An urgent letter

Dear Internal Revenue Service,

I know that you're just a little busy right now, what with processing the tax returns of millions of people and frantically injecting billions of dollars into the flailing economy in a frivolous, short-sighted plan engineered by The Boss Man.
But the prospect of $600 that appears in my bank account out of nowhere makes me weak in the knees, and if you could hurry up and expedite that transaction so that I could purchase two pairs of shoes, I'd appreciate it. Perhaps a visual would help persuade you:


Before you get angry, these shoes serve a vital and necessary purpose -- the continued achievement of my fitness goals, as well as the prolonging of my life and the success of being healthy and in shape. Besides -- the longer I live, the longer I pay taxes, and that makes you happy, right? So it's a win-win.
Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter, and I'm sure Puma thanks you, too, for the revenue that they are about to receive.

To world peace and the recapture of economic superpower status,
Katy

Hilarious!

I need one of these ASAP!

Thoughts of the day

If you need another reason to celebrate May 1 (four days closer to Cinco de Mayo -- I can taste the margaritas already), here it is. Spread the good word of RSS feeds far and wide, and encourage people to subscribe to sites (like mine, or his, or his, oh, and his, too). Happy promoting!

In other news, a content facelift is under way for my beloved blog. Under the influence of beer and pizza, a loyal reader commented on Friday night that I "need to talk less about my career -- boring! Talk about random and funny stuff."

R. is helping me develop a recurring section of the blog that I hope to launch within the next week -- and trust me, you'll love it. If you like fashion and snark, well, you're about to hit the jackpot.

In the meantime, here's a gem of randomness. R. and I had dinner at Abuelo's on Saturday night, and when I scooped up some salsa on a chip, I noticed a long green strand hanging from it. Not one to chomp on giant cilantro stems, I plucked it out and tossed it on my drink coaster. Upon closer examination, however, it wasn't cilantro -- it was a rubber band. YUMMY. The following exchange ensues:

Waitress: Can I get you guys anything?
K, shooting furtive glances at R: Ummm ... well, there's a rubber band in my salsa.
Waitress: A what?
K (laughing): A rubber band
Waitress: Oh, no, that's a cilantro stem.
K picks up green piece and stretches it in front of waitress. Waitress eyes bulge and she claps her hand to her mouth in horror.
Waitress: Oh my gosh, oh my gosh -- I'm so sorry. Let me say something to my manager right away.
R. and I declined the offer of more salsa, and instead celebrated with dessert on the house. Imagine what would have happened if I choked on it instead!

In memory, with love

The triumph of churning out more features for the upcoming issue of "The Dot" (one of three magazines at the day job) is subdued by thoughts of my wonderful grandpa, who passed away two years ago today. In memory, allow me to repost a tribute I wrote last year -- and after you read, tell your loved ones how you feel. Life is far too short to not savor, cherish and enjoy every day you're given.

A tribute
Current mood: melancholy
Category: Life

My grandpa passed away one year ago today.

It's hard to believe it's been 365 days, almost to the hour, since he died. The comfort that comes from knowing he's at peace is, at times, not enough to overcome the grief and pain that comes from missing someone so much. Yet in the end, knowing he's better off and watching over us is the only kind of closure that befits this situation.

Rob asked me last night what I miss about Grandpa. I couldn't answer him last night, and even now, it's hard to know where to start. He was, without a doubt, the happiest and most cheerful person I've ever known. He found joy in the simplest things, from an ice cream cone at Dairy Queen to taking my brother and I to the overpass down the street to watch the passing 18-wheelers. He loved trains, cars and motorcyles. His haven was a basement workshop, a meticulously organized space filled with tools, scrap wood and his latest project. It was a haven for Adam and I - we spent hours making atrocious wood sculptures and "furniture" to Grandpa's never-ending cues of encouragement.

He pushed us to explore, to question, to love and, above all, to have faith. Not necessarily faith in God, although the light in his eyes would shine a little brighter the days we accompanied him to church. He taught me to respect and cherish my family, and to truly enjoy each day for all that it's worth.

I sat with him at the dining room table two weeks before he died. He was battered from the chemotherapy and radiation, his voice without its signature rumble. Yet he sat with me and talked for more than an hour about seemingly random topics - exercise, current affairs, childhood memories. It is one of my most precious memories, not only because his health declined so quickly afterward, but because it was one of the few times that it was just the two of us. I was raised as "Grammy's girl," but as I continue to come to terms with his death, I hope he knows how much I love him, idolize him and miss him. He was the grandpa you dream of having, and for 24 years he was mine.

Afternoon daydream

I can't stop thinking about you.

Where we're headed

During a speech last night, this guy claimed that, one day, magazines "will be beautiful luxuries, like sailboats in the 19th and 20th centuries."

If that's true, sir, then I'll need a giant marina--because what you term "luxuries" are my essentials, and I don't see that changing. Ever.

Keep it coming, nay-sayers ... I'll send you all invitations to the launch party of my magazine-focused media empire. I think I'll even rent a sailboat for the occasion.

An open letter to the postal service

Dear USPS,

I could hardly wait to send this letter of sincere thanks for the delightful scavenger hunt on which you sent me last night. I'm sure you can guess that I'm referring to the search for someone who would postmark my taxes after 5 p.m.
Sure, I'm a born procrastinator, and I most certainly should have taken care of this earlier. But when I log on to your site during the day and am reassuringly greeted with a GIANT banner that says "Open extended hours today for your postal needs," well, I figure that a little after-hours assistance isn't going to be a big deal.
Oh, silly post office -- you fool me again. After no less than FIVE stops that took me throughout the Northland to a distribution center southeast of downtown* and an hour and 45 minutes of driving later, I was finally greeted by kindly souls who were shoving IRS-bound envelopes into huge bins -- in the middle of the street, no less. I momentarily blinked through the red haze that coated my vision long enough to converse with the employee and ensure that, yes, my envelopes WILL be postmarked tonight. Anger intact, I raced away, headed back home as my prematurely purchased On The Border takeout stagnated in the floorboard of my passenger seat.
I may be a procrastinator, but I also have difficulty with anger management -- and I'm lucky we didn't speak face-to-face last night, although one of your employees at a grocery store location could have been a LOT nicer. And perhaps you should modify your Web site -- if you say that a full-service retail post office is open until 10 p.m., but you refuse to postmark anything for that day after the 5 p.m. pick-up, write a disclaimer or SOMETHING -- especially on tax day, also known as The Day That Sucks The Soul Out of Americans Everywhere And Makes Otherwise Kind-Hearted Citizens Prone To Nuclear-Grade Meltdowns At The Drop Of A Hat.
So to the hole in the ozone layer that's larger because of my vehicle emissions, and to anyone I may have offended while racing around the greater Kansas City area in a fury-induced haze, and to R., who had to put up with me during what I call The Aftermath -- I'm sorry.
To the post office, however? I'll need some serious recovery time. And next year, I'm definitely e-filing. Consider this relationship on hiatus -- and don't even think about coming back to me without flowers, chocolate and big-ass diamond earrings.

Insincerely,
Katy Ryan

*Stops included Boardwalk (off of Barry Road), Hen House at 64th Street, Riverside, North Kansas City, Union Station and the larger than life distribution center at 1700 Cleveland Ave.

Finally ... an update

Perhaps both the length of time since I've last posted and the confession that I'm working at 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday will indicate how busy I am. I know -- excuses, excuses. But it's all (mostly) good ... gearing up for a big month at the day job, with the continued evolution of our two regional magazines and the upcoming production for and debut of our new title, which will serve as an entertainment and leisure guide for a 25-mile radius surrounding Leavenworth.

Secondary work seems to be growing by the week; my bank account is jumping for joy, but that burden of time management seems to always circle like a hungry vulture. Thanks to my new toy, however, things are getting a little easier ... and I'm now officially one of those geeks who is always googling stuff on my phone. Why? Because I CAN.

More updates to come, including pictures and stories from WRESTLEMANIA (stop here for a summary if you can't wait, but you gotta come back for the pics) and more about the life and times of yours truly. I'm contemplating the debut of a new blog feature, too, to ensure that you're always entertained and that I'm able to draw a bigger audience. Updates to come on that, too.

Moving along to check the status of my mental to-do list and peruse some pages of my latest Borders find before I head off to bed. Nighty night!