Dear Makeup, thank you. Tis all.
Dear Americano, I will never quit you.
Dear IRS, why no huge amazing glorious tax refund? You can take this grand and shove it. Ok, not really, we'll keep the thousand, but three or four would have been nice.
Dear Target By My House, please, for the love of god, get shopping carts with cup holders.
Dear Snow, MELT. Go away. Stop coming.
Dear Bangs, bear with me here, but I think I'm going to cut off even more of you today.
Dear Children, bedtime is 8:30, after that I'm done. Off the clock. No, I won't get you another drink of water, and no, there is nothing in your closet. In the words of a very eloquent author, "GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP".
Dear Paris Hilton, way to use Nicole Richie as a means of staying relevant.
Dear Wine, I miss you. This self-imposed two-week alcohol detox is hard. Like, really really hard.
Dear Husband, tonight, me, you, the couch, The Walking Dead. It'll be fabulous.
Dear Florida and Disney, I hope you're ready for the hot mess that is the Churches on vacation. Only 30 days!
Dear Blog Readers, Friday has arrived. Amen.
