Dear Stupid Heart:

Why, when you know it's not in the best interest of either us, must you always fall in love with men who do not love you back? You and your cursed unrequited pursuits, borne on a wave of saltwater. I would think you'd learned your lesson after repeated smashings, so many pieces to knit together again. And I know that we always do that - find the way with the needle of time and the thread patience to determinedly put you back together.

But this time - these latest times - I wonder why we must always go through this routine of reckless abandon. Of throwing caution to the wind and exposing you to devastation yet again. Of allowing - nay, being willing - to sacrifice you to the great unknown of What Could Be. Those naive hopes are piling up into an altar to What Never Will Be.

Oh, Stupid Heart, to be here again with you is excruciating. Gathering the pieces, wondering if I have them all, wondering if this is the time that maybe, just maybe, parts of you will go missing all together. Will the brokenness be such that it's too much for us to patch? And even if the pieces are found and the mending complete, we both know you'll never work quite the same. These bruises and tears never heal perfectly. Instead, you'll be tattooed with new scars of our failures.

I know, I said our. I blame you, but it's my fault, too. That's why I'm here, kneeling beside you, carefully sewing, trying not to cry when I catch my finger on the needle.

Love (Oh, Misbegotten Love),
Ash

Dear Men of the Online Dating Realm:

As I conclude my three-month stint in the harmonious world of e-dating, I want to offer - by way of showing there are no hard feelings - a bit of advice to those men with whom I didn't find the advertised deepest level of compatibility...

Dear Hunter/Gathers:
Thank you for demonstrating your ability to provide dinner. However, it is not necessary to submit photographic proof that you can wrangle up a dead animal.

Dear Dignitary Protection Agent:
In that space for your occupation, "bodyguard" will do.

Dear Lovers of Kenny Chesney and Nickleback:
No.

Dear Self-Proclaimed Einstein (Literally):
When you state that you're "super selective" and have "super attractive" female friends - who, by the way, would marry you immediately if you gave the word - it's super annoying. Stop with the Einstein bit. And the tanning bed.

Dear Brothers with Sister Wives:
I have a brother. And we don't hug like that in pictures.

Dear I'm Bored Already:
Your passion for tennis is riveting.

Dear Divorcees:
For the love of all that is logic, do not post a picture of you wearing your wedding ring.

Dear Intrepid Adventurer:
I do not, in fact, want to go ice climbing with you in patagonia.

Dear Living in Your Mama's Basement:
Bill Cosby called and he wants his sweater back.

Dear Lovers of the Gym:
I'm fat. Get over it.

Dear Self-Employed:
What does that mean, exactly?

Dear Anyone Who Thought I Like to Perform Rap and Hip-Hop:
That was due to my misunderstanding of the difference between listen to and perform. Apologies.

2010 in Words

And if you need the *rest* of the story...read the letter.

Syllogism

Interoffice instant messaging

Texas Twin: I hate math.

Me: Math is evil

Me: Just like boys.

Me: So...boys are math?

Texas Twin: And girls are...calculators?

Texas Twin: But that would mean we could figure out boys.

Me: Which we cannot.

Me: I'm going to start a band called Boys are Math

Hot Guys Reading Books

Best. Tumblr. Ever.

http://hotguysreadingbooks.tumblr.com/

Oh, and I'm sorry for snatching the productivity out of the rest of your work day.