Dear Weather.com,

First, let me just say: Good going. You know what the temperature is and are reasonably accurate at predicting what it will be in the future. So, I guess that’s cool.

But you know what’s not cool? Your optimistic and unhelpful descriptions of the day’s weather.

For example, this was the forecast the other day:

This forecast seems to suggest that the sun is out and everything is great.

But your forecast is a deception at best, because it is summertime and the sun is a predator, lying in wait like a hot, fiery ball of ninja kicks to the face.

Going outside is like walking into a trap. Once you are a sufficient distance from shelter–just far enough away from the safety and protection of air conditioning and ceiling fans–the sun will shoot you down like a sniper, using a submachine gun loaded with crippling heat to burn away your very soul.

I mean, REALLY, Weather.com. People are dying of heatstroke out there, and all you have to say is “sunny” with a little orange circle?

The next time it’s 98 degrees and “sunny” outside, maybe you should use this image instead:

Similarly, I’m disappointed by the images and descriptions you use during more extreme weather events. Like a couple of weeks ago, when I was driving from Florida to Georgia, and you showed me this forecast:

“Light hail”? Is that anything like being “lightly” stoned to death?

Seriously? “Light”? That sounds like the most delicate hail storm ever. Why not just show me this:

Oh! I know why! Because “light hail” is serious shit, and small chunks of ice are being hurled from the sky.

Here’s how that drive went, in case you were curious.

 In the future, please use this image instead.

Also, I know you’re mostly in the “weather” business, covering things like rain and sun and shit, but given the extreme events our planet has seen recently, I thought you might want to branch out a little–to stay hip and current, of course.

Just in case, I drew a few things for you. Feel free to use the following images in the event of:

Brushfires or smog

 Earthquakes

 And tsunamis

But even if you don’t decide to use any of the professionally designed images above, I implore you to use the following for days when the weather is perfect. The next time the forecast is 75 degrees and sunny (with a delightful, soft breeze), please use this image.

 

 

P.S.

While we’re here, can I just say that I’ve had enough of your ever-growing collection of Cute-Casts? Things like “PetCast” and “PollenCast” should be erased from your site.

And, also? This needs to stop:

I find your recommendation to use hairspray and hair ties both meddlesome and offensive. (Also, why not just one hair tie? Why do I need “hair ties”–plural? Are you recommending pig tails? Or some kind of weird tri-ponytail? Because I fail to see how those styles would make me more beautiful.)

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So I’m finally home after being out of town for about a week, and it’s 101 degrees where I live, and everything feels like this:

The highlights of the week included: a trip to Indianapolis, a beautiful wedding and an epic visit to the home of Kelly (from Go Go Gadget Zen). Another highlight? Me being sucked dry of all thoughts and creativity thanks to late nights, early mornings and a long drive home.

I did have a very romantic reunion, though. It was probably the closest my life will ever come to the wistful romance of The Notebook. And it involved waffles.

To begin at the beginning: I first fell in love with waffles years ago when I was much younger.

And I knew immediately that something special had crossed my path.

Our love was the kind that ignited at once, and in those early weeks, we spent hours together.

I wanted waffles all of the time. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Even in between meals, I longed for waffles.

We had syrup fights together.

We shared a strange musical montage together that concluded in a day at the beach.

But after a brief time together, life circumstances drove us apart.

I moved away from my college dorm (where waffles were often readily prepared by someone else.) Then, I went on Atkins, giving up carbs for way longer than the human soul can withstand. (Carbs are like a group hug from Jesus and Gandhi, and I’ll never forget that again.)

Then, I thought I had fallen in love with pancakes.

Pancakes were safe and uncomplicated. There was no special appliance required to make them, and I thought I was satisfied.

But this weekend, a chance meeting at a hotel buffet line changed everything. Suddenly, waffles walked back into my life like a sudden flame, blazing and streaming into my heart.

Confronted with my old love, I was overcome.

I don’t know how I thought we could ever be apart.

I can’t deny my heart’s true feelings any longer. I love waffles. I always will.

Even if waffles get Alzheimer’s one day, forgetting who I am most of the time, and I have to move to a nursing home with waffles. I would be lucky spending every day reminding waffles of our love for each other.

 

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Because Maya Angelou’s not for everyone.

 

 

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