Google

Dear Google,

I love you. Really, I do. But now that you're ditching Wave (good move, btw, since nobody could actually figure out a real use for it), how about dedicating some of those resources to some of your Gmail issues.

Most importantly, I want to be able to choose which email address a contact has should be the default one. Associated with that, I want distribution lists to use whatever the default email address is for a particular contact at the time I *use* the distribution list--*not* when I created it. Oh, and can you help me understand why sometimes the email address I want to use doesn't even come up at all when I type a contact's name in the To: field of an email?

I don't think that's a lot to ask, is it?

Love,
Kate

Jerks

Dear Jerks,

You're welcome for the cupcakes. Not that you said "thank you." Or even really acknowledged the reason for them in the first place. Her name is Kit, btw. She's worked here longer than almost all of you, and I have not yet quite figured out how we will continue to operate without her assistance.

But you're welcome for the cupcakes.

Love,
Kate

p.s. Note that those who stayed and played games and actually acknowledged Kit's last day are excluded from the "jerk" label.

Dear Cancer, Part II

Dear Cancer,

Take that, bitch!

Regards,
Kate

Dear Chicago

Dear Everyone in Chicago,

If you are wearing a Blackhawks jersey this week, you should be subjected to sponaneous pop quizzes on the street. If you cannot, at any given moment, not only name three current players on the team, but also at least one player from three years ago (thanks, Mike, for that suggestion), then you should be punched in the face and forced to replace your Blackhawks jersey with a tshirt that says, "I am a bandwagony poser."

Love,
Kate

Cancer

Dear Cancer,

Fuck you. No, seriously: Fuck. You.

You took my mother, my grandmother, and my grandfather. You tried to get your grubby paws on my aunt. You've taken far too many other people in my inner and outer circles. You're still trying to sink your teeth into my brother-in-law.

And now you think you can have Trish?

Think again.

Go find somebody else's loved ones to fuck with for a change. Better yet, go crawl under a rock and leave everyone the hell alone. You are not welcome here. We will not let you bully us. We hereby declare that you are done. No more.

You can't have Trish.

You can't have Joe.

Fuck you.

Television, Redux

Dear Television (again),

I stand corrected. Television programming should consist of the following: 30 minutes of How I Met Your Mother and 23 hours and 30 minutes of Jon Stewart and Ricky Gervais talking. Please make this happen.

Love,
Kate

Television

Dear Television,

Just stop trying. You have reached your pinnacle with How I Met Your Mother.

Love,
Kate

Amazing Race, Pt. II

Dear Amazing Race,

Giving the first-place finishers for the first leg of the race a chance to luge = prize fail.

Love,
Kate

P.S. to Miss S.C.

The word for "thank you" in Spanish (the language they speak in Chile) is "gracias." In Chinese (where you thought you were), it's "xiè xiè." "Danke" is German. You are nowhere near a German-speaking country. But nice try.

Love,
Kate

Amazing Race

Dear Miss South Carolina,

You are not helping your image as a geographical airhead any when you continually refer to Santiago as being in China. Hint: You have to read more than the first three letters of a word to know what the word is.

Love,
Kate

James Cameron

Dear James Cameron,

Fuck. Yes.

Love,
Kate

Dear Management

Dear Management,

Thanks for the festive $5 Starbucks gift card. Given that I have worked something like 80 to 100 hours of overtime in the last four weeks, that means you value my time at approximately 5¢ per hour. Except that I'm pretty sure the people who can't do a damn thing right and leave the office at 3pm got the same thing. So I guess that pretty much reduces your perceived value of my time to 0.

Good to know.

Regards,
Kate

Dear Jay Cutler

Dear Jay Cutler,

I think maybe you could get your depth perception checked. How is it that even when you have enough of a pocket to get off a decent pass (which I'll grant you isn't all that often), you still overthrow your receiver by, like, five feet? Also, maybe you could look at Olsen a little more in the next six minutes? Like maybe a nice game-winning TD pass? Just an idea.

Love,
Kate

Dear Chasing Amy

Dear Chasing Amy,

Thank you for the exteriors of Prown's and Jack's. They provided a welcome respite from the rest. The rest? Stilted dialogue that just sounds *written*; crass scenes that don't advance the story, but are just crass for the sake of crassness; and yes I'll say it, a star who should have sucked down one fewer helium balloon before delivering her lines. I'm finishing watching you because (a) I made a deal, and (b) my beloved husband thinks you're awesome, but oy vey.

Love,
Kate

Sated

You know how, when you eat too much, your stomach hurts because it is so full? Well, if you will indulge me for a moment on this overly sappy and wildly cliché observation from tonight....

I got home from work after the kids were in bed tonight. They were still awake, though, so I went in to say good night to each of them, and when Elder Child said he loved me and missed me, and Younger Child asked me to sit with him for a few minutes, my heart was so full that it hurt.

Yeah, yeah, I know--far from the most original thought on earth, but I just wanted to capture the feeling for posterity. So there you have it. Being a mom is like having indigestion.

Performance Evaluation

Dear Performance Evaluation,

I hate you. Your only purpose in life is to give management an "official" reason for divvying up the raises however they have already decided to divvy them. I know how I'm doing, my boss knows how I'm doing, and I know what she thinks of how I'm doing. If any of that weren't the case, there would be a much bigger issue than could be solved by my rating myself from 1 to 5 on a bunch of random qualities. I know you are here to stay, but that doesn't mean I have to like you, especially when I have to stay two hours late to finish you.

Bitterly yours,
Kate

Dear Blog Readers

Dear Blog Readers (if there are any of you out there),

I am going to make an attempt to revive my blog in the format of the "Dear So-and-So" letters that have dominated my Facebook statuses for the last few weeks. We'll see how long this lasts.

Love,
Kate

It Shipped!

My beautiful new camera strap (pictured here: http://phatstraps.com/inc/sdetail/3249 with the minky lining I chose) shipped yesterday! That means that I might very well have it in time for the photography meetup I am going to on Sunday! Huzzah!

Maybe It Should Be *Mommy's* Bedtime

Picture this, if you will....

I have the Younger Child on his changing table, and have taken off his diaper to change him and get him into his jammies. I finish cleaning him, and reach for the pants of his brand new "Mr. Fix-It" pajamas. I start to put them on, and the Child says, "Mommy, why don't I need a diaper?"

I look down, and sure enough, I have not put a new diaper on him. Oops.

Victory!

Today, ladies and gentlemen, is Day 30 of my 30-day commitment, and by a scant 30 minutes (that must be a magic number), I am declaring victory in my undertaking. I didn't necessarily think I could do it, but I just counted and recounted the days, and sure enough, here we are.

I am now kicking around the idea of doing some sort of x number of photos in x days project next, but I'm not quite ready to put that in writing (I mean, other than the fact that I just did). Stay tuned, however, to see what my next madcap plan is!