Thursday, July 2, 2009

Dear Cubicle,

How come you are not as cool as my stoop? How come when I drink coffee sitting in you I feel like stabbing a pen in my eye, not writing the world's greatest book of letters to random things? And how come you kept all of my work contained for the week i was off? You couldn't find anyone else to take care of this nonsense?


Dear New Sandals,

Thanks for being kind to my feet today and not insisting that you need to be gently broken in. I really appreciate it. It makes being back to work somewhat okay.


Dear Dolly Iris,

I am starting to get really worried. You better have some awesome adventurous tale to share when you show up


Dear Stampede,

You intrigue me with your "sneak-a-peek" promo tonight BUT I am going to hold off until I can get in free due to donating my time for entry. I missed you last year, Stampede. No, you are not as glamorous as an Eastern European trip to a country that I often have to explain the reason why I travelled to. But you are real. Maybe not as real as the people in the country I visited last year with their real problems and real struggles. But you offer this city the opportunity to party for ten days straight, no questions asked. Except I do have questions Stampede. Firstly, what is this "leave your ring at the door" thing I hear happening at bars? Stampede, are you turning my conservative province into a liberal orgy-fest?


Dear 4:00,

What took you so long?


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