To My Darling Family,
I know the year’s end has arrived when there’s something in my mailbox other than follow-ups from my friendly neighborhood debt collector; and by ‘something,’ I mean your illuminating, illustrated annual family newsletters! And I mean, thank god. Because how else would I know that Uncle George’s cousin’s niece’s ex-boyfriend’s Bichon Frise is recovering ‘with grace’ after his ‘risky, not to mention traumatizing’ neutering? Or that Grandma has abandoned the zebra motif in her living room for something more ‘Oriental’? How would I know what ever happened to Baby Jane?
Pouring over the details of Cousin Kathy’s wisdom-tooth extraction got me thinking — I’ve been selfish. Just because my parents don’t understand the value of tradition and sharing and humblebragging via annual family newsletters doesn’t mean I should follow in their aloof footsteps. So I’ve prepared a newsletter of my own. I know, I know — I don’t have a child or a pet or a salacious second marriage to write of (Aunt Liz), but as my blood relatives I’m sure you’ll find the humble minutiae of my life as noteworthy as, say, a six-paragraph diatribe about Amy’s broken arm and how her deadbeat dad still won’t split the hospital bill, even though he promised to be there for the kids after ‘the incident,’ never mind the fact that he was the one who swore on ‘the pull out method,’ the goddamn loser (for example). So without further ado, here are the headlines from my year — read all about it!
Most of you have heard the news already: I am no longer a receptionist. Haven’t been for about three years now, but my subsequent promotions were too difficult to explain during our two-minute phone calls on Christmas and so, in 2009, I began responding to pretty much any inquiry about my employment with, “Yes.” But in March, I quit my job, living off of unemployment and canned goods until I was able to trick someone else into hiring me. It’s with great pleasure that I report that I’m employed again! By a blog. It’s like a magazine-y thing for the computer. You guys know computers. They’re that half-television/ half-typewriter thing. In essence, I have a job on the internet doing that thing that none of you understand. I promise that, while I don’t have an office or business cards or health insurance, I am actually working — and making money! Enough to pay my rent and even eat, sometimes.
Reproductive Report Card, 2011
After a psychosomatic scare in early 2011, reproduction prospects are grimmer than ever. Sorry, grandma.
Breaking: A Guy Asked Me Out (Twice)!
In June 2011, I went on a date with one ‘Mark Leonard,’ a graphic designer of average intelligence (though he possessed an unfortunately subpar understanding of how to wear plaid). We went to a pub where he ordered French fries and I got too drunk, lamenting my last relationship periodically without any context or warning. At the end of the date, we engaged in some unseemly PDA — though I ultimately went home alone (Why buy the cow, amiright? Aunt Liz?) To my great surprise, Mark called me for a second date — a gesture so grand in its romanticism that I got totally freaked out and flaked on our second outing. I mean, anyone who would ask me out twice clearly has a few screws loose.
Is There Any Hope I’ll Become a Domesticated Diva?
I know how important it is that I enter into wedded bliss, even if it’s against my own will, so I’ve begun to sharpen my home skills. Specifically, I hung up a shelf in my bedroom (using both a hammer and nails — watch out now!). The shelf is slightly off-level so I can’t place any round objects on it, but it’s otherwise mildly functional.
Family, I was hoping to share some poignant stories with you all — the death of a houseplant, a baby’s tooth falling out, a lawn mower almost-accident, something. But I live a modest life, bland and singular. This will have to do.