets, the wrecks, the flat tires... they sadly outweigh the road trips, the windows-down sing-a-longs and the drive-thru conversations. It's just over between us. I'd rather be driven, that's all.

I want to gaze out windows and jam to solid tunes while traveling, not zoom in and out of lanes at 65 miles an hour in a giant metal box on wheels, surrounded by other giant metal boxes on wheels doing the same thing.

Call me crazy, but that sounds dangerous.

Thanks,

Me