Dear, dear Facebook,

Please stop randomly changing my account settings. If I wanted a notification every time someone sneezed, I would have had one of my friends create that as an option. Also, for fun, fix chat and messaging, stop doubling the chat icons, don't arbitrarily change the "share" options when I post from my phone, let me delete stuff from my phone, and please, for the love of god, stop with the Kardashian shoe ads.

Yes, I like shoes. (OK, I love them.) No, I will never buy a shoe that has that name on it. I have marked these ads as offensive, uninteresting and I forget what else. Tacky? Slutty? Anyway. Stop. Please.

Also: I would have posted this on Facebook, but you don't like the long updates. Why is that? Let people have one or two long updates every week or so. Where's the harm? If it pisses off our friends, they can hide us.

Love,

Me

Dammit

All night I have missed them.

Some people tell me that it is a luxury to not have them all the time. That it will be easier to meet someone else without them. But. To me, it is a punishment. I want them. Even when Charlotte is tired and expressing her displeasure at increasingly louder volume. Even when she's screaming that she hates me. I know that it's not true. I know that she loves me. I know that she'll put her arms around me and kiss me and tell me that she's sorry that she yelled and that she loves me.

I miss them.

I miss talking to Hannah about her books and the latest song that she wrote and what she's doing in school.

I'm afraid that no one else will ever mean as much to me as they do. And I want to punch--repeatedly--anyone who says "It's a luxury to not have them all the time." Because I want them. All the time. And to me, the days off aren't a luxury. They're my babies, and I want them.

Am I Old Yet?*

Say you were at Trader Joe's and turned around to find a guy staring open-mouthed at you. And then he smiled. And then he tripped over his own feet. You assume that it's because you just left the salon. Everyone looks awesome then, no? (Well, everyone who leaves Suzy's salon does.) That probably made you feel pretty good. Put a little spring in your step and a sparkle in your eye.

Now say that the next day, while you’re in your car, you see a piece of hair on your face. It might take a bit of the wind out of your sails when you realize that the hair is attached. And black. And sort of thick. Just one, but there it is. A whisker. Yay.

* The correct answer is "no." :)