First Annual Update On Stuff You Don’t Care About

Remember those old Christmas newsletters people used to include in their Christmas cards every year? You know, the ones that told you all about Suzy’s straight A’s in school and Bobby’s big promotion at work and the great family vacation everyone took?

Now we have Facebook and Instagram, which allows us to make everyone feel inferior on a daily basis by showing off how perfect our lives are, but I think we should bring back the annual newsletter. Here’s what mine would look like this year.

Dear Friends and Family,

As we come to the end of another year, it’s time to reflect on the important events that shaped our lives and all of the lessons learned.

Or just wince at all the stupid crap that makes up my life. 

As The Milennials would say: I. Can’t. Even.

But enough of that. Let’s look at the year behind us.

Mine started with a deep, seething rage as I started another year at Satan’s Butthole with no clear indication of when they would actually make good on their promise to close the Tulsa office and set us all free from work Purgatory. Just when I thought Satan’s Butthole couldn’t get any worse, a family member suffered a medical emergency with complications and I was told I could not take time off because it was considered a “want to” and not a “need to”.

No, Satan’s Butthole. I want to burn down this building. I need to be with my family in a crisis. See the difference?

Though that was a difficult time in all of our lives, it was tempered by the beautiful wedding our son and his bride had in June. It was great to see Ben happy again after a couple of rough years and Veronica has been a lovely addition to our family. Watching The Husband Dude and Shane stand up there with their son/brother, and watching our two granddaughters as flower girls made my heart happy. It was a joyous day.

The next day, I found out that my Lady Parts were forming a mutiny and it was time to let them go. After an awkward conversation with my Lady Parts in which I fired them (you can read about it here ), I bid adieu to my baby makers and officially welcomed my artificially hormone-charged middle years. Yes, I know I’m being optimistic in calling forty-seven “middle age” because the chances I will live to be ninety-four are pretty slim, but just indulge me, m’kay? 

The best part, by far, of getting rid of my Lady Parts was being able to take eight long, glorious weeks away from Satan’s Butthole. The doctor schedules surgery on Tuesdays and as we were talking on a Wednesday, her choices were the following Tuesday (six days later) or a month later. Guess which option I took?

Sorry, Satan’s Butthole. It’s a need to. As in, I need to have surgery to get away from this place because I want to kill somebody.

My convalescence was quite productive. I colored four coloring books of swear words. I watched every episode of Bar Rescue, which led me to come up with my own concept for a bar. I tended to my menagerie of indoor and outdoor pets that include our dog, Kova, our cat, Mr. Luna, five feral cats, a spider named Carmela, an Opossum named Polly and a raccoon named Randy.

Sadly, Carmela did what spiders do and passed away after leaving me with three very scary egg sacs on the front porch eave. We relocated the egg sacs to a tree in the yard and then threw Carmela’s withered body laid Carmela to rest at the base of the tree. I don’t think the egg sacs will survive where we left them, but at least we alleviated some of our guilt for allowing Carmela to live on our porch all summer and then dispatching of her egg sacs because we didn’t want 5,000 baby spiders running around in the Spring.

I’m pleased to report the other porch pets are doing fine. The kitties sometimes use the doghouse out there as a shelter from the cold. I lined it with a self-heating mat so they would be more comfortable. When I go out in the morning to put food in their dish, they come piling out of the house like orange, furry clowns out of a tiny car.

They know I’m their person and that I take care of them, but they are still feral and confused by their own feelings as evidenced by the fact that they chase me as I walk across the porch, alternately meowing and hissing at me. They won’t let me pet them but they let me crouch down and talk to them and tell them how pretty they are.

Randy the Raccoon is the fattest Trash Panda I think I’ve ever seen. Clearly, he takes advantage of all the porch buffets in the neighborhood. Polly the Opossum is very prompt, taking her dinner promptly between 6:00-7:00 p.m. every evening. She is shy but she did turn around and pose for this photo the other evening.

Just as my sick leave was coming to an end and true, deep depression was setting in, the Employment gods saw fit to bestow another employment opportunity on me.

Maybe it was that goat I sacrificed.

Maybe it was the virgin I threw in the volcano. 

Maybe it was the guy I used to work with at Satan’s Butthole who got a promotion and needed to hire his own replacement so he texted me and asked me if I was interested in a job.

In any case, I have never responded to a text so fast in my life.

After securing new employment, I did what any good, loyal, seventeen-year-employee does. I resigned on the same day I returned from sick leave. I have now been happily employed at Not Satan’s Butthole for a little over three months and though I’m still healing from the PTSD I was left with by my former place of employment, I’m proud to report that I haven’t gone back and burned the place to the ground.

As for the family, The Husband Dude is pretty much counting down the days to retirement. He still has about five years but he’s already counting the days and preparing himself for a life of “smoking pot and painting pictures”. I don’t know where the renewed interest in toking came from as the last time he danced with Mary Jane was more than thirty years ago, but this is apparently how he’ll be spending his days while I’m still toiling at the employment game, since I am ten years behind him on the retirement train.

It will be full circle for me and I can relive my early teen years of coming home to a house that smells like skunky weed, only instead of my brother being the stoner, it’ll be The Husband Dude.

Yay.

The rest of the family is doing great. Our oldest, Ben, is enjoying the newlywed life and helping to raise a precocious four year old named Nicky. Kim, our daughter, will soon celebrate her sixth wedding anniversary and still playing full-time Mommy to our granddaughters. Our son-in-law, James, is apprenticing to become a plumber so I’ve already got a list of projects waiting for him, starting with a new soaker tub for the master bath.

Sorry, Bud.

Shane, our youngest, is in his Sophomore year of high school and still trying to become the next big YouTube sensation. He will be learning to drive soon, so I suggest you all take note and keep a wide berth, especially if he drives like his father.

Sorry, Bubba. 

I guess it’s time to wrap this up and go deck the halls, as Facebook is reminding me that I’m inferior because I haven’t even so much as put up a tree yet. Don’t worry, though. It’s not like I won’t get to enjoy the festive décor. I’ve been known to put away the Yuletide goodies just in time to hide Easter eggs.

That pretty much sums up who I am.

And that pretty much sums up my year.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season!

Love,

Kat