Dear Cable TV,

Dear Cable TV,

Thank you for showing documentaries about people who are crack addicts, hoarders, pregnant at 16, parents of 18 children, bounty hunters, celebrities in rehab, rich old ladies fighting each other, celebrity families sabotaging each other... etc. ... seriously. Such a great reminder that I'm not THAT crazy. You may be a complete waste of time but I really appreciate the sanity check.

Best wishes to all the crazies and those who document them,

Lia

Dear Readers

Dear Readers,

If you:

a) don't think we're funny

b) think this is just an angry chick thing (though if we were men you wouldn't have noted the writers' gender but would have chuckled instead)

c) generally have no sense of humor

d) smell like rotting cheese (hey... you never know)

Then: Don't whine, just stop reading.

Love,

Lia

Dear Somali Women

Dear Somali Women,

First, I would like to tell you the many reasons that are not why I have a beef with you. It is not because you are black, as I have aspired to be a fat black gospel singing woman for many years. It is not because you are Muslim, as I think any diversity that can be brought to white, Norwegian, Lutheran Minnesota should be embraced and cultivated. And it's not even because you agree to wear head to toe black billowing layers of clothing even in 95 degree heat - I'd much rather see you walking about like that than half the barely dressed whales laying out at Calhoun beach (note: if you can't buy shorts in the normal section for your gender, please don't

take that as a sign to just wear a string bikini). No no, all these things are entirely wonderful aspects of who you are as a Somali woman. However, the moment you climb into your teal 1997 Ford

Winstar, you lose all credibility to me.

I've tried to figure out why you do what you do. Why do you refuse to use turn signals? Or why, when driving down a narrow two lane street, do you direct your vehicle straight down the middle without regard for other drivers, and why do you triple park outside the Mogadishu Mall blocking all lanes of traffic where there are spaces to parallel park in 9 feet from you (though you're right... parallel parking is really difficult in a van so better not try)? Is it because your peripheral vision is obstructed by your head scarf? Is it because you didn't grow up driving and therefore do not know or acknowledge common driving standards? Is it because you hate that the federal government destined you to live in the tundra instead of somewhere at all similar to your homeland and so you rebel however you can in slightly passive aggressive ways such as rogue driving? Whatever the reason... please resolve it. I hate to honk at you or yell, but I will continue to do so if you continue to try to side swipe my baby, Tyrone, or block all lanes of traffic on my narrow city streets. Seriously, don't push me... I'm a mass-hole driver at heart. I can have the attitude of a drunk Southie Irishman when driving... don't make me use it.

Please just surrender your license... I'll buy you all bikes.

Love,

Lia

Dear OKCupid,

Dear OKCupid,

Please help me find a boyfriend (toy) that is suitable for dating (bating around, biting or snuggling with) when I am lonely (bored).

Sincerely,

Ellie

Dear Wake Attendee,

There are few things all of us would rather be doing. We are all here to offer condolences and then be on our merry way. After all, tomorrow, there's a funeral and burial and I still need to go make dinner and put the kid to bed.

While I realize most people live with absolutely no self-awareness, do you think you could try to muster a little something up? A little awareness of what's going on around you for the wake would be greatly appreciate.

What I am referring to specifically is when you cut in a line of 15 people who were patiently waiting to hug the brand new widow and then proceeded to carry on a 10 minute conversation with no regard to anyone else.

I realize you want to tell her how sorry you are, but so do those of us waiting in a long line behind you. There's a process here and we are all trying to follow it. First, you look at the poster board of photos of the deceased. Second, you look at all the flowers and read the cards saying, "Aren't they beautiful?" Third, you get in line to hug the grieving widow and tell her you are "so sorry for your loss. He was such a great man." It's okay to make it quick - - she won't remember, she's still in shock. That's why she has a guest book, to remind her who came, for the obligatory thank you notes.

I digress. Just look around you lady. A line of 15 people standing behind a widow isn't hard to see. Just because there's no cash register or check-out counter, doesn't mean you shouldn't get in it.

Sincerely,

Ellie

Dear Squirrel playing Chicken,

How wonderful your life must be.

You frolic along the banks of the Minnehaha, enjoying the soothing sound of the moving water, the gentle summer breeze, the shade of the park benches, and the freshly mowed grass.

Hundreds of passersby dropping delicious human food for your endless consumption, so that you can fatten up for the winter. Rarely to you worry about a predator or motorized vehicle ending your little blessed life in your acres of protected park wonderland.

So, why do you insist on playing Chicken on the bike path? Are you bored? Are you sadistic? Is there a pile of acorns at stake in some bet you made with Mr. Chipmunk? Why must you run directly into the middle of the bike path and stop cold staring blankly into my eyes, only to scatter a moment before the pending crash?

My heart skips a beat, my hands squeeze the brakes . . . I see my life pass before me, all to save your life.

I screech to a halt -- 20 MPH to zero MPH in two seconds; you scatter off. Then, it occurs to me . . . you are nothing but a rat-like rodent with a cute bushy tail and you nearly ended my life in a monstrous bike crash in some rat vs. bike game of Chicken.

I only attempted to save you because of those big brown eyes. I'm such a sucker for brown eyes.

In any case, I have news for you squirrel, it's hard to get by just on smile. It's a wild world.

Screw you Squirrel playing Chicken. Next time, you're road kill.

Ellie

Dear Body

Dear Body,

Look, I know we've been together a long time, and I know that you're getting sick of my abuse, so I'm writing to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry we haven't been on a run in awhile because I hate when you get really hot and sweaty in the summer, and I'm sorry I sunburned you in Mexico, and I greatly apologize that my friends think that 7 shots in 90 minutes is an appropriate level of drinking for my birthday. I really should be more responsible with you. But, can you just stop punishing me now? How about a fresh start. Fruit and eggs for breakfast? A nice bike ride to work tomorrow? Call it all water under the bridge? Thanks.

Sincerely,

Lia