I came across this today, it is a series of letters that a mother-in-law wrote to her new son just one week after marrying her daughter.After reading this little diddy, I suspect that I would have certainly benefited from such a letter from my previous mother in law. Would a little warning or a few pointers have killed her?

Dear Niall,
You are lovely. Welcome to the family.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
Ann is very mentally ill. She is under heavy medication for her dissociative personality disorder, commonly referred to as multiple personality disorder. She is unaware she suffers from this. She thinks the drugs she takes are vitamins. Please make sure she takes them every morning.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
Ann is not allergic to horses. We told her that because she kept bugging us for a pony when she was a kid. Please don't tell her we lied to her—she'd be crushed.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
We've never told Ann there is no Santa. Please play along and take her to Santa's Grotto at the mall to have her picture done, and I'll reimburse you for the photo.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
When Ann was 14 she didn't go to a summer camp. She went to a special camp for heavy children. She never noticed, and we never told her. Her feelings are very delicate. Please don't point out to her what the name "Camp Tubby" implies.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
Ann's childhood pet, Rocky, does not live on a ranch near Ocala. He choked to death on a chicken bone she fed to him at a family picnic. Please do not tell her the truth.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
The cards Ann receives at Christmas from her childhood friends are actually written by me and her Aunt Beatrice. She didn't have any friends, outside of her imaginary friends. We told her when she started seventh grade that they all moved to a large house just outside Ocala, and they've written her Christmas cards since then.
- - - -
Dear Niall,
I may be a woman of small stature who lives in a retirement community, but if you hurt my daughter, my entire bowling team will see that you suffer.
*************************************************

A friend of mine asked me what a letter from my mother-in-law might have looked like. Here is what I came up with...

Dear Melissa,
Welcome to the family, Andy's father will never acknowledge your presence.
- - - -
Dear Melissa,
Andy has a tendency to exaggerate when telling a story. Most of the time, you can tell when he is lying. It’s usually when his mouth is moving.
- - - -
Dear Melissa,
Andy is not allergic to bees. I am sure at some point in the future you will get a call from him in the middle of the night stating that he has been hospitalized from a bee sting. This is simply not true and is most likely a ploy for your sympathy
.- - - -
Dear Melissa,
With the holiday season approaching us I thought it best to tell you that Andy did not celebrate Christmas much as a child, he will not know who Santa is. His father and I do not believe in spending any quality time as family. We believe in structure, silence, and education.
- - - - -
Dear Melissa,
I understand that you and my son have had quite a few disagreements. Oh Dear. Please remember that Andy is not accustomed to women having an opinion or speaking out of turn. You must be seen and not heard my child.

Sometimes it is all I can do to bite my tongue. Other times my words come so quickly that I often regret them later. In my younger years, one of my favorite things to do was to unleash a violent tongue lashing on any unsuspecting idiot. As I have gotten older, I have learned that picking your battles can be quite effective in your relationships.

I usually have an extensive vocabulary that I love to spew at people when I am trying to get my point across. Today that is not the case. I cant seem to find the right words to express myself. I need to sit down and have a long conversation with a loved one, but for some reason I want to sugar coat everything. Confrontation has never bothered me, but this particular one I am dreading like a colonoscopy.

I have always been on this persons side and defended them until I was blue in the face. Today I find myself standing on the other side of the fence with the rest of the pointed fingers. I have had enough. I would really like to high five them in the face and ask them what in the french is wrong with them. I need to put on my big girl panties and really give them a piece of my mind.

I wandered over to my apartment this afternoon where I just knew that I would find Brett Michaels (My "houseboy" for lack of a better word) sitting in his underwear in the middle of the day playing guitar hero. As I was making my way up the stairs, Brett suddenly opened the door and looked like that crack head we have all seen before, you know that one that lives in a apartment and opens his door every five minutes to look around because he thought he "heard" something.

The entire scene caught me off guard so I immediately asked him what was wrong. He replied with "I think Jersee left". WHAT? You think my 20lb pug opened the front door and walked out for what... a smoke break? What the french do you mean "She left"... As all of this was running through my head I managed to come up with a much simpler response... "What?"

He again tried, rather horribly, to explain to me that he thought Jersee left. He went on to say that he could not find her in the house and that she might have gone out the front door. Again.... what is running through my head is his use of the word MIGHT and you cant FIND her? How the french did you loose her? Did guitar hero keep you so busy that you didn't notice my little a$$ dog walk over to the front door, open it, and let herself out? Instead I believe my response was "SHIT!"

I immediately jumped into mommy action and ran frantically around the apartment searching for her. Of course she was no where to be found. I leaped past douchebag on my way out the front door and told him I was going to look for her. I began searching building by building all the while thinking that if something has happened to my dog how this man was surely going to loose a testicle.

Luckily I found her only minutes later at least 500 yards away from my front door. She had no idea what in the heck my problem was or why I was huffing my way over to her. She looked like she was in the middle of a Downy commercial frolicking in a meadow on a hot summer day with the wind blowing ever so gently in the breeze. She was on her own little puggy adventure and not at all impressed that her mother was screaming her name and running towards her like she had just stolen something.

Brett caught up to us just as I grabbed her. We all started to make our way back to the apartment. He apologized, not profusely enough for my needs at the moment, but he at least acknowledged that perhaps he did not have a good enough eye on her.

In the end I was just glad that she was okay.....but.... really? You think Jersee "left"? That moment will surely stick with me for a while.

I have recently been toying with the idea of getting another tattoo... perhaps I should do a little more research than this guy did????

What in the HELL is this?

So as Valentines Day approaches this year, I find myself pondering whether or not I will be dining alone. This is an especially fragile time for me and I doubt that sitting at home watching Bridgette Jones and drinking two bottles of wine will exactly lift my spirits.

I have a man in my life that we will call "Brett Michaels" for the purposes of protecting his identity. I could drive out to BFE pick him up and take him to dinner where he would undoubtedly be wearing black jeans and some awful shirt. I will have to pick the restaurant and pick up the check. The upside to this is that 90% of the time he is a lot of fun. Despite his bad hair and tacky clothing he usually keeps me giggling like a school girl for most of the evening.

So.... Do I make the valiant effort to go pick up Mr. Michaels for what will be an eventful night with absolutely no long term potential, or do I put my big girl panties on and stay home for the evening.... I still have not decided.

2009 started off on the doucheyist of notes. But when you consider the last few months I had leading up to it, there really wasn't much hope for the new year. I had a few firsts in 2008. Most notably the loss of my Father in December. I started a blog about him that you can find here.

During most of 2008 I could have topped the list of serial daters from the portal to hell which is better known as plentyoffish.com. I spent a good six months searching for love, instead I found the seven dwarfs of internet dating also known as Creepy, Stinky, Faggy, Hairy, Fatty, Wimpy, and my favorite... The One Eyed Monster. Needless to say, I had a lot of first dates. I have since deleted my profile and given up on fishing for a man.

In September I found myself moved to yet another property in DFW. This time the wheels of fate took me to Plano, which I believe is spanish for "you will pay $200 a month in tolls." I love the area and I am now about a mile from my BFF so it has had its upside, but the drive to anything familiar to me is borderline ridiculous.

I think my most random first in 2008 was when I was chosen to help pick out a valentines day card from Tony to Jessica. In February, Tony enlisted the services of his favorite errand boy to run across the street to the Galleria and pick out a card for Jessica for valentines day. Jessica was expected to arrive later on in the day. Lets pause for a moment and give a round of applause to yet another man that waited until the last possible minuted to buy his valentine a card. Moving on. Errand boy not being the brightest of bulbs when it comes to love brought me in on the mission. I of course picked out a card that had a fart in it. Love was definitely in the air that valentines day.