EverAfterLand

Dear Mr. Weatherman,

Perhaps you've lived in Fresno too long.

Or maybe the heat has finally cooked your brain.

Or are you just trying to use some sort of hypnosis on your viewers so they don't beat you to death?

Whatever the reason, I feel it is my duty to inform you that your efforts to label the 97 to 99 degree temperatures we're having for the next week as "refreshing" is not fooling anyone.

And trying to pretend like we're having a "cold spell" is just making you look like an idiot.

I don't doubt that a 99 degree temperature is, indeed, cooler than the 105 to 110 degree temps we've been struggling with.  But honestly, when you live on the face of the sun, six to ten degrees here or there doesn't make much of a difference.

Especially when the sun is beating down you. 

Which happens to be every. Single. Damned. Day.

I now know exactly what bacon feels like when it's frying.

The two-year-old cries every time she has to climb into her carseat.

I tried and tried to convince her that it's NOT hot - it's actually REFRESHING, but that just made her cry harder.

So, Dear Weatherman, please refrain from using the word "refreshing" until we've got temps that actually require a sweater.  Or maybe capri pants.  Or at least until I can come in from outdoors without sweat stains on my bra.

Otherwise, I may have to take action.  And that may involve tying you to the hood of your car so you can enjoy all this REFRESHING weather first-hand.

Yours truly from the dark side of the sun,
Jen @ Happily-Ever-After-Land

For more open letters, head on over to the link below.

To My Dearest, My Beloved, Neil Patrick Harris (Well, And I Guess His Boyfriend, Too),

You can imagine my glee when I saw your beautiful mug staring at me from the cover of Star Magazine as I was piling my groceries onto the counter last week.  Followed immediately by my complete surprise once I read the headline...

NEIL PATRICK HARRIS LOOKING FOR A SURROGATE!

Well, Neil, I have been smitten with you for YEARS.  Your boyish smile.  Your hottie hotness.  Your wacky sense of humor.  Mmmmmm.

Fortunately for my husband, you already have a boyfriend, the handsome (but not as funny or hot or charming as you, not that I ever met him or knew his name before) David Burtka.  I thought that would be the end of you and me.  I'd just have to settle for our weekly "dates," where I'd watch your shenanigans on How I Met Your Mother, and you would continue to ignore my existence.

Until now.

You can call off the search, my beloved Neil (oh, and your boyfriend, too), because I will be your Surrogate Mama!

This would really bring all my talents together - birthing babies and drooling over YOU!
 
I assure you, I grow 'em smart and EXTRA cute (at least I'm one for one, you can check out the rest of my blog for proof of that!)  I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs (well, except for this Robitussin with Codeine that I'm taking right now at night, but if it was YOUR baby, I would happily cough up my lungs, totally drug free, if that's what you want.)  I take all my prenatal vitamins and I even throw in some Omega-3s, which, I'm sure you know, makes babies even smarter.

And the best part of this arrangement?  I don't want money!  Not one single dime!!!  I just want the joy and honor of having a baby for YOU (and that other guy, of course).

All I ask is that we exchange Christmas cards every year. 

Well, and birthdays and Valentine's Days, too.  And maybe you could come over for a barbecue in the summer.  And perhaps we'll come celebrate Thanksgivings with you, only every other year, of course.  And speaking of birthdays, I'm sure you'd want to invite us over to your baby's birthday parties, since, you know, I would have given him/her life and all.  And if you could come over once in a while and regale us with your extraordinary magician's abilities, that would be really cool, too!

Well, there's a few other items on my list, but we can hammer all that out later.

(I've got two words for you.  Sleep.Over.  Just something to think about before we negotiate the contract.)

The important thing is, get ready to be a Daddy!  Cause your Baby Mama is right here!

Now, if you're in a time crunch, and you'd really like to have your baby sooner than later, I am happy to inform you that I've got a bun in the oven RIGHT NOW.  A little girl that will be making her appearance in the next five weeks.  You (and what's his face) can have this baby now, with almost no waiting, and we'll just make another one for ourselves later. 

(I haven't exactly run that one by my husband, but I'm pretty sure he'll be totally on board!)

So, my Very Handsome Neil, are you as excited about this arrangement as I am???

I will be anxiously awaiting your email.  Or you can just twitter me, if that's easier. 

With all my undying love, 
Covering you in Kisses,
Seeing you in my dreams tonight,
Sincerely,

Jen@Happily-Ever-After-Land

To find some more ridiculousness, head over to Open Letter Day with Jenni Jiggety!

A Special Letter to the Biz-atch Seated in Front of Us at the Circus....

Dear Miz Biz-atch,

I admit, we were a little bummed when you and your husband/date/lover parked yourselves in the seats right in front of us at the circus this past weekend.  After all, Miss Priss had already declared the seat back in front of her as a great place to stomp her feet, and once Priss has made a declaration, it's really kinda hard to renig.  But, in an effort to be "responsible parents," Hubby made us move camp two seats over to keep those precious little feet from accidentally pounding YOU, Miz Biz-atch, on the back.  Even though it later turned out those seats were taken, and we totally screwed over our whole row, but that's OK.  It was worth it to sustain YOUR comfort.

Which means you can turn around now and STOP giving hubs the evil eye every time Priss screams.

Cause you know what?  She's TWO!

And we're at the CIRCUS.

And although she hits decibels that have been known to cause birds to fall from the sky, she was screaming at all the appropriate times (ie: when all the hundreds of OTHER kids were screaming).  So why don't you turn your snotty head around and pay attention to the show.

Oh, and we really super appreciated the fact that, after intermission, you decided to give up your seat, previously two seats down, in favor of the seat on the other side of your husband/date/lover, conveniently located in front of me.  And then put your Biz-atch Bag in the seat in front of Priss.

According to the Official Palace Proclamation, you, Miz Biz-atch, have now given up all rights to throw dirty biz-atch looks at us every time the lovely Miss Priss did a screaming clogging dance on the seat back in front of her when you opted to actually move CLOSER TO US!

I'm sorry YOUR seat had to be next to a big, overweight guy.

But as a reminder, our kid is only TWO!

And by the way, we're at the C-I-R-C-U-S!!!

And if you have a problem being surrounded by small children (perhaps because your ovaries dried up oh so many moons ago), perhaps you should have forgoed the 3:30 showing, you stupid Biz-atch, and opted for the 7:30 one.

Cause at 7:30 the screaming, clogging two year olds are headed for bed.

Or, better yet, hit up one of those snazzy Chamber Music concerts.  I think that would be more your speed.

Cordially yours,
The Happily-Ever-After-Landers

PS - According to the "bro-look" that was exchanged between Hubs and your date/lover, your date totally thought you were being a HUGE biz-atch, too.  So if I were you, I wouldn't be holding my breath for a phone call from him.  I suggest you return to roaming Match.com ASAP.  But maybe change your profile to read, "Lives in a gingerbread house and likes to dine on toddlers."  You may find someone who appreciates your biz-atchy qualities as much as we do.

It's Open Letter Day over at Jenni's Jiggety Jigg. 

Head over there for more lunacy!