All My Crazy Thoughts Displayed As Friendly Notes

You may have noticed that I've been absent from the blog lately. If you check your readership like I do, you will also find a noticeable downturn. That's because I've been at home trying to recover from surgery. Nothing too major. It was outpatient. OK, it was my wisdom teeth. But let the record show that I never would have gotten the surgery if those blasted SOBs hadn't taken it upon themselves to rot my remaining molars. I need those if I'm going to continue to eat solid foods. Anyhow, moving forward. Here are my weekend thoughts in love note form.

Dear Oral Surgeon,
Be sure to thank your receptionist for being a candle customer of mine or else I never would have come to you for these services. I don't believe in using male doctors. I've seen way too many episodes of Perry Mason and Matlock to let you near me in a closed room. However, the old Mrs. R is one of my favorite people and I would trust her with my life (clearly). Plus you did a pretty awesome job. Although, I think you hit a nerve on the right because it still hurts like all hell. But I'll let that slide because you really have called to check on me twice and that's the best any doctor in any specialty has ever been to me. Sad, I know.

Whelp. Thanks again.

Dear Asshole Who Hit The "Mom Van" and Woke Me From My Nap,
I saw you peel out of the parking lot. Not to mention you left some tail light behind. But you didn't even have the decency to leave a note? We're neighbors! Do you think that I won't pursue you? I like how you didn't come back home until early, early this morning... with a new bumper no less. You must think this will prove your innocence. Not so. My step dad is already on it and you wouldn't believe the lengths that detectives will go to for their fellow uniforms. *just ask Rollback*

Nice try, Old Man.

Dear Lady Who Offered Me Help in Target,
Thank you for caring. Of the hundred or so people who saw me with my inflated jaw and glassy eyes carrying instant cold packs, you were the only one who told me it would be OK. I know that I wasn't convincing with my dental surgery explanation, probably because I was crying. But I was only crying because you care so much. I hope that you continue with your bravery and are there for the woman who really does need your help instead of the one who is disobeying her oral surgeon and driving while on intense sedatives.

Cheers!

Dear Pain in My Right Jaw,
You are a pain in the face but you give me a good reason for my crabiness. I can't explain how much I want you gone. I'm currently blaming you on a pinched nerve. If I find out it's actually an infection, I might take you out myself. Make plans to disappear soon or... or... just make plans.

That's a promise.

Dear Body Temp,
I don't know why you insist on being irregular. If I had a thermometer, I'd check you for a fever, but alas, I don't. All I'm saying is that it's irresponsible for you to make me shiver for a good ten minutes when I'm under two blankets and then make me so hot that I sweat behind my knees when I'm laying in just a t-shirt and panties. You know I hate sweat. Always have. I don't know why you hate me. But whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn't mean it. I just want you to regulate for good. 

Hearts,

Dear Vicodin,
Why, oh why, do you work so good? I want to put you down but you're the only thing that takes the jaw pain away. I've tried OTC meds like I was instructed and they just make me miss you more. I wish you weren't so good at your job. I've promised myself that I won't refill you but we both know that's a lie. This persistent pain is now in my ear. You're the only one that takes it away enough for me to be at rest, enough for me to sleep.

Thanks again. Unless I end up on an episode of Intervention. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Dear Brian Urlacher,
I hope that you're the kind of low-key celebrity that likes to Google his own name and see what kind of obscure places you show up in. Like Justin Bieber! (I just guaranteed myself 20 additional hits!) But seriously, I still love you. I love watching you play. I was so sad when you got hurt in the 1st game of 2009; I no longer had a reason to watch the Bears. Gosh, I thought I was ready to write this. What I'm trying to say is, if you're reading this, please hunt me down and ask me to dinner. I'll pay! You can bring your manager and bodyguards if you want (they definitely have to pay their own way). I'll even let you pick the place. I just really, really want to sit next to you. And not in a creepy, stalky way. But in a this-would-be-a-dream-come-true kind of way. And we can talk about anything you want. Or not. I mean, its whatever. OK. I'm gonna stop typing to you now.

Dear National Football League,
I'm sure that I watched the 2009/2010 season in its entirety and that's why I felt confident going into this new season. But obviously, somewhere along the line, when the cameras weren't watching, all of the sure-fire teams decided that they didn't have to try or practice and all the shitty teams realized that they had something to live for. I don't know how or when it happened, but it would be great if you could put things back the way they are supposed to be so that I can have some sense of security when watching you on t.v.

Thanks,

Dear Bengals,
Fire Carson Palmer. And Jordan Palmer. And Marvin Lewis.
If you need a reason, look at Sunday's bullshit call that ended in an intereception when you clearly should have kicked a field goal. It's not about hindsight or about thinking I could do better. It's about getting results from the team who last year won the AFC North but allow people to forget that because this year they've lost to the Cleveland Browns and Tampa Bay Buccaneers! As a fan, I'm disgusted.

Dear Drowsiness I Am Currently Incurring,
We should have stayed home today.