Dear My Favorite Local Ice Cream Shop,

You're seriously opening a new location this spring? Two blocks from my house?? When I'm trying not to succumb to the imminent 30s weight gain???

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear 29 Candles on a Raspberry Trifle,

You looked like you were about to burn the house down. "There's a lot more than 29 on there, right?" I asked my friends as they carried you out of the kitchen.

"Nope!" one said gleefully. (He's 24. Just wait a few years, buddy.)

It was like a scene out of a chick flick. You know the one. Where the single woman with a high-stress job and a cat stares her years in the face while Stevie Nicks sings Landslide soulfully in the background.

And yet, as I blew out your flames reflected like a conflagration in my eyes (no bifocals yet, thankyouverymuch), I couldn't think of anything to wish for. Surrounded by dear friends and fully aware of tons more friends all around the world wishing me well, with a hand-made trifle made with raspberries from my friend's own garden, on a front porch in autumn-like weather without the imminent threat of winter, I could only hope the next 29 years are full of such comfort and contentment as I've heretofore experienced.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Feminine Wiles,

You've been entirely absent most of my life, and I got kind of used to it. Yes, I wanted to think there would be a day I might be attractive, but in reality, never able to imagine a time you'd ever be on, I built up no strategy for turning you off. But it seems I need to learn.

First, it was my one true love on State Street. Last week, it was the man (Bingo, he called himself) on the bus who offered me a seat. On his lap.

And today, it was on my way out of the library. I got a (and I quote), "Damn, girl, you are fine," complete with some kind of wolf whistle. Thank the Lord it's day light in the evenings now.

The thing is, now that you apparently exist, suddenly, after the awkwardness of my teenage years and beyond, I don't know how to handle this type of thing. From behind my eyes, I'm still the acne-speckled, overweight, unstylish girl with split ends, and it's hard to believe that these forthright displays of attraction aren't some kind of joke.

And really, even if that wasn't the case, I'm pretty sure it's uncomfortable for everyone to be wolf-whistled and lap-offered. So while I appreciate the fact you finally decided to exist, you need to chill out when I'm around creepers, okay? Because that's not cool.

Feel free to crank it up, however, around non creepers. That I don't object to.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Vienna,

Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight
Tonight

Too bad but it's the life you lead
you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong, you know
You can't always see when you're right
You're right.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you crazy child
and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile
it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

P.S. Thanks, Billy Joel, for getting it so right.

Dear Friends,

Five bridesmaid dresses in my closet and approximately thirty-five wedding programs in my scrapbook suggest that, now that you're all married off, if you ever want to see me at a wedding again, you'd better start helping me find a guy.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear B,

I know you're exhausted. I know that the one thing you want from this weekend is to sleep and not go anywhere or be expected to do anything, that your body is collapsing from sleep deprivation and office furniture, and your mind is overwhelmed with planning, organizing, and learning.

But this isn't the weekend you get to rest. Neither will next weekend, probably, or the one after that. In other words, your days of rest are over. If you're going to hold a job that keeps you out of the house for 12 hours a day and get things done like shopping and post office visits, you're going to have to get used to the dizziness that comes from sleep deprivation, the piles of things-to-do on every surface of your apartment, the sink perpetually full of dirty dishes, and the closet full of old clothes you'll have to wear because you don't have energy to go shopping for new ones. This sounds crazy to you after your freelancer days, but it's perfectly normal. You may feel like the waking dead, but so do all the other 20-something full-time workers out there.

And just think. Half of them have kids.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear 30-Second Segment of a Conversation on Monday,

For how brief you were, you made me sad and got me thinking for the subsequent 48 hours. Change, relocation, and answers to prayer: all of this was wrapped up in a short side comment as part of a larger conversation. I have what I want, and you, oh short little sentence, informed me that an old, fervent prayer for someone else has been answered. And even as I thank God for that answer, I'm realizing that I have to come to grips with the fact that just because God answers prayers we make for someone else, that doesn't necessarily mean we ourselves get to benefit from those blessings.

You showed me that God is good, and that I still have a lot of growing up to do.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Crotchety Old Wives Who Say "Three Times a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride,"

HA! Thwarted again!

You thought you had me, didn't you, with the last wedding I was in? And you thought you SUPER-had me with this fourth one in September. I know you did, because you're old wives who want to ruin the happiness of youth with inane sayings based in lies.

But I'm looking at two times a bridesmaid, two times a maid of honor, and that is not the same thing. Instead of indicating I am destined for spinsterhood, it shows, instead, that I am, in fact, REALLY good at developing relationships, deepening bonds and staying true over a long period of time. Two times a bridesmaid for friends I've had since birth and first grade. Two times a maid of honor for friends since ages 11 and 12. Two times a bridesmaid, two times a maid of honor: I am a prize for any guy who values loyalty and commitment.

Never a bride? More like building up a curriculum vitae that proves I'll rock as a wife.

(Anyone interested?)

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear BFF's 3-Year-Old Son,

Thank you so much for asking your mom today if Barbie was Justin Bieber's husband. Everything about that question shows me what an awesome combination of your parents you already are.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Stephen Fry,

I've long suspected it, but in the past week, I think I can confirm that I really have a crush on you. After my dear friend A introduced me to your excellent series Kingdom, and after I discovered that you read the British Harry Potter audiobooks, there has really been no turning back.

I hope you don't find this terribly awkward. I know that we're a bit different in age and live several thousand miles apart, but I thought it was best if you knew the truth.

Hugs & kisses,
B

P.S. New discovery: you narrate LittleBigPlanet, too!! Oh, Stephen Fry. We do go way back.

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 Body,

Thanks for being in good enough physical shape that a mile walk can be "just a bit of a stroll."

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Complexion,

It's about time you started acting our age. Fourteen years ago, you were annoying, yes, but still part of the adolescent cycle of awkwardness that eventually led to the character and self-assurance of my adult years. Today, however, no matter how much character and self-assurance I have, I'm not cool with these blemishes that suggest I am still in middle school. If you would just talk to your upstairs neighbor, my scalp, it would tell you that gray hairs and acne should not mix. You are simply perpetuating a paradox that I, for one, do not appreciate. It's time you grew up.

Hugs & kisses,
B