Dear Peanut:
Okay! Today is d-day. Or b-day, whatever. So really, ANY TIME now would be great. Especially if it means this back ache will go away. Plus, Mr. Fantastic says I can't be having you tomorrow because Tottenham v. Hull City is on. You know we wouldn't want Daddy to miss that. And you know, it would be totally awesome if you didn't make us wait until next week or anything. I'm just saying.

Dear Battlestar Galactica:
Yeah. Still watching but there're only 4 more episodes, so I might as well. But you continue to be mysterious and confusing and a whole lotta work for not much reward. Maybe we're just not right for each other...maybe I'm too old and unhip to understand your depths. Maybe some people like having to figure you out, but that's not me. I watch t.v. so I don't have to think.

Dear Stargate Atlantis:
Oh, I miss you. My Friday nights will never be the same. Yes, there are other things I can watch, but they're not like you. Those things will never replace you; they take too much work. You were easy to love, with your pretty and your splodey and your shiny stories that nobody ever needed to draw me any kind of chart to decipher.You will always have my heart.

Oh, television.

Dear Heroes:

It was this close...we were SO over. I was totally breaking up with you tonight and then you went and gave me an awesome last two minutes and now I can't break up with you until I find out what happens with HRG next week. Consider your execution stayed. For now.

Dear Battlestar Galactica:

Look, I still love you. But I just don't understand you anymore. I feel like I know about a quarter of what's going on with you. Is there some sort guidebook or manual that would help me read between the lines better? I'm not going anywhere, I just wish I knew more about you. Why must you be so cryptic? Why won't you let me in?

Open letters to Recent Television

Spoilers for recent episodes of things, so don't read if you don't want to know.

Dear Heroes: Yeah, you were losing me at the end of last year. Sars already broke up with you and I don't blame her. The new episode(s) didn't really do a lot to reel me back in. Where did Molly go? Please tell me Nathan is not going to stay a God-squadder. And the business with Claire? Not on. How could you let Sylar become unkillable? (By the way, can anybody explain what exactly Sylar did with whatever thing he pulled from Claire's brain?) Also, was Mama Petrelli's "Luke, I am your father" moment metaphorical or…seriously, Sylar's her son? Wha? And don't even get me started on the replicator currently inhabiting Mohinder's body. You are officially on notice.

Dear Sarah Connor Chronicles: Same to you, pal. You started losing me at the end of last year, too. You're also on notice, although you're much further down the shit list than Heroes. I'm glad you made John get a haircut, though. And this business with Cameron is interesting, so I'm willing to stick around for a while longer yet. Maybe you'll grow back on me.

Dear Fringe: I tried. I really, really did. If you maybe had more Pacey and his kooky dad and less annoying blonde, I could've stuck it out. Also, fewer disgusting special effects wouldn't have hurt. Don't feel bad - this isn't really a break up; we were never really together in the first place.

Dear House: Welcome back, darling! Oh, how I've missed you. Wilson breaking up with you just made you more interesting. Besides, you know it won't stick. Foreman, you rock. So do you, private investigator guy. I do have to ask about tonight's episode, are organ donor recipients allowed to do shit like Mixed Martial Arts? I always thought you sorta had to take it easy on yourself, even five years later. Anyway, kisses! See you next week.

Dear Biggest Loser, World Series of Poker, Eureka, Whatever, Martha!, Dancing with the Stars, Project Runway and America's Next Top Model: Kisses! Love you. ♥

More Open Letters

Dear Plague:
FINE. Since you insist on making yourself at home, why must you also give me this disgusting cough? I feel like a leper. NOT ON.

Dear Girl in the Cubicle Next Door:
Look, I really don't think it's just me. Your constant popping of bubble wrap is both annoying to all your fellow cube rats and also says something really disturbingly neurotic about you.

Dear People I'm STILL Trying to Work With:
Seriously. YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL. Okay? I don't care what your parents told you. You're never going to be President, you can't do anything you want and you're not a sweet and special snowflake who deserves every last iota of my attention and patience. I don't care how much you panic at me or how many e-mails you send me with that stupid little red exclamation point attached. I am doing the best I can for you and the 99 other morons who waited until the last minute.

Dear Tylenol Daytime Non-Drowsy Liquid Cold Medication (in CitrusBurst, sorry, Rodney):
Hoo boy, you're not my usual DayQuil. And while it's true, you have not made me drowsy, you have made me loopy, dizzy, and indifferent. I ain't sleepy but I sure shouldn't be operating heavy machinery. But thank you for the bonus of causing me to retreat to new levels of John Sheppard-esque laconic apathy when the People I'm STILL Trying to Work With get increasingly agitated at me. You've made my day much easier.

Open Letters

Dear People Who Spell It 'Damnit':
Please stop. It's dammit, dammit. Even Bill Gates thinks so.

Dear Plague:
You are not welcome here. GO AWAY or I will have to fight you off with more than zinc and whining.

Dear People I'm Trying to Work With:
Yes, I know your request is important and I promise I will do everything I can to get it completed before the freeze. This may be a news flash, but no, you are not a special and unique flower who deserves to be treated better than the hundred other people who also have very important requests they need done before the freeze.

Dear Guy Singing About Pachelbel:
Thanks for making me laugh today. After the morons at work, boy did I need it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JdxkVQy7QLM