Notes of frustration

Dear 2011,
Where the heck are you going?! Granted, I'm an-entire-baby-skinnier than I was at this time last year, but the year is just flying by, and next thing I know, it will be Christmas.

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Dear Empire Today,
We're about to have words about our carpet and the shoddy installation job that we're dealing with 14+ months later. Oh, right. We'd have words if someone in management would ever call me back. Rest assured that I will not use your company again, nor recommend it to anyone I know.

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Dear Diet Coke,
I miss you. But I really think we were spending too much time together. See, I have this emotional attachment to your warmer relative coffee, and you've always been my bubbly fling on the side, used to pass time (and survive a mid-day crash) in the afternoon. Really. It'll be better this way. You'll find someone who can devote their whole day to you, and I'll enjoy you on occasion.

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Dear lawn maintenance crew,
Really?! It wasn't bad enough that six of you surrounded the corner of our condo with your leaf blowers and mowers minutes after Elle went down for her nap? SOMEHOW she slept through it, but you felt the need to swing back about 40 minutes later to see if you could wake her then? REALLY.

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Dear hair,
Um. What's up with the dramatic increase in coarse, wiry gray hairs, yo? A girl can only pluck so many before it becomes obvious that it's hopeless cause. (Yes. GIRL. Cuz I'm not old.) And I think Tim's tired of me blocking the bathroom mirror, armed with tweezers.

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Dear coworkers,
You've been especially annoying lately. But some of you might actually be reading this, so "Heeeeeyyyyyyyyyyy." Actually, wait. Wednesday marked my fifth year of employment at the newspaper, and I suggested that maybe it was an occasion worthy of cake (specifically yellow cake with buttercream frosting). Apparently none of you agreed. Classy.

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Dear overtime shifts,
I really, really dig the extra money you bring in. It's much needed and greatly appreciated. But is there any way we could work out a deal where I get the extra cash without sacrificing a precious day off? It's cutting in to my time with my daughter, my ability to relax or my chances to get anything of substance done.

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Dear Tim,
You crack me up, and for that, I love you. Thanks for making me ask "How did you live to be 42 years old?" on a daily basis. But please stop losing track of our daughter. We live in a small condo. There aren't many places she could be. Also, if anyone saw an adorable 10.5-month-old baby girl crawling around the produce section of a Florida Publix, uhhh ... yeah. Just pretend you didn't see that.

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Dear Sidney,
Could you lose the psychotic cat act? It's getting old fast. Skittish and shy is one thing, bat-sh!t crazy is an entirely different animal, no pun intended.

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Dear Mario,
You're not off the hook either. For the love of God, the cat on the OUTSIDE of the window is no threat to you, the cat INSIDE the window, with all of the food, water and air conditioning. And banging and cluttering at the window, with the nails scratching at the window and the blinds flipping everywhere, is quite simply a PITA.

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Dear self,
Way to blow that trip to the gym today. Your feet hurt, your heart wasn't in it ... and that's before you realized you forgot your headphones. Your carefully timed trip - so you could do your cardio while watching Y&R on the gym TVs - was for nothing. And then, in an effort to try to find an elliptical with the closed captioning activated, you got stuck next to the smelly guy in the gym. And you still didn't have closed captioning, so you had to make up your own dialogue for the soap opera.

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Dear dentist,
I'm seeing a lot more of you lately than I care to ... first it was the initial "new patient" appointment. Then my basic cleaning. Then a filling and impression. And now I have to come back and pick up the night guard I apparently need because I'm a "bruxer." Yes, my name is Kristin and I grind my teeth. But we really need to stop meeting like this. (You know, EVERY week.)

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Dear dental insurance,
Thanks for not covering a cent of my night guard. Since I'm a responsible citizen and am trying to protect my enamel - therefore protecting the future of my teeth - I feel like maybe you could possibly kinda chip in a little bit on the coverage. This isn't cosmetic (because c'mon, is there anything less sexy than a hunk of plastic over your teeth?), but sure, I'll shell out hundreds of dollars (thanks, overtime shifts!) to ensure that I *have* teeth in 15 years.

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Dear Elle,
Keep being you. We love you, and you're pretty freakin' awesome.