Dear Man with the Head Tattoo (last seen Winter 2011 and deeply missed),
I still get questions about you and it's been so long since I've seen you. People out there like to talk about you and actually, think I have a crush on you. I don't like to disappoint. But it's not a crush really. Just a curiosity about a man who has a tattoo on his head. Who orders tea at Starbucks on weekday mornings and then disappears. So I make up little stories about you in my head, and if anyone asks what you're up to, from now on I'm going to tell them you went on a fishing expedition to Alaska this summer. I hope you mounted one of your bigger catches.
Dear Neighborhood Crush,
For a few brief hours last weekend I had declared you my neighborhood crush. I was going to woo you from across your counter. I was going to invite you over to my house after work. We'd get coffee and tell each other stories and then make out. I could picture you spending the night and we'd figure out all of the people in Pittsburgh that we knew together. You were a hometown boy looking for a hometown girl. And for a few hours, and definitely for a few drinks, you were an exciting prospect that I wanted to know all about. But then the rosy haze lifted and we came closer together than ever before. And I got the feeling that this crush wasn't meant to be anything more than a few hours of anticipation. Maybe I'm wrong, but I doubt it.
Dear Fantasy Football,
This is year that I own you. This is year that Dewey's Decimators rises and shouts "I am a winner!" I can't wait for draft night with a bunch of girls who will fight for the best player and yes, argue over who is most attractive. When will No Boys Allowed get some recognition? Because we should be a Web TV Show by now.
Dear Mother Nature,
It's been well established that I have a hard time with change and that I don't like good-byes. Fall is my favorite season, but I'm always sad to see another summer fade. And though I love this touch of cool weather you're giving us right now. I don't want the leaves to start changing nor the chill to settle anytime soon.
Dear Michael Phelps,
Congratulations on being the most decorated Olympian. It's been a pleasure to see you swim. And though I know many people don't like you, I do. I like that you're focused and determined. But you're still foolish enough to slip up and do stupid things. But you've matured a lot in the last few years and I think it embarrasses you a little when NBC asks your relay teammates how it feels for them "to help you win a good medal." You know they just won a gold medal too. And I think you understand that Ryan Lochte may be more attractive than you, but still pales in comparison. And you'd never want to wear a stars and stripes grill. So there is that.
Dear Ron Swanson,
I can't wait until September 20th. Because I need a whole lot of you in my life.