Dear Bob Costas,

I can't wait to hang out with you in London this year. Will we see Michael Phelps clean up the gold medals again? Will the Thorpedo be back? What are you going to do without the Bird's Nest? Whatever happens, I know you'll have fun and infect us all with your bright enthusiasm. Bring it on!

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Stranger Who Smiled At Me In the Coffee Shop Today,

Don't deny it. You followed me in here. You spontaneously decided to come to the coffee shop after we passed each other on the sidewalk. I know you weren't originally intending to come here because you only spent 10 minutes in here . . . and didn't order coffee. You just sat down near me, read a page in your book, and then made light conversation when you stood to leave. It was all a pretense.

But don't worry. I'll be back again. And (I'm pretty sure) so will you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Stephen Stills,

I never realized how much I talk to you (calling you "Steve," of course, since we're totally BFF) when I listen to your music until I lived upstairs from a landlord named Steve. Awkward.

Hugs & kisses (to you, not the landlord),
B

Dear Chirpy Refrigerator In My Otherwise Perfect New Apartment,

It's true: my apartment is nearly perfect. With its original 1928 doors and windows, a fantastic retro sink that matches the metal '50s kitchen table I inherited from my grandma, and heat paid for by the landlord, I can think of little that could make my new home any better.

Little, that is, besides a quieter refrigerator.

You, my dear large appliance, keep my milk chilled and my ice cream frozen in a manner I cannot reproach, and for a single woman living alone, I cannot think of a better size fridge than you. But you are never quiet. What's going on in there? Why must you run as loud as a leer jet at takeoff and make concerning dripping sounds in the four-minute intervals when you are (comparatively) quiet? And why (dare I ask?) does it sound for all the world as though you're hiding a flock of sparrows behind you?

(You aren't, are you?)

Please keep up the good work contributing to the overall perfections of my new apartment, but please -- if you can find it in yourself, deep down in the crisper -- please try to be a little quieter.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Movers,

I take back every bad thing I ever said about you. God bless you for carrying 126 items -- among them box springs, mattress, giant chair, kitchen table, and approximately a quarter ton of books -- up a flight of stairs and through an apartment with ceilings obviously not made for people as vertically blessed as you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Movers,

I know I'm not the only person in the world who's moving, but it is January. So I have to wonder why you decided to take my stuff out of my house on Friday, hold it in your storehouse for four days, and not even leave the state until yesterday. If you had left the day you took my things, you could have made it here and back before the midwest snowstorm. But no, you decided to wait until yesterday to start the drive. Now you're shooting for a January 16th arrival. Do you realize what this means?

• 5 more days without a bed.
• 5 more days without a bedspread.
• 5 more days with only 4 outfits.
• 5 more days without pots and pans.
• 5 more days without my kitchen table.
• 5 more days without my shower curtain.

A blizzard would have been a great time to unpack all my boxes. Instead, you'll be holed up in a motel 200 miles from home, and I'll be stuck in an unfurnished apartment for another five days.

Watch for black ice, and stay warm.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Cookies and Coffee on One-Hour Flights,

You can't fool me. Your purpose is not to sate thirst or hunger or even to force interaction between seat partners. The thing is, at 36,000 feet above the earth, we are none of us experiencing normal. In several hundred thousand years of human existence, flight has only been possible for about the past 100. Humans flying in a metal tube is not natural. But eating -- yes -- eating is. Your purpose in our lives so high up in the air is not to satisfy us, but rather to distract us. Combine something so foreign as flying with something so basic as food, and we're sure to reach some kind of equilibrium between take-off and landing. Good thinking.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Hairdresser I'm Leaving Behind Me When I Move on Saturday,

When my mom, sick of hearing me complain about my hair, made me an appointment with you, I confess, I wasn't sure I'd like you. Sure, my mom's hair looked great ... on her. But were you going to be one of those people who makes everyone's hair look the same? Was I going to walk out of your studio looking middle-aged? Could anyone possibly save my hair from the Short Cut Fiasco of '09?

The past two years of beautiful hairdos have proven not only that my hair could be saved, but also that my mom often knows what she's talking about. Thank you for showing me that I could have long hair that doesn't look like the Ugly Girl In a Bad Teen Movie, for teaching me how to make my uncooperative hair curl, and for supporting me when I came in with boxed dye instead of having it done in your studio. On top of that, I always enjoyed our conversations, too, and will miss the tales of camping, hiking, and your granddaughter when I get my hair cut by someone in Wisconsin who had BETTER not ruin what your magical shears began.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 2012,

Please don't suck.

Hugs & kisses,
B